Welcome to WeeklyWilson.com, where author/film critic Connie (Corcoran) Wilson avoids totally losing her marbles in semi-retirement by writing about film (see the Chicago Film Festival reviews and SXSW), politics and books----her own books and those of other people. You'll also find her diverging frequently to share humorous (or not-so-humorous) anecdotes and concerns. Try it! You'll like it!
There was a time when Mel Reynolds was one of the most promising young politicians in Illinois.
That was before he was sent to jail for having sex with a 16-year-old underage campaign worker. That was before he became a registered sex offender in 1995, forbidden to live within 500 feet of a school. That was before he was charged with failing to file income tax returns from 2009 through 2012. (Each count carries a maximum sentence of one year in prison or a $250,000 fine on conviction.) That was before he was found to have child pornography, tried to sabotage the case against him, and was sentenced to 5 years in prison.
In 1997, Reynolds was convicted, while serving time in prison, of 15 counts of illegally raising campaign cash and defrauding banks out of hundreds of thousands of dollars. For that, he got 6 and 1/2 years in prison.
He served 2 and 1/2 years in state prison and was then transferred to a federal prison, but in 2001, Bill Clinton commuted his sentence hours before leaving office, at a time when Reynolds had 2 years left to serve.
In 2003, Reynolds made several attempts at a political comeback, running against another sterling example of rectitude, Jesse Jackson Jr. in the 2004 Democratic primary. That failed. Ten years later, Zimbabwe would deport him from that African country on charges that he had sexually explicit photos and videos on his mobile phone, in violation of a censorship law…in Africa! Although the charges were reduced to a misdemeanor visa violation, he was sent packing and came back to the U.S., where, on July 31st, while leaving the Dirksen US. Courthouse in Chicago, he was trying to find a place to spend the night.
Reynolds was able to secure a court-approved place to stay on an emergency basis and was ordered to appear in court at 2 p.m. on Friday with a more permanent address. Asked by reporters who he was talking to on his cell phone, Reynolds declined to answer fully, saying only, “This is a one-night deal,” and, of the charges of failing to pay taxes for four years, “The narrative has been that somehow I didn’t pay my taxes. I didn’t file. By going to trial, this is going to set the record straight.” Mel Reynolds is 63 years old, claims to have a “very sick” daughter in Africa, and is a convicted felon.
Maybe he and Jesse Jackson and Anthony Weiner can start a club aimed at “Redemption” (the sign in the background of the old campaign photo.).
Our first day at sea was spent cruising. Day two found us in either Pisa or Pompeii after docking in Naples.
On day three, we docked in Civitavecchia, Italy at 6 a.m.
Two hours later, our tour of the city left by bus, facing a one and 1/2 hour trip to the city from the docks (and a one and 1/2 hour trip back). (I just LOVE those early morning tours!)
Mainly, we drove past the sights that Rome conjures up, because the wait time to get inside the Coliseum, for instance, was 2 hours. (Only later, after our return, did I learn about the passes one could have purchased in advance that would have let you cut to the front of all lines, but they were primarily for 2 and 3 days, which would not have worked for those of us on an 8 and 1/2 hour tour of which 4 hours was spent on a bus).
After the extensive, exhausting trek through Pompeii (Day 2), the bus was quite welcome in the 100 degree heat. It was also very humid.
I did some shopping with a fellow tour member, Deborah Matthews of Washington, D.C., and we were able to find a leather goods shop for souvenirs. We also tried the delicious dessert that our tour guide, Luisiana, went on and on about, calling us “my family” and using the phrase “you must know” to mean, “you should be aware that.”
I enjoyed seeing the area where the chariot races took place in “Ben Hur,” and the window from which a new Pope is announced. We were told by our guide that visiting the Treasures of the Vatican Museum would take at least a week and getting in to see the Pieta or anything in the Vatican requires extensive security, (plus, you have to be wearing something that covers both your shoulders and your knees.) Since my husband had on shorts, that was probably out in the first place.
I spent a period of days in Rome way back when, so the failure to be able to tromp around some more in 100 degree heat didn’t bother me at all.
