Know Roe? No? I didn’t really either till last August, when I saw Roe Knows Best perform solo in a sweltering New Jersey basement. (Previously, I’d only heard a couple of her songs on Pizza Bagel Records compilations.) Now, I attend a lot of shows — people often question the sheer feasibility of it — but suffice to say, when the dust settled and I put Roe Knows Best on my 2023 best “new-to-me” list, it was based on significant research.
Caught Roe solo acoustic again this past May — same basement, though much less hot — and was thrilled to learn she’d be releasing a new single this summer: “Capture the Flag” which is out now! Hearing it played live by Roe O’Brien twice on her own, the song stood out as a miniature indiepop gem, complete with a genre-approved nod to the innocence of childhood.
Going into the studio with two members of emo heroes The Early November (guitarist Ace Enders who also co-produced with Roe, and drummer Dillon Wray), the song was fleshed out with post-rock muscle. But rather than overpowering Roe’s lyrics, the added mid-tempo instrumentation actually highlights her message of hope and persistence. Roe’s clean, clear vocals float above it all, with an almost-yodel that evokes the ghost of Hank Williams.
And just when you think the song is going to kick into overdrive with crashing drums and a majestic guitar solo… it ends. You’re left wanting more, yet at the same time are totally satisfied. It’s a neat trick.
If you saw A Quiet Place II, you’ll recall that movie began with a flashback to Day One of the alien invasion. But that was Day One in the suburbs. Quiet Place III is Day One in the gritty city. With a kitty.
And Lupita Nyong’o. No Emily Blunt, no Cillian Murphy, no John Krasinski. (Kraz, who wrote and directed the previous installment, here is only a producer with a story co-credit.) So it’s up to Nyong’o to carry the film — and carry her pet cat — and she handles herself admirably. She has such an expressive face, so important in this predominantly silent movie. Nyong’o switches seamlessly from petulance to determination to despair and many emotional stops in-between.
The plot, as it were: Sam (Nyong’o) is a patient in a hospice facility, on a field trip to Manhattan. (Alex Wolff, as a hospice staffer, has some nice moments, but the rest of the cast is pretty generic.) And that’s when the noise-canceling space creatures first attack. The conventional wisdom is to evacuate the city. But Sam, who is already dying, has a different goal to pursue.
After that tremendous first Quiet Place film, it’s been slowly diminishing returns. Yes, the aliens are still genuinely scary, and Nyongo’s story arc almost approaches something artful/thoughtful. Too bad writer/director Michael Samoski can’t really deliver on that front.
It occurs to me that producer Krasinski could feasibly churn out an endless stream of Quiet Place: Day One releases: Day One at the 7-11, Day One at a Lonely Science Outpost Near the Arctic Circle, Day One and Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein, etc. etc. And now I’m really terrified.
The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME] Billy Ward & the Dominoes — “Sixty-Minute Man” Sleater-Kinney — “One More Hour” Sparks — “Amateur Hour” The Bug Club — “In My Hour of Song” The Clientele — “An Hour Before the Light” The Plimsouls — “Zero Hour” The Sundays — “My Finest Hour” Wilson Pickett — “In the Midnight Hour” Marshall Crenshaw — “Only an Hour Ago” Grant Lee Buffalo — “The Shining Hour” Frank Sinatra — “My Shining Hour” Wolfmanhattan Project — “H Hour” Elvis Costello — “Favourite Hour” Pearl Jam — “Man of the Hour” Saturday Looks Good to Me — “Last Hour”
Jack Silbert proudly records the Aquarium podcast in Hoboken, NJ.
The Who — “Happy Jack” [THEME] Art Blakey — “The Egyptian” Chambers Brothers — “Time Has Come Today” [LP version] Stephen Malkmus & the Jicks — “Real Emotional Trash” Emma Swift — “Sad-Eyed Lady of the Lowlands” Turing Machine — “Swiss Grid”
Jack Silbert proudly records the Aquarium podcast in Hoboken, NJ.
This film should not be confused with the 1984 flick Electric Dreams starring Virginia Madsen and Maxwell Caulfield, nor with the 1968 Philip K. Dick novel Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, basis for the 1982 movie Blade Runner. However, it does involve animals, robots, dreams, and the 1980s.
