A few weeks ago, one of the female reporters on the local Santa Barbara news channel, KEYT, was caught stuffing her blouse into her skirt when the camera went to her for a story. I guess she had just come from the bathroom and didn’t have time to pull herself together.
But then things often go awry at our little TV station. Take this clip, for instance.
I just take it for granted that there will be slip-ups here, because we’re a small town. But when I heard about the Bloomberg News thing today, I really laughed. The expression on the poor woman’s face is priceless. She does a great job of covering though – literally.
Michael and I went out tonight with friends to one of our favorite restaurants in Santa Barbara.
Actually, Sly’s is in Carpinteria but thanks to chef James Sly and his wife Annie, it attracts discerning diners from near and far. Never mind that the menu is so packed with tempting items that you wish you could order everything on it. The point is that whatever you do order is cooked perfectly and served by a knowledgeable and friendly waitstaff. Always. That’s what I love about the restaurant: the consistency. Well, I love the ambiance too; for a place that’s upscale it’s never snooty or pretentious.
Tonight I had Dover Sole, which I haven’t ordered in years. It was light and buttery and sweet, and I savored every morsel. Among my side orders was a dish of sugar snap peas, talk about sweet; they tasted as fresh as if they’d just been picked from the fields.
But the best reason to go to Sly’s is their famous sundae.
Oh my God. I don’t know what they put in that hot fudge sauce but it doesn’t taste like any HFS I’ve ever had. And don’t get me started on the whipped cream and candied pecans.
There was only one sour note during the evening. We were halfway into our meal when a party of eight sat down at a nearby table and were incredibly noisy. Why is it that women make the biggest racket when they drink? Their laughter sounded more like shrieks and it forced us to yell across the table at each other. Do people scream like that when they’re home? Probably not. So why must they do it when they’re out? Makes no sense to me.
I wasn’t that excited about going to our Cinema Society screening today. I love all the actors in the movie and director John Madden is the genius behind “Shakespeare in Love,” among other achievements, plus the reviews for the film were good (it opened yesterday in several U.S. markets), but the thought of sitting there for two hours to watch a comedy about a group of London sixtysomethings embarking on a new life in India didn’t thrill me.
Was I ever wrong. I adored this movie – seriously loved it.
Not only are the actors – Judi Dench, Maggie Smith, Tom Wilkinson, Bill Nighy and Dev Patel (from “Slumdog Millionaire”) – a revelation and the India backdrop practically a character of its own, but the script is first rate and I laughed and cried and everything in between.
After the movie, there was a reception for John Madden, who was extremely affable and entertaining. Also with him was the gorgeous young Indian actress, Tena Desae, whose first English-language film this was. She was thrilled to be in Santa Barbara (it’s been a beautiful sunny day here) and asked, “Is this whole place a resort?” “Sometimes it feels that way,” I said. I asked how she first heard about our little hamlet and she said she used to watch the soap opera “Santa Barbara” in Bombay! So funny.
Anyhow, I recommend the movie highly. I defy anyone – young or old – to walk out of the theater without smiling.
It’s been such a privilege to live next door to legendary jazz sax player Charles Lloyd. I didn’t know much about jazz in general when I moved to Montecito, but when I told my more savvy friend Kathy who my neighbor was going to be, she screamed into the phone as if I’d just said “Paul McCartney.” I got schooled.
But Charles isn’t just a superb jazz man; he and his new quartet make magic when they play together.
Recently, Charles teamed up with the woman often called “the Greek Joan Baez,” Maria Farantouri, for a highly praised concert in Athens, which was recorded for a live album appropriately titled “Athens Concert,” and Charles and Maria made their north American debut last night at Santa Barbara’s historic Lobero Theater. I was so jazzed about it (forgive the pun) that I wrote a preview for the local paper.
The concert turned out to be everything I’d hoped: magical, transporting, even awesome (I hate the overuse of that word, but I mean it in the true sense).
I walked out of the Lobero after the applause had died down feeling uplifted and very lucky to have had the experience – the way you’re supposed to feel about a great concert.
Last night was Opening Night at the Santa Barbara Film Festival, an annual 10-day event that I really look forward to. What could be bad about movies, movies and more movies, many of them making their worldwide debuts right here in my hometown?
