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Movies: Monsters Ball,
Star Wars Attack of the Clones PowerPuff Girls
Reign of Fire
MIB II
Minority Report

Minority Report
by Amanda Sledz

Tom Cruise is a scientologist, and is so terrified of being called "gay" that he keeps suing people. Snicker. What a dork. On the plus side, he's been in an increasing number of films that actually have not sucked. This is one of them. In addition to the oodles of groovy gadgets and whatnot, the plot line is actually interesting (and believable, in a future sense) as it's based on a short story by Philip K. Dick. The plot? It's 2054 and Cruise plays John Anderton, a guy who works as a future cop of sorts. When a murder is predicted by one of the three "precogs," the person who is going to be killed and the person who is going to do it have their names released on wooden balls. The future cops then hurry, hurry, hurry to the scene of the future crime and arrest the potential assailant before they have time to do actual damage. Anderton believes the program is flawless, until one day one of the precogs spits out his name and the person he's going to kill, which sets him on the run from his own friends in an effort to find out whether or not he's been set up. This leads to a search for his "minority report" which is something that occurs if one of the precogs has a vision that differs from the other two. In addition to the movie being delightfully original, beautifully shot, well-written and boasting developed characters, Tom Cruise actually performs well, when usually he leaves the viewer with the overwhelming urge to smother his "I want the truth" spouting characters with a pillow. His almost-insane about-to-kill eyes are truly freaky, and his character is smart enough to run but not so smart that he figures out everything before the audience does. To add some extra thrill, they make his wife smart, and the female precog more bad ass than the rest. Nice touch. Director Steven Spielburg also consulted several gizmo experts to assist in "futurizing" the movie, which means that much of what you see in this movie is actually what is to come. Like those creepy talking ads that call you out by name, for example. Yup, I'm shuddering too. See this movie, and see it in the theater, or the special effects just won't seem as special. Directed by Steven Spielburg PG-13 144 minutes

Pickin Fleas
By Amanda Sledz

Twice now, the book "Pickin' Fleas" by the Athens Writers' Group has been on Little Professor's best seller list. The books popularity is due in no small part to the origins of the writers; a group of dedicated individuals who meet bi-weekly to share their writing and offer suggestions for improvement so that each individual might grow as a writer and pursue publishing options.

According to group spokesperson Jamie Tevis, the group meets at the Athens Public Library the first and third Friday of every month. All individuals are welcome to join the group regardless of age or writing preference, and there are between four and twelve people at each meeting. Tevis describes Jim Fingar (who has since moved from Athens) as the driving force behind the book, as he first brought the idea to the table and pushed the group to pursue it. For two years the Athens Writer's Group labored, and their end result is "Pickin' Fleas." Tevis added that Diana Fingar did a lot of the editing, as well as the cover. The Friends of Athens Library sponsored the book, which has been printed by Great Unpublished (http://www.greatunpublished.com) as a POD (Print On Demand) book. The money earned by the group is returned to the Friends of Athens Library.

For many of the writers, the group really works. "I've had three articles published since then," Tevis said. "And I've written a book."

The first part of the book is a collection of essays, short stories, and poetry written by the members of the group. The second half is a description of the trials and tribulations of the writer's group, and how the book itself was put together, from debate in regards to the title (I liked the "Spitting in the Street" option myself) to question as to whether to self-publish or to seek out a publisher.
While each writer in "Pickin' Fleas" has their own distinct voice, I was especially drawn to two specific writers.

The first was the man-with-the-plan, Jim Fingar, who is a highly entertaining fiction writer, with a knack for delivering short, powerful sentences. An example of this would be the loaded imagery of "Healing Power" when he writes: "For three years Maggie had been getting calls from the police or the hospital when Bridget got into trouble, because when Bridget turned eighteen, their father refused to respond to calls about her." Fingar leads the reader into an emotional and occasionally comic story about one woman's attempts to save her sister through the power of a religious leader, and perhaps locate some shred of hope herself.

