Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven

By J.D. Lafrance

In retrospect, Days of Heaven (1978) can be seen as a transitional film for its director, Terrence Malick, whose first film, Badlands (1973), was a fictionalized account of Charles Starkweather, a young man who went on a killing spree with his teenage girlfriend. Malick’s follow up to Days of Heaven was an adaptation of James Jones’ World War II novel, The Thin Red Line (1998). While Badlands was a fairly straightforward film, Days of Heaven marked a significant evolution in Malick’s thematic preoccupations as he explored man’s relationship with the environment and the resulting effect. The filmmaker also examined the destructive relationships between people. This is all depicted in an observational style reminiscent of a documentary albeit with some of the most stunning cinematography ever put on film.

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Caldecottt Medal Announcements, The Heiresses and Choral Art Society of New Jersey Concert on Monday Morning Diary (January 28)

Caldecott Medal Winner

 

by Sam Juliano

Caldecott Medal Winners Announced!

In the end it was the ravishing masterpiece Hello Lighthouse by the remarkably gifted Sophie Blackall which was named the Caldecott Medal winner in Seattle on Monday morning. This is the lovely Ms. Blackall’s second Caldecott Gold over the past few years.  Caldecott Honors went to Alma and How She Got Her Name (Juana Martinez-Neal); A Big Mooncake for Little Star (Grace Lin);  The Rough Patch (Brian Lies) and Thank You Omu (Oge Mora), all fabulous and deserving books.  My review of Hello Lighthouse appeared at Wonders in the Dark a few days ago.  My series ended after twenty-nine (29) essays.

R.I.P Michel Legrand, one of the greatest film composers of all-time.

Lucille and I attended a fabulous classical concert on Sunday afternoon titled “Shakespeare in Song” at the United Methodist Church in New Providence, New Jersey.  I will be penning a full review on it this coming week.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: The Field

 

by Sam Juliano

Growing up in a town in Northern Jersey just a stone’s throw from Manhattan back in the 60’s and 70’s, soccer or futbal as it continues to be called by some passionate advocates had scarcely taken hold.  The rage on the sporting front was baseball, American football and basketball in that order.  The closest game to soccer in concept and execution was ice hockey which placed fourth in order of popularity.  As the once prohibitively Italian-American town’s ethnicity re-defined itself starting in the late 80’s, the world’s most popular sport began to take hold.  Decades later the community is 85% Hispanic and soccer has effectively become the town’s game of choice by a wide margin.  Baseball and American football leagues once thriving have long disbanded and the one specious field, designed for the community’s Babe Ruth League is now a lighted soccer field in operation every day from the time school closes till 10:00 and on the weekend from early morning till late at night.  Soccer is now all the rage much as it is in one 2018’s most infectious and immersive picture books, The Field by Baptiste Paul, with illustrations by Jacqueline Alcantara.  The latter’s exotic front cover, a lush olive green tapestry showing the game’s all-encompassing allure to young and old, replicated on the dust jacket is in the humble opinion of this reviewer the most exquisite of the hundreds of picture books released this past year.  And there have been a number of front cover gems to be sure.    The front end papers accentuate soccer’s hold on St. Lucia on the Domenican Islands where the game spills over from a cow field to an adjoining forest.  Alcantara’s sumptuous color blends bring this exotic locale into the classroom or home where The Field is being read and each of the illustrations in the book whether they are vignette style, full page or double page canvases they are vibrant and bursting with energy.  Paul effectively integrates the Creole language, which is this area of the world is heavily French based with some Spanish, Portuguese and English, by placing Creole next to English in the text throughout.   At the outset a take charge youth wearing white who was first seen in prominent form on the cover make his rounds to recruit players.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: They Say Blue