This year’s kick-off film was the worldwide debut of “Darling Companion,” the latest from director Lawrence Kasdan (“Body Heat,” “The Big Chill,” “Grand Canyon”) starring Diane Keaton, Kevin Kline, Diane Wiest, Richard Jenkins and Sam Shepard. Michael and I headed over to the historic, 2,000-seat Arlington Theater as the crowds gathered to watch celebrities arrive on the red carpet.
Once inside, Kasdan took the stage, thanked us for coming and introduced those who were instrumental in making the film – from his wife and co-screenwriter to his producers to his stars, including Keaton and Kline, who got a huge response from the crowd. I was totally stoked to see the movie, not only because I loved Kasdan’s previous movies and absolutely adore Diane Keaton, but because the story was about a married couple in their 60s having sort of a mid-life crisis. Set against the scenic beauty of the Colorado mountains, the story finds Keaton’s character depressed about the fact that her two daughters are leaving the nest and that her husband (Kline) is a self-involved surgeon who cares more about his patients than his family. Enter a cute dog she finds along the freeway, brings home and becomes attached to. When the couple takes the dog, which Keaton has named “Freeway,” to their summer vacation home for a weekend and Kline, busy on his cell phone, lets him run away during a walk, trouble ensues.
God, how I wanted to love this movie. But it’s so slight and full of trite dialogue and the actors really aren’t given much to do – they play symbols of people, not real people. And then there’s the sappiness factor. While Keaton and Kline get lost searching for the dog, they “rediscover” how much they love each other. Yeah, sure. Like putting back her husband’s dislocated shoulder is really going to fix all their problems. Please.
And the dog? He isn’t even in the movie much, since it’s about searching for him after he goes missing.
I loved last year’s Opening Night film, “Sarah’s Key,” but this year’s landed with a thud. Sadly.
Last month Michael and I went with friends to a new restaurant in town. (Actually, it was a new Montecito outpost of a restaurant that’s been in downtown Santa Barbara for awhile.) On our first visit, we’d found the Pierre Lafond Wine Bistro to be stupidly expensive for food that wasn’t all that transformative, and we vowed not to go back.
But my mother made the trip from New York to celebrate her 95th birthday and she’s here for two weeks. We’ve been out every night taking her to different restaurants (it’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it) and tonight we broke down and said, “There’s this restaurant with tons of potential that’s got a great fireplace and really good service, and even though it wasn’t perfect when it first opened it’s worth another look.” She agreed and off we went. The result?
See that huge bone on Michael’s plate? It’s all that was left of his lamb shank, not counting the remnants of his crispy fried onion rings, and the dish was the best thing he ever ate. As he put it, “the meat was so tender I didn’t even need teeth.”
My mom and I ordered something equally amazing: butternut squash dumplings with wild rice, cauliflower and spinach in a vegetable broth. You probably have to be a veggie lover to love it as much as we did, but it was truly unique – beautifully presented and incredibly flavorful.
Not only was the food much better our second time around at Pierre Lafond Wine Bistro, but the prices weren’t as astronomical. Our waiter, a terrific guy named Ernesto who keep us up to speed on the Giants-49ers game, explained that several customers had complained that the menu was too expensive and business had suffered. So they’d taken note and were making the restaurant a bit more affordable.
I was glad to hear it. Everybody wants to see a local business survive in this economy, but survival is a two-way street. Customers will come if they don’t think they’re being ripped off.
All I know is that we came away happy with our dinners and the Giants won, and all was right with the world.
I never saw the acclaimed London or Broadway productions of “War Horse,” but friends who did advised me to bring Kleenex to tonight’s screening of the film, which opens Christmas Day.
When Michael and I arrived at the theater, we were surprised to see a long line outside. Normally, we just go right in for these screenings and have a previously specified area where we always sit. But Dreamworks decided to turn us into airplane passengers and station security people in the lobby. Not only did we have our cell phones confiscated (or we could walk back to our cars and leave them there), but we were scanned with one of those wands that they use at airports. I guess we were lucky not to be strip-searched. Sheesh. I get that piracy is an issue for movies that haven’t been released, but this was ridiculous.