While in Chicago to take delivery of 2 new couches, I attempted to enjoy Paul McCartney “live” from Grant Park, about a block away. It should have worked (it has, in the past), but, instead of live streaming Sir Paul, Gary Clark, Jr.’s set was shown and the Twitter-verse burst out with protests that a talent like Paul McCartney was allowed to be upstaged by someone nobody knew and very few cared about. (The big performer on Friday, July 31, 2015, was McCartney)
On Saturday (today), there was a face-off between Sam Smith on the stage farthest from me and Metallica on the Samsung Galaxy Stage closest to me. At least both were streamed “live” as promised by www.RedBulltv.com.
If you like Florence and the Machine, she plays on Sunday night at 9 p.m. (until 10 p.m.) to close out the festival. At 3 p.m. “Moon Taxi” from Nashville will play, friends of the daughter.
Absolutely perfect evening weather, so far, although a bit hot during the day.
Amy Winehouse died on July 23, 2011, at age 27. She died 17 years after another famous self-destructive lead singer, Kurt Cobain, killed himself, causing some to dub this coincidence “the 27 Club.”
In a new documentary, “Amy” that premiered in England on July 3rd and in the United States on July 10th, directed by Asif Kapadia and produced by James Gay-Rees and Universal Music, we learn “the story behind the music” from home video footage and interviews with those who knew Amy best—including Amy, herself. It is a compelling and oh-so-sad look at one of–if not THE—greatest songwriter of her generation. The film debuted at the 2015 Cannes Film Festival.
The singer’s own song lyrics, projected onscreen, and her own interview statements, provide us with a murky picture of what led to her premature death. She described herself as a happy child until the age of 9, when her parents separated (her father, Mitch, moved in with his girlfriend). Amy continued to live with her mother, Janis, and to visit her father and his girlfriend on weekends, but Janis, by her own admission, was not a disciplinarian. (“I wasn’t strong enough to say to her: Stop!”) Amy’s father, Mitch, whom she idolized, was not around to say “no” and her behavior from age 9 on seems to be a classic case of “acting out.” Anything she thought would displease or shock her parents or other adults, she did—whether it was tattoos, piercings, her hair, her style of dress, her make-up, her promiscuity, or her eventual fatal infatuation with drugs and alcohol.
Amy came by her love for jazz legitimately, as many of Winehouse’s maternal uncles were professional jazz musicians and she was encouraged to listen to the greats. Amy’s paternal grandmother, Cynthia, was a singer, and Amy calls her “the strongest woman I ever knew.” Her Nan’s death in 2006, when Amy was 23, hit Amy hard, at a time when other problems were rapidly building in her complicated life.
In one interview by Garry Mulholland of “The Observor” Amy, when asked about fame, replies, “I don’t think I could handle it. I think I’d go mad.” Indeed, there were suggestions that she may have been manic depressive and she suffered from bulimia. She was prescribed the anti-depressant Seroxat after her father left home, when quite young.
From the time Mitch left, Amy was a “Wild Child” and in various sorts of trouble. Although it is not mentioned in the documentary, there were several charges of assault leveled against her. Even Amy admitted to sometimes hitting husband Blake Fielder-Civil, and one of her songs suggests that “You should be stronger than the woman.”
The entrance of Blake Fielder-Civil into her life seems to have been one of the worst pairings of two troubled people in history. It echoes the Sid Vicious (the Sex Pistols) murder of his girlfriend Nancy Spungen. The murder, in this case, was much more insidious, as Fielder-Civil introduced Amy to the worst of the drugs she experimented with and played fast-and-loose with her heart, breaking up with her to return to a former girlfriend ( inspiring “Back to Black”) and deciding, while in prison on drug and assault charges, to divorce her. Amy was betrayed by almost ever significant male figure in her life in one way or another.
After Fielder-Civil left her, briefly, to return to his previous girlfriend, Amy wrote, “Now my destructive side has grown a mile wide.” Fielder-Civil reveals to the camera that, at the age of 9, [the same age as Amy when her father deserted her], he had attempted suicide. Amy is quoted repeatedly saying, “I write songs because I’m fucked up in the head.”