by Sam Juliano

Jillian Tamaki and her cousin Mariko Tamaki were awarded a surprise Caldecott Honor a few year back for their 2015 graphic novel, This One Summer,  The win was the first in the history of the awards for that form and for many represented one of the boldest steps forward for the committee, who risked controversy by bestowing the prestigious prize on a book squarely aimed at the uppermost end of the Caldecott audience, the earliest teenagers.  The book featured mature themes and very strong language, yet few could deny it’s brilliance both from a writing and artistic perspective.   Of course, bringing attention to the graphic novel from a  group almost exclusively attuned to the conventional picture book (understandably) was a major inroad towards pictorial diversity and it has opened the door to other possibilities on that front.  But those impressed with that work and other books by these exceedingly talented Japanese-Americans could never have envisioned the masterpiece that appeared in picture book land in early 2018.  To be sure They Say Blue is a solo effort by Jillian, who illustrated This One Summer.  The book has earned spectacular raves, is poised as one of the front runners for the one of the Caldecotts to be announced on the morning of Monday, January 28th, 2019 (a short time from the publication of this review) and hand landed on the end of the year Best-Of lists posted by children’s book critics and sites as well as a major picture book award last year from the Boston Horn Book, whose rules have some time overlap.  At least one major luminary, who has served on previous committees, Travis Jonker, has predicted the book would be in the winner’s circle when the announcements are made in a post at the School Library Journal.  Few books released this past year are as beautiful on every turn of the page, nor are as fully attuned and immersed in the theme which is maintained from title page to the final glorious spread.  The method to produce this frame-worthy art are says Tamaki, on the dedication page at the end is a combination of acrylic paint on watercolor paper and photoshop.  This intricate method has produced breathtaking illustrations which are diverse, multicolored and textured to a fault.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: Alma and How She Got Her Name

by Sam Juliano

I Am Heathcliff –  Catherine Earnshaw, Wuthering Heights

Centuries ago long names were all the rage.  The immortal composer Mozart was actually baptized as Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilis Mozart, but that’s small potatoes compared to the great Spanish painter Picasso whose full name was “Pablo Diego Jose Francisco de Paula Juan Nepomuceno Maria de los Remedios cipriando de la Santisimo Trinidad Ruiz y Picasso.”  Long names are associated with reverence, respect and as a tribute to family members dating back generations, many of whom made a difference in the upbringing and maturation of their offspring.  Those children sporting extended names may well at some early stage inquire about their origins and a parent’s full disclosure is one of those indelible moments in a life one can deem priceless.  In Juana Martinez-Neal’s affectionate and moving debut picture book as author-illustrator, Alma and How She Got Her Name is a loving chronicle of familial connection, spurred by curiosity but leading to an understanding of the past and the people who molded their children, grandchildren and nieces.  In Martinez-Neal’s stirring homage it is revealed that every part of this hereditary equation brings to bear a quality into a melting pot of positive traits and convictions.  Once the back stories are revealed the names take on an even more special meaning.  Martinez-Neal’s graphite, colored pencils and print transfers on handmade textured paper seems the ideal way to negotiate a story mainly set in the past, and what with old photo illustrations there is a scrapbook quality in the presentation.  Accentuating this aspect is parched beige and pink, which underline gender and a deep emotional current.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: Bub

 

by Sam Juliano

The last time the surname of Robert received titular misrepresentation was only a bit over a year ago when a nasal distortion caused by a nasty cold resulted in a stricken boy repeatedly voicing it to alert his “Mom” in Audrey Vernick, Liz Garton Scanlon and Matthew Cordell’s irresistible Bob, Not Bob!  That is until early 2018 when talented Pacific Northwest author-artist Elizabeth Rose Stanton’s wildly popular classroom favorite Bub made its debut.  A green, pointy eared humanoid markedly androgynous, “Bub” inherited his identification via a seemingly innocuous spelling error.  On the very first day of school he handed in an arithmetic assignment, and failed to close the top of his “O”, and after his teacher calls him “Bub” the name took hold.  As it is Bub is the middle child in a family of civilized monsters physically distinguished by a protruding bottom front tooth, and the only male offspring.  Hanging on a living room wall are framed photos of some favorite family monsters like Frankenstein and a green-eyed cyclops and in a delightful homage the esteemed protagonists of Stanton’s last two best-selling picture books, Henny and Peddles.  The oldest of the children is Bernice.  On a page giving young readers a maiden look at the family dynamic, “Maw” is partial to sunflowers and wears a red necklace, “Paw” is white collar minimalist, while Bernice, who had taken up the guitar is a straight A student.  She is also smitten with red bows, which dot her dress and tie her hair in a pigtail.  Bob sports a blue apron and favors toys, crayons and paper airplanes.  The toddler is a girl who is referred to as “The Baby” bereft of any agreement on a name.  A pink head band features a pastel red flower and her cut dress is multicolored.  Mind you the parents in this loving household could be rambunctious when they couldn’t firm anything up and their debates on a name, Gertrude!  Gisell! Gabriella!  Gladys! were deafening.  In a splendid touch that would surely win approval from the late picture book humorist James Marshall (The Stupids Step Out)  even the characters on the wall frames can’t take the bombast.  Some wear headphones, ear plus and bolts, and the others muffle the sound with their fingers.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: Run Wild