Though some of his stories seem unfinished (or perhaps just leave the reader hanging a little too much) Finger carefully explores the essence of the human condition and demonstrates great potential as a writer. With use of rich character development, Fingar is capable of weaving the full picture-right down to those itty bitty details which emerge as the "unforgettable" points in his stories. "A Flame for Paco," like all of Fingar's stories, is simple and tightly bound, and is a joy to read as it demonstrates the easy way in which Fingar creates complex characters quickly.

Though Fingar also offered some examples of his nonfiction, it didn't strike me the way his fiction did, in part because it was intended to be read on the radio. With the exception of David Sedaris, most pieces intended for radio broadcast don't seem to play as well on paper.

The second writer who caught my eye is Mary Morgan. I want to buy Ms. Morgan a cup of coffee. How can you not get into a woman who offers as her introductory photograph a shot of her bad-ass old lady self in a hard hat? Her contribution to the book is largely a collection of essays detailing her time spent in the store she ran for a number of years before it was destroyed by a flood. In "Train Up a Child" she snatches the writer with the first sentence: "It wasn't yet spring but winter's wonder had long since ceased to entertain." In this essay, Morgan explores a profoundly important and rarely written of subject matter: parents who respond to the misbehavior of their children by misbehaving themselves. She in unafraid of expressing her distrust towards the parent and defense of the child importance of "minding" ones parents (who are in turn free of guilt themselves). Her painting of the scene allows you to truly feel the discomfort, her confusion in regards to what action to take, and her shock at the results.
Morgan keeps up the pace with "To Pomeroy on Time" where she offers a laugh-out-loud wonderful description of an oafish, ungrateful clod of a man who stormed into her store with feet so covered with clay "they could have been fired in a kiln and turned into sculpture." In this essay, Morgan allows herself a moment of vulnerability while maintaining her consistency in being a true observer, as she describes herself as a woman with a genuine desire to help this man, in spite of the lack of gratitude she's bound to receive as being an older woman grants him the authority to dismiss her. Part of the essay's strength is that while she is temporarily disheartened by the ingratitude of the stranger, she finds a mischevious means of comforting herself.

I would like to see Morgan take her "Caring for and about "Rag" Rugs" and turn it into a nonfiction personal essay, interweaving personal anecdotes with her detailed instructions, thus allowing the idea of a creation of a rug to illustrate an event or series of events from her life.

We learn more about Morgan's open way of looking at life when she writes about her attempts to work with the teenagers who had designated her front steps a hang out, instead of rushing them off with the aid of local law enforcement the way others had suggested. This essay ("Welcome") is also Morgan's first mention of the flood which destroyed her store. The pain of it is obviously still quite potent, as Morgan hesitates for the first time and seems to be beating down a lump in her throat.
"A Memorial Tribute to Harry Blackburn" proves that Morgan is also quite capable of writing straight biographical nonfiction, and her piece (previously printed in "Wimmin's Ink") proved quite informative and entertaining. Her letter to George W. Bush is also gently comic, and when she threatens to go on for another page, I really wish she would.

After reading the book in full, it seems fairly safe to say that this writer's group works like a more light-hearted creative writing workshop-meaning I doubt that anyone cries at the end of the day. Pick up a copy at Little Professor and show your support for their labors.

Margaret Cho
May 8th

Last Friday May 3rd, Margaret Cho, one of the few consistently funny comedians of our time, kicked her way onto OU's campus to show students, locals, and moms what the female comedic world is made of--and it sure as hell ain't sugar and spice.

The nearly sold-out Mem Aud show was brought to us courtesy of University Programs Council and co-sponsored by a number of student groups, including Open Doors and SOD. Cho took to the stage without shoes but with much attitude, and the audience didn't stop shouting their approval until Cho stopped talking--and they approved immediately, as Cho introduced herself by saying, "Mom's are the reason I became a feminist."

She challenged the audience to ask themselves why a society that comes from the bodies of women has the nerve to worship men. "Think about where we come from, we didn't grow up out of the ground. We come from women, so we should worship women." Cho said. "The day that I see a baby come out of the head of a penis will be the day that I believe in the myth of male superiority."
Cho talked about racism, and how being an American woman of Korean descent impacted her dream of making it in Hollywood. The limited roles offered to Asians left a young Cho dreaming, "Maybe someday I can be an extra on MASH."