Amy’s father Mitch seems a bit too eager to profit from his daughter’s popularityand to springboard his own entrepreneurial efforts, sponging off her fame and fortune. The film makes a point of confirming that her father DID say she didn’t need to go to rehab, and the narrator obviously feels it was one of Amy’s last chances to turn her life around.
Amy’s final “Duets” partner, Tony Bennett, is interviewed and says that Amy sensed that she was going to die young; he also gave her huge props as a true Jazz singer. They are shown in the recording studio working together. It is obvious that Amy is nervous at performing with one of her idols. Her record of 5 2008 Grammy Awards for “Back to Black” and many other British music awards cements her influence as one of the most important songwriters of her generation. (Amy had to perform via video; she was not allowed to leave the country and enter the U.S. because of drug use charges.)
A change of managers also appears to have been a change for the worse. Her original manager, Nick Shymensky, became a close friend, starting with her when he was only 19 and she was 16. Amy left him to go with Metropolis Music promoter Raye Cosbert, who put her on the road when she was ill and overbooked her for performances when Amy would, sometimes intentionally, sabotage her performance, as when she was forced to travel to Serbia to sing. It is related in the documentary that Amy was physically carried to a limo, unconscious from a night of hard partying, and put on a private plane to take her to the concert, where she subsequently refused to sing when called to the stage. [My daughter saw her during a Lollapalooza performance during this period and said she was “a mess.”] On the bright side, she had a great working relationship with record producer Salaam Remi, with whom she shared the Grammy for “Back to Black.”
When asked about the onerous nature of fame, [for which she was ill-prepared], Amy said, “If I really thought I was famous, I’d go and top myself, because it’s scary. It’s very scary.” She also says, at one point near the end of the film that she would happily trade her singing talent for the anonymity of being able to walk down the street without being hassled by fans.
After Amy’s Grandmother Cynthia (Nan) died on May 5, 2006, when Amy was 22, things seemed to spiral downward for the singer. She had a seizure on August 24, 2007 in Camden and medical personnel said, “Her body can’t keep up with this. If she has another seizure, she’ll die.” Amy was told to swear off drugs, which she attempted to do and, apparently, had done at the time of her death. Her lung capacity was at only 70% (Mitch told the press she had signs of early emphysema) and her heartbeat was irregular.
However, when Amy was “off” drugs, she substituted abuse of alcohol,drinking heavily. In fact, it was alcohol poisoning that ultimately killed her, combined with the effects of years of drug abuse and bulimia. The film states that the level of alcohol in her system at the time of her death was “45 times the drunk driving limits,” although another source listed it as 416 mg. per 100 ml (0.416%), which is 5 times the legal drunk driving limit.
Her bodyguard at the time said, “This is someone who wants to disappear.” Amy began to unravel in public. She couldn’t escape her fame. As her bodyguard put it, “She needed someone to say no. She just needed support.”
“I cheated myself, like I knew I would. I told you—I’m trouble—you know that I’m no good.” With two of her romantic interests (Alex Claire and her former husband Blake Fielder-Civil) having sold their stories to British tabloids, the feeling is that everyone, including dear old dad, wanted to ride the gravy train as long as possible. This is a must-see documentary, if only for the wonderful music (original score other than Amy’s songs provided by Antonio Pinto). It is useful as a cautionary tale, if nothing else, and I can’t believe it won’t garner Oscar nods, come spring.
Ultimately, as Amy predicted in song, “My odds are stacked. I go to black.”