Robot Dreams is animated (a 2024 best animated feature Oscar nominee, in fact). It is also a silent film, except for ambient noise, music, and occasional grunts and shouts of “hey!” In a world of animals, we meet Dog, who is lonely in mid-1980s New York City. So he orders and assembles a Robot, soon his BFF.
Because stories need conflict, Dog and Robot become separated. At this point, I wasn’t really (no pun intended:) drawn in emotionally, though I was impressed with the level of detail in the animation. (I noticed a couple of English words on signs accidentally written in French; turns out this was a joint Spanish/French production.)
However, as the conflict became a bit more complex, I noticed the characters and their predicaments were growing on me. And I was completely sold when Dog meets a cool female downtown Duck, they hop on her motorcycle, and the background music is “Let’s Go” by my beloved Feelies. (We see that Dog is really hung up on Duck when in his apartment, you notice he’s bought the Feelies’ The Good Earth and Talking Heads’ Remain in Light.)
Robot Dreams is a sweet, simple story that covers some grown-up emotions. It seems appropriate for either adults or children, or when it’s streaming, leave it on for the dog when you’re not home.
I wasn’t familiar with Dory Previn. Even the 2006 song “Dory Previn” by one of my favorite groups, Camera Obscura, didn’t inspire me to look up Dory Previn, and the name slipped out of my head. I must’ve seen her name multiple times, yet it never stuck.
Until February, that is, when I witnessed singer/songwriter Julia Greenberg perform a couple of songs by Ms. Previn. Though dating from the early 1970s, I was struck by the modern sensibility (let’s call it the Liz Phair era) of the lyrics. Plus, the songs were good! Right up my alley. I wanted to know more.
As luck would have it, Julia Greenberg has co-directed a documentary about Dory Previn, and it is excellent. Of course, it doesn’t hurt for a documentary to have a fascinating subject, and oh boy does Previn fit the bill. Girl from Woodbridge, New Jersey with a rough, domineering dad suddenly finds herself paired with André Previn (him I’d heard of!) writing songs for big-time Hollywood movies (two I’ve seen: Tall Story, 1960, and Inside Daisy Clover, 1965); he wrote the music, she wrote the words. It’s Hollywood, so they fall in love and get married.
All’s mostly fine until André leaves Dory for Mia Farrow (post-Sinatra, pre-Woody). Having previously weathered a mental breakdown, this turn of events sends Dory into a tailspin, and the documentary kicks into another compelling gear.
I won’t reveal more of Dory’s story, but suffice to say, rather than being crippled by mental illness, Dory Previn reinvents herself and thrives. (Good timing, too, as the ’60s gave way to the loosey-goosey 1970s.) And this is what sets On My Way to Where apart from mad-genius music documentaries such as The Devil and Daniel Johnston, You’re Gonna Miss Me (Roky Erickson), andHave You Got It Yet? (Syd Barrett). Dory Previn has a very different relationship with what’s going on in her mind.
To capture all this in a coherent and entertaining fashion, Julia Greenberg teamed with experienced filmmaker Dianna Dilworth (writer/director of the well-received mellotron documentary Mellodrama). The directors had full access to Ms. Previn’s archives, including thousands of pages of journals. One thing I was riveted by in the journal pages shown: Dory’s wordplay could teeter out of control, turning a word every which way, breaking words down and building them up, almost trapping her in a loop. I was immediately reminded of Woody Guthrie’s writings as Huntington’s chorea ate away at his brain — wild creativity devolving into gibberish. Yet once again, Dory is different, keeping the wolves of mental illness at bay.
To visually bring Ms. Previn’s journals to life, Greenberg and Dilworth deploy their secret weapon: esteemed veteran animator Emily Hubley. Previn’s simple character drawings are a perfect launching pad for Hubley to take flight, filling the screen with whimsy and awe, thoughts colliding, flitting this way and that. So much of Hubley’s work has been inspired by and paired with music, so this film is an ideal project for her. Her animated segments raise it to yet another level.