She then blasted mainstream (translation: boring) clothing company Abercrombie and Fitch which put out T-shirts with racist images of Asians on them. When pressure was applied to the company, their response was, "We asked Asians around the office and they said it was okay." (Kinda like how in Cleveland everyone has an "Indian friend" who "feels honored by Chief Wahoo.") She also pointed out that the Asians that have come to be viewed as heroes by a certain segment of American society, such as Jackie Chan, are Asians, not Asian-Americans. "I can't climb up the wall," she said, "For Asians to be in the movies, they have to have special powers."

One of the first agents Cho went to told her there was no place for Asians in Hollywood, but thanks to her two best friends that were high school drag queens, she learned how to be tough. As the two died of AIDS, Cho now considers them her guardian angels looking down at her "From the big MAC make-up counter in the sky."

Cho also mentioned her mother's opinion of being gay, in an imitation that one audience member described during the question and answer period as "just like his parents." She said, "everybody is a little bit gay. You know how you have a friend, and you like your friend so much you don't know what to do? That's kind of gay."

Some folks have accused her of being racist for using an Asian accent to speak in her mother's voice. To that, Cho responded, "But wouldn't it be weird if she had a British accent?" What it boils down, Cho said, is "whether I, as a minority, have a right to talk about my life as it is. I think I do. It makes me think that political correctness can be almost as racist as what it's trying to avoid."
Like many of her previous performances, this one was as much personal essay as comedic performance. The personal aspect revolved around Cho's struggle with eating disorders, and the emotional abuse she suffered from a father that made her watch beauty pageants so that she could see what she was "supposed to look like." She fashioned herself, her mother and brother "Chubby Outlaws" who would stop at fast food restaurants then go home and have dinner as if nothing had happened. Cho quickly learned that in the eyes of her father, when she lost weight he would approve, when she gained it she would be ignored. Because of this and the fantastic pressure of a thin-worshipping society Cho became anorexic and bulimic for a period of twenty years. Finally, Cho was forced to ask herself, "What if this is it? What if this is what I look like?" and made a decision to accept herself.

Cho then spoke of the difficulties of being gay or lesbian in modern society, while adding their sex lives are better because of what they have to go through in order to have sex. She praised gay and lesbian partnership for its basis in equality instead of romance. She then added, "A government that would deny a gay man the right to bridal registry is a Fascist one."

Cho reminded the audience that if you are "a minority, a woman, a lesbian, gay, bi-sexual, or transgender, if you are a person of size, if you are a person of intelligence, of integrity, than you are considered a minority in this world and it's going to be really hard to find messages of self-love and support." She informed the audience that when they look in the mirror and start to berate themselves, it's not their voice, but the voice of "billions upon billions of dollars of advertising, magazines, movies, billboards, all geared to make you feel shitty about yourself, so you can take your hard-earned money and spend it at the mall on some turn-around cream that doesn't turn-around shit."
Cho said that lack of self-esteem causes people to hesitate before taking action either to promote their own lives or to help others. She encouraged the members of the audience to have self-esteem, as "For us to have self-esteem is truly an act of revolution, and our revolution is long overdue."
Following the performance was a question and answer period. One student suggested that she start doing musicals. Another student asked that she start including dyke humor as frequently as homo humor. Another individual inquired about her participation in an episode of "Sex in the City." Cho reminded the audience that "Sex in the City" is written by gay men, and said that she sees the show as essentially, "Gay men playing with dolls." Finally, a woman approached the microphone and reminded Cho that "thin people don't have it easy either." (Um, okay, but I'd like to see someone parodied in a movie with a "thin suit.")