Bette Midler peered out at the crowd of all ages and said, “It’s nice to see so many of my fans are still able to drive at night.” I laughed out loud. Bette and I are contemporaries, and there is much truth in her meant-to-be-funny remark. Later, when she said that a new Apple Watch was “the first step on the road to douche-baggery,” I laughed loudly again from my seat in the rafters, as my son had just received his watch in the mail that day (a prize from his work, PSI Metals of Germany, for creative thinking on a “brainstorming” competition.) Bette sported a short pink number with lots of sparkly bits at the hem, neck and sleeves for the opening numbers and went through a few costume changes, but nothing like Cher, for example. Her final outfit onstage was a red, glittery sequined number that was quite form-fitting, and the 69-year-old looked good in it. (She said, “Don’t I look good?” as the concert opened.) Bette worked in all the favorites I wanted to hear the most, especially “Wind Beneath My Wings” (from “Beaches”) and “From A Distance.” Her encore number, with 8 musicians backing her on trombone, saxophone, cornet, percussion, etc., a la Bruno Mars’ band, was “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B.” If I had any criticism of the night, it would be that Bette didn’t resurrect “Delores Del Lago, the Toast of Chicago,” except in some flashback photos, which I will post if I can. If you see a seam down the middle, that is because these were images flashed on the large screen backing Bette. The two side screens did not seem very large, another minus if you were as far away as it was possible to get and up high. (Thank heavens for my 30 zoom). From here, I’m going to try to post photos, which may or may not work out, for me, but where there’s life, there’s hope, and you’re getting this from someone diagnosed with (borderline) diabetes and cancer (squamous skin) in one week, so I’m hoping.
Ben Folds (formerly of the Ben Folds Five) performed with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra on June 6th at the Chicago Theater.
As he has done since an enthused audience member shouted out, “Rock this bitch!”, Folds composed an original composition with the Chicago Youth Symphony Orchestra members.
We were in the 7th row, almost exactly where this video was shot, and it is truly amazing to watch creativity in action.
Jennings Wire. @: [Connie Wilson Podcast on Jennings P.R.](http://www.jenningswire.com/marketing/podcast-secrets-to-successful-self-publishing/)
This is the link to the Jennings Wire podcast I took part in recently. The post was about promoting what you write after you write it. Can’t say I’m an “expert” on this subject, but, after 12 years of learning by doing, I know a few things.
“San Andreas,” the film about San Francisco and a lot of the rest of California falling apart during a 9.6 “largest-in-recorded-history” earthquake, makes you want to move away from the Bay area if you live there. [Full disclosure: I once went through a small earthquake while a student at Berkeley. It was a weird feeling to find that the ground under your feet was moving. I remember bracing myself in a doorway until the shaking of the very earth beneath my feet stopped.]
“San Andreas” is a film in the grand tradition of such disaster films as “Earthquake” and “Towering Inferno.” I once took a busload of students to the Cinema Showcase in Milan to see both of those on a double bill; it was dubbed the “Shake & Bake Special.”
I also just saw “Mad Max: Fury Road” (Charlize Theron, Tom Hardy) and I can reliably report that each film reduces the script to almost no lines of dialogue while non-stop action (some of it implausible) is run by the audience. It’s almost as though Hollywood believes that the attention span of the average theater-goer these days is that of the average gnat and has decided to cater to an audience (usually younger) that can barely concentrate on anything for more than 5 minutes. (And certainly not without getting out their cell phones to text something to someone.)
“Mad Max” may get the edge for having the craziest set design, but the C.G. (computer graphics) team that has simulated a record-shattering earthquake followed by a “Perfect Storm” like tsunami, gets points for visually stunning us with those images. I wrote down some of the names of the special effects whizzes who helped make this earthquake movie and, after I had listed hy drau lx, Method Studios, CineSite, Atomic Fiction, Soho VFX, and Image Engine, I was surprised to learn that most of the film was shot in Australia. (Abbey Road studios is also given credit for the score and British Columbia gets a shout-out.)
For acting, I’d have to give the nod to “San Andreas'” crew, as the rationale for anything that happened in “Mad Max: Fury Road” was lost in the incomprehensibly thick accents of the first 30 minutes and the total craziness of the entire concept. At least in “San Andreas” we understand that, like Brad Pitt in “World War Z,” The Rock wants, most of all, to save his family from a natural disaster.
To that end, we learn that The Rock knows how to hot-wire a car, drive a mean speedboat, pilot both a helicopter and a regular airplane, parachute from a plane he is abandoning in the air, swim quite capably when required, and can also bring people back from the dead. I was going to say “Leap tall buildings in a single bound” but that’s a different hero.
When my husband and I were in Las Vegas recently, listening to a time share presentation, the attractive young girl who led us through the Hilton shared with us the information that her husband is “The Rock’s” stunt double (and she did some stunt work in film, as well). If this is true, that man certainly got a workout in “San Andreas,” which is loaded with stunts and CG effects.