Currently on the festival circuit, I cannot recommend this documentary highly enough. Keep your eyes open for it. If you are a fan of glamorous old Hollywood, of ’70s singer/songwriters, of strong, independent, inspirational women who are survivors — not to mention a unique take on mental health — Dory Previn: On My Way to Where will absolutely captivate you. Personally, I know I’ll never again forget the name Dory Previn.
“The New Scooby-Doo Movies” [ALTERNATE THEME] Elvis Presley — “Suspicious Minds” [Billboard No. 1, 11/1/69] The 5th Dimension — “Wedding Bell Blues” [No. 1, 11/8/69 – 11/22/69] The Beatles — “Come Together/Something” [double A-side No. 1, 11/29/69] Steam — “Na Na Hey Hey Kiss Him Goodbye” [No. 1, 12/6/69 – 12/13/69] Diana Ross & the Supremes — “Someday We’ll Be Together” [No. 1, 12/27/69] The Jackson 5 — “I Want You Back” No. 1, 1/31/70 – 2/7/70] The Black Keys — “This Is Nowhere” [long-distance dedication from Jimmy to the Mapman] Sly & the Family Stone — “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Again)/Everybody Is a Star” [double A-side No. 1, 2/14/70 – 2/21/70] Simon & Garfunkel — “Bridge Over Troubled Water” [No. 1, 2/28/70 – 4/4/70] The Beatles — ”Let It Be” [No. 1, 4/11/70 – 4/18/70] The Jackson 5 — “ABC” [No. 1, 4/25/70 – 5/2/70] The Beatles — “The Long and Winding Road” [No. 1, 7/13/70 – 7/20/70]
Jack Silbert proudly records the Aquarium podcast in Hoboken, NJ.
Tuesday is the day to go to the Clairidge Theater in Montclair, because that’s discount day. But we who are truly in the know (and who have a member discount anyway) will go on Wednesdays, when no one is around. (They all went on Tuesday.) Things didn’t work out for me this week, however. Wednesday, as you know, was a national holiday. But what I couldn’t predict was a kid’s birthday party at a screening of Inside Out 2. (Since returning under new ownership during the pandemic, the Clairidge has been showing mainstream releases in addition to their standard indie fare.) Would I ever make it to the concession stand behind this giggling pack of children ordering Gummi Worms and Hi-C fruit punch? Maybe I shouldn’t have picked Wednesday to see Tuesday.
I had the last laugh, however. Because theater 5 was nice and quiet and, in your face, kiddies: My movie even had a talking parrot!
OK, the parrot represented Death, but, still. This is a pretty fascinating movie anchored by two wonderful performances. The story, at its most basic, is a mother (Julia Louis-Dreyfus) trying to cope with the imminent death of her teenage daughter Tuesday (Lola Petticrew). Oh, and there’s a parrot, who is the Grim Reaper, continually flying around the world killing living things whose time is up: the old, the sick, the injured. Beg, plead, bargain, but it’s no use. The parrot — haunted by your pain — will not be swayed.
Until he meets Tuesday, that is. Pale, frail, wheelchair-bound, labored-breathing Tuesday. The parrot does not grant her a new lease on life, per se — but is moved by Tuesday’s kindness. (Some of this sequence is stupid.) The parrot puts just enough extra time on the clock so Tuesday can say goodbye to her mom. And then a whole series of things happen that I won’t spoil.
Julia Louis-Dreyfus is as good as she’s ever been, madly rotating through the five stages of grief, while still being the sharp, funny Louis-Dreyfus we count on. Lola Petticrew, who is new to me, is terrific. Her Tuesday is proud, stubborn, innocent, awe-struck, afraid, but never self-pitying. (They’re in England and Tuesday has a British accent but Mom doesn’t and there’s no mention of Dad or their backstory, and it honestly doesn’t matter.) You could almost take the parrot out of the equation, but it does put Death in a larger context — death is everywhere, always — while pointing out that to the mourning, nothing and no one else exist in the world. It’s just the dying, the grieving, and the parrot.
I became a wee bit angry at the movie very late in the game, when the script kind of claimed to have all the answers. Um, ya don’t, debut feature writer/director Daina Oniunas-Pusic. Let the mystery be, as Iris DeMent once sang. (Or at least wait a little longer in your career before waxing so philosophic.) But overall, I really appreciated this offbeat yet still affecting meditation on death and the mother-daughter bond. And now for some strange reason, I want a cracker.