Cho told the Insider that she decided to merge comedy and activism because "it's about expanding my job description. I was asked to speak at a lot of rallies, and it just made sense."
When asked what the average individual could do to combat images in the media, Cho encouraged women to take the subscription cards out of the magazines and send them in with messages such as "feed your models." Cho said that every time one of the cards is sent in, it costs the magazine thirty cents. If everyone sends them in, needless to say it could quickly become quite costly and annoying.
Cho also said that she feels encouraged by student activism, and, "I see a great change in consciousness among students, and that's really great to see."

Through choosing to exist outside of Hollywood Thin-and-White-is-Right Society instead of furiously trying to integrate herself into what repeatedly rejects her, Cho stands out as a rare woman of victory. Cho has become successful due to determination, gusto and talent as opposed to conformity, plastic surgery, and dieting. She dumps Hollywood on it's ass, and you only need read a review or two to see that they're scrambling to suck up to her now--and to that, she gives them the finger again. To that I say, hell yeah.

Star Wars Attack of the Clones
May 24th

George Lucas has lost his mind.
He can no longer be trusted with the Star Wars Empire. I hearby rule him mentally incompetent, and declare he should surrender the epic series to the careful hands of his dedicated fans.

Our first sign that poor Mr. Lucas was losing it was when he chose to assume full control over the projects, when he had a pretty good idea out-sourcing the directing stuff to more valuable players in the past (see "Return of the Jedi" and "the Empire Strikes Back"). Then there was the whole Jar Jar Binks fiasco, where Lucas managed to create a character that infuriated everyone from mild-mannered elderly people suddenly struck with the urge to throw their walkers at the screen, to three-year-old kids enraged to the point of snapping the toys in half in the aisles of Kmart. The final nail was hammered when rumors circulated that N'Sync was set to have a cameo in "Attack of the Clones." Outraged fans demanded his head on a pike, and Lucas timidly backed down and left the boy-band on the cutting room floor (thank God).

Lucas should know: you don't mess with geeks. They have webpages.

Needless to say, "Attack of the Clones" was released, and like a good sheep I flocked to the theater, bleating all the way. Though the suck-factor extends beyond the title, the film is not entirely horrible. In fact, every scene where the actors manage to not talk has potential to kick ass if only someone else shot it.

The plot: Queen Padme Amidala (Natalie "blank stare" Portman) is now a Senator, and her life is being threatened by an unknown assailant. Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor) has been training Anakin Skywalker (Hayden Christensen) who is assigned to protect her. Awful convenient, seeing as though Anakin has had an eye-popping crush on Padme since he was ten. Meanwhile, Obi-Wan has to figure out who's behind this, before peace is destroyed and the clone army battles the droid army.

The good news is, this time around Lucas remained sober long enough to cut Jar-Jar for the most part. Ewan McGregor as Obi-Wan Kenobi continues to do a helluva job imitating Alec Guiness and has finally gotten that "holy cow! I'm in a Star Wars movie!" look off his face. "Clones" also serves to fill in a lot of blank spots that appear in later movies, and allows the story of Star Wars to flesh out. The battle scenes and special effects are both unbelievably cool, and Lucas creates some pretty interesting looking new creatures to be the creators of the clone army, and seems to have intended to design them to resemble the oft-replicated Zetas. Oh yeah, and I almost forgot: this movie introduces us to Boba Fett, and that's gotta count for something.

However, after seeing this movie I didn't have the intoxicated-by-Lucas look I was hoping for. Maybe I've been spoiled because of other, better geek hits like "Lord of the Rings" which managed to be high on action, special effects, and plot. Maybe I am no longer a true geek, and therefore I must surrender my ability to blow my money on comic books and candy. Or maybe this movie really is a piece of crap.

Call me crazy, but one would think that George Lucas would have enough money to hire a writer with some concept of how one individual communicates with the next, because it seems his recent movies are stuffed with scream-out-loud bad dialogue, and none of the witty insults and sarcastic exchanges that made the early movies fun. In "Phantom Menace," a large portion of the popcorn-chucking lines came from the always-annoying Anakin, played by the worst child actor in history who at one point said, "I'm not a slave, I'm a person, and my name is Anakin!" This time around, I wanted to slap George Lucas when Queen Amidala was forced to utter, "I've been dying a little each day since we met." UGH UGH UGH!