Dr. Lawrence Graver, the scientist at California Institute of Technology who has been warning about a major earthquake event for years, is played by the always-convincing Paul Giametti. Carla Giugino (“Night at the Museum”) who plays the Rock’s about-to-be ex-wife is fine in her part. The twenty-ish daughter, played by Alexandra Daddario, is good—although she looks NOTHING like either one of the actors playing her parents. The annoying British brothers could have been crushed under a car in the parking garage who help the damsel in constant distress could have been crushed in the parking garage with no noticeable loss to the movie—especially the actor playing Ben Taylor (Hugo Johnstone-Burt), British accent and all. His younger brother, Ollie (Art Parkinson), is no less annoying, but the family dynamic that drives Dwayne Johnson’s heroic rescue attempts will keep you rooting for the home team (pun intended).
I would have cast Ioan Gruffudd (who plays mogul Daniel Riddick) as the love interest for the well-stacked Alexandra, but he is relegated to looking good (great hair!) in his private plane and his huge buildings (“The Gate”), right up until he turns into a cowardly cad. (I did wonder: how did the character played by Carla Gugino ever meet a millionaire mogul like Daniel Riddick? Young unmarried girls want to know!) At first, I honestly thought that Daniel Riddick was going for help for the hapless Alexandra. Later, he is portrayed as a cad, over and over, to the point of outright laughter, almost. To say he is not missed when his character arc ends is putting it mildly.
Two other actresses in the cast deserve mention.Archie Punjabi, who has capably played the investigator character Kalinda on “The Good Wife” until recently, turns up as a TV newswoman named Serena. The role of Daniel Riddick’s ex-wife Susan is played by singer/actress Kylie Minogue, who takes the wrong staircase in her attempts to escape the catastrophe when it strikes.
This New Line/Village Roadshow/Ratpac-Dune Entertainment offering was as entertaining as “Mad Max: Fury Road,” although you have to give a nod to the “real” stunts that were pulled off in the latter. Even though I took Earth Science in college and learned about upthrusting and down faulting, I have no idea if the statistics and historic facts cited in the movie are true or false. Is it true that the worst earthquake in history was a 9.5 in Valdiva off the coast of Chile that lasted for eleven minutes? Is there even a place called “Valdiva”? Did the earthquake in Anchorage, Alaska in 1964 really measure 9.1 on the Richter Scale? Did a tsunami really level Hilo, Hawaii, 8,000 miles away from a big earthquake? Was that big previous earthquake really the equivalent of 10 million atom bombs? Is Iran capable of leashing this earthquake power?
I kept remembering Naomi Watts in her 2012 tsunami movie “The Impossible,” for which she earned an Academy Award nomination. I remembered how her exposure to the water in the Thailand tsunami made her cuts and scrapes horribly infected, whereas Ben Taylor (Hugo Johnstone-Burt) has a large piece of glass stuck in his upper thigh (which would probably have severed the femoral artery and killed him) but walks around and swims around as though it is merely a twisted ankle with no noticeable long-term problems.
I know none of these answers, but would refer you to Carlton Cuse, the unknown director who also co-wrote the script.
Meanwhile, here are a couple of observations: the opening sequence is a testimony as to why young people should not text and drive. The young girl in the car is listening to Taylor Swift when she texts and crashes. It’s an object lesson. (“Let that be a lesson to you!”)
Lines that I enjoyed: When the question is asked “Who should we call?” as the crack earthquake-tracking team at Cal Tech is realizing the severity and seriousness of the situation, my spouse leaned over and said, “Ghostbusters!”
When “The Rock” and his lady land in whatever the name of the baseball park is in San Francisco (I’m so old that it was Candlestick, when I attended a game at that San Francisco ballpark in 1965), they parachute in, land on the playing field, and The Rock says, “It’s been a while since I got you to second base.”