by Sam Juliano

 I believe that God made me for a purpose. But He also made me fast, and when I run, I feel His pleasure.”    

     –Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire (1981)

An adult reader of David Covell’s impressionist tone poem of a picture book Run Wild might initially conjure up the British Best Picture winner Chariots of Fire, which features two Olympic runners who earn gold medals for their country in track.  One of them, an English Jew runs to overcome prejudice, the other a Scottish missionary runs for the glory of God.  A fleeting recollection, but one in the spirit of a children’s book reveling in the most sensory of human activity.  The book’s creator of course isn’t looking at race, religion or underlying motives, he is in fact stripping rhyme or reason from this equation to document what a child would see, hear and feel during an outdoor marathon that will bring geographically connection to various terrains, geological obstacles and the elements.  Covell’s propositions would be daunting even to the most fleet-footed of youthful runners, much less the modest achievers featured in a all-encompassing rendez vous with Mother Nature.  Named one of the Ten Best Picture Books of 2018 in late November by the prestigious New York Times committee Run Wild is a watercolor tour de force, in fact it’s bleeding images almost seem overly saturated, whether exhibiting rabbit ears drawn in thick brush strokes like something you’d see in an Elementary School art class or cotton candy grey clouds and captions his free-spirited jaunts with handwritten printed text to underscore that running is a bohemian endeavor that should never be comprised by time, extent or restrictions.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: Hello Lighthouse

by Sam Juliano

The lighthouse is a national treasure.  Though few are now functional, their appearance is a reminder of how they once served as guardian and protector, alerting ships of rocky coastlines and dating back to antiquity signaling the entry to a port, which bereft of their guidance would compel ships to reach their destination under the dangerous cloak of darkness.  In the modern era they have been noted to help vessels navigate reefs and to assist in aerial negotiation.  It is no wonder that this unique architectural marvel, a circular tower with an inside spiral staircase and lofty conservation deck has fascinated people from all walks of life and has been a focus in the arts.  Lighthouses have been prominent in paintings, in literature and in film and song.  The lighthouse in Martin Scorsese’s Shutter Island provides a rather sinister set piece while in one of English writer Virginia Woolf’s most celebrated novels, To the Lighthouse, set in Scotland,  it is the integral marker in the work’s dramatic arc.  A plethora of historic lighthouses dot the globe, and a fair representation are in the United States.  The resplendent mahogany red Ponce de Leon lighthouse in Florida is quite the site to behold, the Boston Light beacon on the coast of Brewer Island in the Boston Harbor in the oldest in the nation and the famous blue and white-striped Cape Hatteras lighthouse at the outermost point on the North Carolina cape is the tallest brick structure in the US.  Lighthouses have always ranked among the most featured subjects on postage stamps.  Perhaps the most popular of these is the 29 cent Sandy Hook, New Jersey Lighthouse stamp in the Americana series releases by the postal service in April of 1978.  A sublime drawing of the lighthouse in dark blue on a light blue base and the two side “Lonely Beacon Protecting Those Upon the Sea” curving around the left side and bottom border made is a big favorite of collectors and lighthouse fans.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: Julian is a Mermaid