Speaking of Amidala, will someone please resuscitate Natalie Portman? It seems the greatest challange to her acting is when she's required to act happy. I understand that her romance with Anakin is supposed to be an important component of the movie (and Lucas is clearly going for a Romeo and Juliet style thing), but does she have to look like she's being beaten with a cattle prod every time she's in a scene with him? The romance also offered the opportunity to showcase one of the worst shots of the film: Lucas filming the shadows of Padme and Anakin as they embrace. Was that because Portman needed a stunt double to handle that level of affection, or was that supposed to be the "deep" shot?
Amidala herself is a great character, and is impressive in that she manages to take care of herself for the most part. Not only does she not look for Anakin to protect her, but she's one step ahead of him in thinking about protecting herself and the people of Naboo, where every leader is aparently under the age of sixteen.

Hayden Christensen's Anakin is far better executed than Portman's Amidala, and it sure is spiffy watching him slowly evolve to Darth Vader. However, newsflash to George Lucas: the eighties called, and they want their hairstyle back. What's up with the mullet/tail combo? I was half expecting Anakin to break into a rousing edition of "Man Eater." In spite of his uber-bad hairstyle and the kill-me-now dialogue he had to work with, Christensen has major heart-throb potential, thanks to Anakin's soulful, torn-up looks at Queen Amidala and his "wee! I'm a hero!" antics.
Unfortunately, the bad dialogue doesn't end with Amidala and Anakin, but rather extends to every character in the film. Even C-3PO doesn't sound right, as he overdoes every line and offers mild insults and expressions totally out of character for the later, polite and neurotic 3PO. The only character that seems consistent is another droid, R2D2, who's awful hard to screw up, since he doesn't talk. Every joke is overdone by three lines and isn't funny in the first place, every argument is melodramatic, Yoda sounds not just grammatically impaired but like he has Tourette's, and the romance is laden with cheeseball false-sentiment that even Freddie Prinze Jr. wouldn't expose us to.
As someone who spent a large portion of my childhood running around outside pretending to be an Ewok, I expect more than a B-movie from Mr. Lucas. The problem is, Lucas knows that he could shoot the entire movie from the back of a station wagon on a hand held VCR recorder and we would still flock to it and hope it sucks less than the last one. Lucas may be proud and boastful of the death grip he has on the Star Wars Empire and how the contents of the scripts are no where but in his head--but based upon "Attack of the Clones" it doesn't seem like there's much in his head to brag about.

Fast Food Nation: The Dark Side of the All-American Meal
Eric Schlosser
Houghton Mifflin: New York, 2002.
Available at Little Professor Book Center for $13.95