I’d say that if you are so hyped up on video game action that you are one silly millimeter away from being diagnosed with attention deficit disorder (with hyperactivity), you will enjoy both “San Andreas” AND “Mad Max: Fury Road” but I have to warn you that I nearly went deaf in Chicago from the volume of the soundtrack at the Icon on Roosevelt Road. I’ve also been warned NOT to bother with 3D
Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen are friends who have taken their friendship and celebrity on the road for an evening of gossip and commentary. Since both are mega-stars in their respective fields, the Chicago Theater was sold out, and the entertainers did not disappoint. The two interviewed each other and interspersed their comments with film clips. I knew very little about Andy Cohen, since I do not watch his “Real Housewives” series, and that was a disadvantage as the evening wore on and numerous women lined up to ask the less-serious Andy about his shows. One woman asked: “Which is the dumbest housewife?” but Cohen chose not to diss that one.
Some brief biographical information was conveyed through film and commentary, and I learned that when Anderson Cooper’s 23-year-old brother, Carter, committed suicide (Anderson was 21) he jumped from the 14th floor ledge of Gloria Vanderbilt’s Manhattan penthouse while she watched. This, said Cooper, has informed everything he has done in life since. He indicated that perhaps he likes to be where tragedy has struck to see how others deal with it and survive.
Another bit of gossip concerned Gloria (Vanderbilt’s) hooking up with Marlon Brando, something that Carol Matthau (wife of Walter) arranged back when Brando was in his prime. As he put Gloria in a cab in the morning, he said, “You have Japanese skin.” (Whatever that means.) This was Brando in his prime and sexy days, Cooper stressed.
Another interesting story concerned the gentleman that does a cheek swab and then traces one’s lineage. He discovered that the Cooper side of the family had a great great grandfather who had owned slaves and had, in fact, been hacked to death by one of his slaves, using a hoe. (Ben Affleck recently called and asked that this information be omitted from his geneology report.)
The evening was a hit for fans of either gentleman, gays, and fans of the real Housewives of wherever. The only real housewife I had ever heard of was Theresa Guidici because she went to jail. After that, Nene Leaks was another I knew had been on one of his shows, because she appeared on “The Celebrity Apprentice” and, also, briefly on “The New Normal.”
I enjoyed the evening, as I knew I would, and the event was sold out.
Australian artist/illustrator Susan Day has turned out another in her colorful Astro series. (ISBN 10 – 1507782748; ISBN 13 = 978-1507782743 from www.grannyshillpublishing.com) [Astro, for those who know the series, is a dog.]
This rhyming Astro book is designed to help young children cope with depression. It is Day’s hope to be able to place a copy of her book in every school in that country, an admirable goal.
As Susan Day and fellow-educator Jenny Graham explain, this is a teaching resource book, meant to assist in helping create kids who are resilient. The authors recommend sending a note home from school to parents to notify them if a unit is going to be taught on depression, anxiety or suicide, to have a box set up that would allow troubled youth to post anonymous letters, and to have posters on display that advise of places where students can turn for help. The authors even give a “hot line” number (which, in the United States, is 1-800-273-8255 for the USA Lifeline.)
The book features Day’s delightful colorful illustrations of dogs who stop by to advise Astro about how to cope with his depression. With a title like Astro is Down in theDumps, the author, through characters like Digger, Alfie, Stella, Indy, Rocky, and Dotty the Dal suggest, in order, food, painting, exercise, writing, drawing and, of course, sharing one’s depression/ emotions with others.
And the book rhymes, too!
The quote “Anyone can create art. All you do is make a start” immediately made me think of George W. Bush’s post-presidential foray into the art world. I don’t know why, but that depressed me. I generally am depressed thinking about anything George W. Bush ever did, and his art work was particularly amateur-ish (Anybody else remember his portrait ofVladimir Putin? Bueller? Bueller?)
So I decided I would follow Rocky’s advice: “I grab my journal and write, About being so uptight. I don’t stop until I’m feeling great, Even if it’s getting late.”(For me, if I’m writing, it’s always late).
That advice cheered me up a lot about “W’s” artwork (although not the rest of his legacy) and I thought Stella’s advice (“I call my friend from far away, Not once, but nearly every day. And she listens while I explain , About the things that cause me pain.”) was very good, as is this book.
Astro’s Down in the Dumps rhyming children’s book about depression.
Last, but certainly not least, was this thought: “To be kind is more important than to be right; many times what people need is not a brilliant mind that speaks, but a special heart that listens.”