The name Christopher Wilcha looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Ah, but years ago, someone tipped me off to his directorial debut, the 1999 first-person documentary The Target Shoots First, about working at the Columbia Record Club during the “alternative rock” era. (I watched it on Vimeo.) And in 2007, I was a regular viewer of the This American Life TV show, which he also directed.
And now he’d directed Flipside, supposedly a documentary about a record store in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey, which I’ve visited. Wilcha worked there years ago with my friend Tracy, and she’s in the movie. This was a must-see!
Wilcha, who is a couple of years younger than me, clings to/is haunted by a cornerstone belief of Gen X: Never sell out. But he makes a fair point by asking: How can one pay rent/eat food/get married/raise children/get healthcare/etc. etc. without selling out to some extent? Wilcha ended up starting a family and directing commercials, but could never full shake the dream of being a documentarian. However, bad luck and “life getting in the way” has resulted in countless hours of footage for unfinished documentaries. It seems Wilcha spends a lot of time questioning his own choices. And that is what this documentary is actually about. I think.
Flipside explores these ideas — having goals/dreams, pursuing them, the sacrifices we make for chasing dreams, and often failing regardless. Wilcha does this by revisiting some of his old unused doc footage and also literally revisiting Flipside Records to perhaps finally begin a documentary he suggested years earlier. (How to save this failing, beloved old shop with an owner who doesn’t want to modernize, clean, etc.?) We also meet dying jazz photographer Herman Leonard, finally celebrated for his work after decades in semi-obscurity. And here’s film of This American Life contributor Starlee Kine, crippled by writer’s block. Or how about her boss Ira Glass who pursued an odd creative outlet while experiencing personal problems. And then there’s Judd Apatow, and David “Deadwood” Milch. So many tales of failure and illness — it started to bum me out!
There were many high-interest subjects in this film for me. I didn’t even mention Uncle Floyd (who I’ve interviewed, thank you), or a quick glimpse of the beautiful old WMCA building, and I could swear I heard someone mention Weckerman. But when all was said and done, I felt more like I’d sat through 90 minutes of therapy for Christopher Wilcha, instead of one real focused documentary for myself. So in tribute to him, I’m going to leave this review unfin
There’s been a lot of hubbub the past couple of months about Timothée Chalamet being in Hoboken to film the upcoming Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown. And yet there’s been zero hubbub about a current major motion picture that is actually set in Hoboken. And that motion picture is called Ezra.
When I saw the trailer for this tale of a cross-country road trip by a father and his autistic son — starring Bobby Canavale as the dad and Robert DeNiro as the granddad — I knew I would see it (those are two of my guys!) and I hoped it would be good. Because there was a decent chance it would not be very good at all.
The director is Tony (Metro) Goldwyn (Mayer), who had no trouble casting name actors. In addition to Cannavale and DeNiro, we have Rose Byrne as Cannavale’s ex-wife, Whoopi Goldberg as his manager, a very likeable Rainn Wilson as his best bud, Vera Farmiga looking uncharacteristically “earth mother” as his long-ago flame, plus a cameo or two. Goldwyn himself plays Byrne’s current beau. And young William A. Fitzgerald, a neurodivergent actor, does a solid job — and importantly, isn’t annoying — as Ezra.
One potential pitfall the filmmakers do avoid: This could’ve been irredeemably sappy, and it isn’t. The early going, with the loving but frustrated parents arguing over the best type of school for Ezra, feels especially real. Unfortunately, much of the movie doesn’t feel very true-to-life, and the writing could’ve been sharper. One glaring example: Cannavale is supposed to be a quality stand-up comedian and former TV writer, yet yet the script doesn’t make him seem very funny.
So, not great, but the movie means well, is watchable enough, and was filmed in New Jersey. And though no scene were actually filmed in Hoboken, my Mile Square pals can take comfort in shots of the hospital, the police station, and the PATH station, and even a mention of the 14th St. Viaduct.
Jack Silbert, curator