Like any lead-bellied American, I spent a large portion of my adolescent years consuming an un-ending variety of food products wrapped in Styrofoam boxes and paper bags. As a real-live grown-up, I was determined to make myself nauseated enough to never eat at such establishments again. So I read Fast Food Nation, the Dark Side of the All-American Meal to see if it would break me of the last of my habits. Mission accomplished.
Eric Schlosser spent several years of his life researching the fast food industry before writing this book. He visited restaurants, spoke with employees and managers, spoke with executives and higher officials, visited slaughterhouses and potato harvesters-he even (gulp) ate the food. He admits that he enjoys the flavor and has no issue with that-the issue is what is done in order to achieve that flavor. Schlosser is also concerned with the strategy of marketing aimed at children, (children who consider Ronald McDonald the 2nd most recognizable fictional-character after Santa Claus), and encouraging kids to eat more of this swill and drink more soda. The basic themes of the book are simple: 1.) meat, as it is produced in the United States is (for the most part), gross. 2.) Our people in power have only been concerned about campaign contributions since Roosevelt 3.) The average American is going to be the size of a small school bus within a couple of years 4.) Leaders of major corporations are evil. This would be what is known as the "duh" point.
Since the golden arches are one of the most recognizable symbols of American culture, Schlosser attacks McDonald's in particular-though he doesn't fail to include their competition, namely Tricon Global (Taco Bell, KFC, and Pizza Hut) and Burger King. These fast food groups are responsible for 90% of new jobs in the USA-- as well as the largest group of minimum wage workers, with the fastest turn-around of employees, as the average employee only holds-out for about three months. Seems odd that they last that long, seeing as though Ray Kroc, one of the founders of McDonalds, has said, "we cannot trust some people who are nonconformists" (5). This is also a guy that has on his web site that Ronald McDonald is "the ultimate authority in everything" (45). Yikes.
As someone who formerly worked in fast food (for four years, breaking that three month barrier and smashing it to pieces baby!), I found the "Behind the Counter" section of the book especially interesting. Employing 3.7 million folks annually (and opening a new restaurant every two hours) the big three is ground zero for sucky employment. According to Schlosser, in the late 1990's, the US minimum wage was 27% lower than it was in the 1960s (73). This is apparently in part due to pressure from the Fast Food kingdom to keep the minimum wage low. Underage kids working overage-hours for piddly pay, and operating machines and performing tasks that only managers should be assigned, they have the added bonus of being treated as less than human by the customers who, no matter how fast the service is provided, never find it fast enough. Know why kids spit in drinks? This is why. (By the way, he offers a super-good tip in judging which restaurants to go to: watch and see if the employees actually eat the food. If not, run.) As someone who worked the 6-3am shift, forty-hours a week, operating a tomato-slicer at the age of 16, I'd like to add an "amen" to that.
Now, one would think that the ultimate response to such deplorable working conditions would be to start a union and try to get some employee muscle going on. Try again. Fast food restaurants use "by-any-means-necessary" tactics to keep unions out-they don't care if they have to close the restaurant. How's that for some fries with that?
Wait, it gets better. Anyone who thinks Stephen King is "the master of horror" obviously hasn't read Schlosser's descriptions of the slaughterhouses, in the "What's in the Meat?" section of the book. These slaughterhouse workers are considered to be performing the most dangerous jobs in the U.S (172). These jobs feature every stomach-turning event imaginable; from calves getting caught in conveyer belts, to people burnings their lungs out with cleaning chemicals, to hacking to death animals while wearing tons of chain mail, to cows eating their own feces and folks getting sick from eating them. And guess what? If one of those workers doing one of those dangerous jobs should die, boy will the slaughterhouse have to pay the piper: a whole 480 bucks. Still hungry? Read the sections on mad-cow disease and everything in between. Can you say, "Pass me the tofu?"