by Sam Juliano

The gloriously phantasmagorical Julian is a Mermaid invites a bevy of interpretations.  Some see it as a young boy with a crush on mermaids, perhaps inspired by love for a certain Disney animated feature, others see a child with a budding fashion sense who may aspire to become a designer, while others have little doubt this is a transgender tale of a boy who realizes at a young age that he wants to become a woman.  While all three are persuasive individually and could happen in succession, I am not fully convinced that the book’s gifted author-artist and Broadway thespian was aiming to document gender confusion in a scene-specific sense.  While that explication is bold and worthy of validation in view of how this narrative plays out, Love is cognizant of her target audience who overwhelmingly would not grasp or understand such a provocative social issue.  Love pleas for the acceptance of diversity in our culture and the common understanding that children may be governed by inward hankerings, which in turn will lead to a freedom of expression, one that shouldn’t be judged and ridiculed.  In fact it deserves applause.  Above all Julian is a daring and imaginative boy who will beat to his own drum.  He recalls the protagonist in the 2014 release Morris Micklewhite and the Tangerine Dress by Christine Baldacchio and Isabelle Malenfant, which features a little boy with verve and commitment. Morris loves wearing the tangerine dress in his classroom’s dress-up center.  Some will conclude Julian is effeminate while others will liken his flight of fancy as an acute desire to be perceived a someone other than himself.  The 1999 Disney Channel Original Movie The Thirteenth Year presents Cody Griffin, a boy adopted by a mermaid mother, who finds himself undergoing a metamorphosis.  Julian is a Mermaid celebrates its subject, but remarkable Love never tips her interpretive hand.

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Caldecott Medal Contender: A Big Mooncake for Little Star

by Sam Juliano

               Moon, high and deep in the sky
               Your light sees far,
               You travel around the wide world,
               and see into people’s homes.      – Hymn to the Moon, Rusalka, (1901)

Grace Lin’s lustrous A Big Mooncake for Little Star compellingly recalls the 1940 Caldecott Medal winning Many Moons by James Thurber and Louis Slobodkin  and a far more recent picture book by Ida Perle,  The Moon Is Going to Addy’s House.  Though each of the three books in this equation yield fantastical propensities and designate a central role to our oft-referenced celestial neighbor, so prominently featured in song, poetry and art (Van Gogh’s The Starry Night, perhaps most famously of all) they are markedly different.  Addy’s especially incandescent moon  pops up anywhere and everywhere, and even comes close to being held, a desire Princess Lenore demanded of her father in Slobodkin’s classic.  The moon in Lin’s book is symbolic in a culinary sense, but one that craftily documents the changes phases for children who might benefit with an appealing fantastical explanation before being eased into the astronomical truth.  For adult readers it is an utter delight and a sly wallowing in a fantastical premise.  A Big Mooncake for Little Star is a story that that is said to reflect Chinese stories about the moon.  In an interview the author explained one story that inspired her book – that of the rabbit that lives on the moon. According to Chinese legend, if you tell the rabbit a wish, he will whisper it to the moon goddess who may grant it.

The book’s sleek black base is what will invariably attract the attention of readers young and old.  The choice has a three-fold allure:  first, it accentuates any other color, especially yellow for incomparable contrast, secondly it exhibits a natural kinship with imaginary outer space narrative, and lastly it emboldens a sense of immediacy, giving the book an otherworldly visual scheme, transporting the viewer from the domestic surroundings where the events are played out to a limbo, where reality shares a claim with the surreal for center stage.  Lin explains on the copyright page that “the illustrations for this book were done in Turner Design Gouache on Arches rag watercolor paper, and her application of luminous white typography is perhaps the most attractive in that department of any picture book released this past year.  With mother and daughter dressed in starry pajamas near a stove, the former equipped with oven mitts pulled out the flat Mooncake of the title.  The mother, concerned the baking will be undone by her daughter’s overindulgence tells her:  Now, Little Star, your Mooncake took us a long time to bake, so let’s see if you can make it last awhile.  Can you remember not to touch this Big Mooncake until I tell you to?  The child answers “Yes Mama!” but veteran readers might be thinking about the little chicken in David Ezra Stein’s Caldecott Honor winning Interrupting Chicken, which documented a litany of false promises.  Still, with their garb fully attuned to each other one might be loathe to thing is such terms.  In moon-shaped and colored vignettes Little Star retired to her teeth brushing, face washing and bed-snuggling, the latter with a book and and stuffed bunny before losing consciousness in horizontal mode, but as most readers would have a hard time not expecting she wakes up in the middle of the night.

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