OU Winter Dance Concert

Allow me to begin by saying that I don't know a darn thing about dance, and this makes me both a good and terrible reviewer. Good, because I won't bore and confuse you with a lot of technical mumbo-jumbo and will just get right to the nitty gritty of whether it was enjoyable to watch or not; bad because I can't possibly comprehend the difficulty of certain moves or all that is required to perfectly choreograph a piece.
That having been said, this past weekend I was fortunate enough to score tickets to OU's Winter Dance Concert. I never thought for a moment that I would be witnessing a bunch of graceless, rhythmless, uncoordinated individuals who can't walk and chew gum at the same time. I knew the dancers would perform well, so the question was whether or not the choreography would hold my attention to the stage or towards the minute hand on my watch. For the most part, time passed unnoticed.
The show kicked-off with "Jellybean," choreographed by Mickie Geller. The performance began with approximately twenty-seconds of Spice Girls' music, only to be interrupted by the poetry of Dennis Cornell, which from that moment forward provided the background-sound for the dancers. Like most modern poetry, it wasn't all that good, but it redeemed itself at times with certain repetitions of lines such as "I don't like this, I'm not comfortable with this," and by concluding with wild running around the stage while shouting, "Give me the ball! I'm open!"
Second up to bat were a massive group of people that appeared to be imitating factory workers and folding laundry (I thought of women during World War II), following the more traditional dance route. The performance, entitled "Human Swatch" by Tere O'Connor was a massive effort, and the all-female dancers performed flawlessly.
Then came the stand-out of the show, the performance destined to be the after-math, coffee-shop discussion piece, entitled, "Pass the Salt," the premiere choreography piece of Maura Keefe. If Keefe believes you should come out with a bang, than by golly, mission accomplished. Composed of carefully selected portions from manners-related advice columns and performed to the percussive beats of ridiculous Converse tennis shoes, "Pass the Salt" served as witty social commentary and response to the uber-white- bread rule-book of what one should consider proper. The dancers who performed the piece, Sarah Cook, Maura Gahan, Meaghan Madges and Angela Marie Pawlicki (what a great name), appeared to be genuinely enjoying themselves, posing as the prim while asking questions of the audience such as "what is the proper way for a lady to sit?" then positioning themselves in every pose from the proper to the perverse. The presentation was truly delightful, witty, and original--so much so that the others couldn't help but pale in comparison. School of Dance director Madeleine Scott should take Maura Keefe and the dancers all out for dinner, and beg Keefe not to leave anytime soon--because we need to see more of that.
Following this was "King Servant" choreographed by Ronald K. Brown and performed by dance associate professor Travis D. Gatling. This man is fortunate enough to have the special talent of being able to move in such a way that he greatly resembles water.
After the intermission came the all-important "que pasa" moment of the show, where the viewer was forced to question whether or not Lisa Ford Moulton intended to offend the audience or just has a rather, er, different sense of humor. The first minute or two of "Suite Nothing" threatened to be brilliant, as the dancers performed to the calls of an auctioneer, imitating the gestures of those placing bids. For a brief second I thought the entire performance would be that way, and thought it was the greatest idea since sliced bread, with visions of future techno-songs dancing in my head. No such luck. While the dancers didn't miss a beat and did a damn fine job (as always) the auction drifted into some sort of mocking red-neck romance punctuated by bleating sheep and the horrific laugh of one of the dancers, which apparently was supposed to resemble the sheep. Love story...sheep noises...um, what is that supposed to mean? From there it faded into some confusing collection of not a whole lot, with Gillian Welsh's song "Nobody but the Baby" stripped of its' sexy pulse by frantic dance motions. I was distracted by whether or not what I was viewing was artistically beautiful by a steadily mounting feeling of offense at what appeared to be a rather long mocking of Appalachian culture. I don't know what's worse: that approximately three people in the audience found it funny, or that the choreographer thought it was a good idea.
Due to the crabby mood "Suite Nothing" inspired, there was a chance I wouldn't have much mercy for the following act. Entitled "Spring Green, Dry Leaves," choreographer Marina Gobins Walchli managed to lighten my mood with an incredibly beautiful performance executed by just two dancers, Jessica Burcham and Nicholas Capell. The only disappointing aspect to this performance was the distraction the film projected in the background provided. Instead of enhancing the performance, it grew from being mildly annoying to downright infuriating, and contributed nothing to the performance. Instead, as images of the two dancers played on the screen, (as well as on the stage), they appeared larger-than-life and almost God-like, and since the piece wasn't called "Greek Myths and You" I'd rather they have spared us.
The finale was "(Another) Metal Garden" choreographed by Sean Curran, which featured a lot of people dancing around in shiny things. I like things that are shiny.
It's safe to say that the School of Dance did it again, and the crowd left as one pleased bunch of people. And I don't know about the others in attendance, but at the next show, I'll be keeping my eyes peeled for more from Maura Keefe.

For side bar:
For those of you that grow addicted to the Invisibles, one of the most frustrating things is attempted to decipher the order of the numberless issues. Volumes one and two are divided into six graphic novels; if you want to get your paws on volume three, you're going to need to purchase individual comic books. Thanks to the web, the listing for the comic is as follows:
Vol 1 No.1 Say You Want a Revolution
Vol. 1 No. 2 Apocalipstick
Vol.1 No. 3 Entropy in the UK
Vol. 1 No. 4 Bloody Hell in America
Vol. 2 No. 1 Counting to None
Vol. 2 No. 2 Kissing Mr. Quimper