Once we were seated and the lights went down, I stopped grumbling and let Spielberg and his magic (particularly, his cinematographer and composer) take me away.
The good news? The story of the miraculous horse and the boy who raised him is heart-tugging and beautifully photographed and feels like the best kind of epic – sweeping landscapes, soaring music, emotional moments.
The bad news? Only that for me the number and length of the battle scenes became numbingly boring after awhile. Yes, the movie is called “WAR Horse,” so battle scenes are to be expected. But at some point, if they go on for too long, I just tune out and that’s what happened tonight.
The star of the film was most definitely the horse. He was gorgeous. He was brave. He had personality. He’s the one we truly root for. If there were an Oscar for Best Horse, this one would win.
And yes, I cried. Not as much as Michael did, however. He wasn’t sobbing at the end but almost. As we were leaving the theater, I was teasing him about his tears and he said, “You are a cold-hearted woman.” I must be.
Well, “The Iron Lady,” which opens nationwide in mid-January, wasn’t as deadly as “J. Edgar,” so that was a relief. And it was fun seeing the great Meryl Streep inhabit yet another character with a foreign accent, although even though she was playing Margaret Thatcher I couldn’t help hearing just a hint of Julia Child (something in the high-pitched voice, I guess).
The trouble with making a biopic as a feature film is that they too often feel like they’d be better off on the History Channel or A&E, this one included. It does an admirable job of cutting back and forth between the memory challenged elderly Thatcher and the young daughter of a grocery store owner who rises to power in Britain despite being a woman. And there are scenes that are genuinely affecting as the elderly Thatcher struggles to deal with the loss of her husband and the distant relationships with her two children.
But it was sooooooooooooooo slow. And repetitive. And just plain dull. Even in nonfiction, you need drama to keep the audience hooked, and there was precious little drama in “The Iron Lady.”
As the credits rolled, I turned to Michael and said, “Why did anybody think telling this story was a good idea?”
Does this woman look like she inflicts pain and suffering on others?
Of course not. She looks sweet and innocent and gentle.
Ha!
She’s Jenny Schatzle, and she’s a personal trainer in Santa Barbara – not just any personal trainer but one who leads fitness bootcamps that are all the rage here.
And now she’s my personal trainer too. Yup, I decided it was time to do more than take my occasional walks. I want definition in my arms, let alone actual muscles. I want legs that don’t wobble when I try to balance on them. Most of all, I want a flat stomach and a butt that doesn’t sag and a healthier lifestyle, and Jenny says she’ll make those dreams come true.
We had our first training session yesterday, and I’m so sore I can hardly type this post. She had me doing sit-ups and push-ups and squats and lunges – over and over and without stopping – and at one point I yelled, “You’re a total dominatrix!”
She laughed and said, “Okay, now do another thirty more of those.”
The plan is for me to work out with her once a week and to do her exercises on my own on the other days. We’ll see how long this lasts. My heart is there. I just hope my body can handle it.
I had a Cinema Society screening today, and the film was “Rampart” – an indie hit on the festival circuit that opens in wide release in January.
A raw, inside look at a dirty cop in LA’s notorious Rampart district, the film is a character study more than a story with much plot. It showcases the talent of Woody Harrelson, who’s in virtually every scene and plays a horrible guy whose world has changed even as he remains a relic of a time past. It’s an amazing performance – an Oscar nom for Best Actor is likely – and he’s surrounded by a terrific ensemble that includes Robin Wright, Sigourney Weaver, Anne Heche, Cynthia Nixon, Steve Buscemi, Ned Beatty and Ice Cube.
If only I’d liked the movie. It wasn’t the violence that got to me. It was the director’s insistence on being pretentious and arty – from camera work that jumps around enough to make you seasick to the non-ending ending, another one of those “let’s leave it to the audience to interpret where this goes.” And it was much too long. Seriously. How many scenes in bars did we need? How many closeups of Woody riding in his police car? I kept wanting to yell, “CUT!”
Still, “Rampart” is getting a lot of love from early reviewers. Here’s a clip from the event at the Toronto Film Festival.
After our screening, Woody showed up with the director for a Q&A. I wondered if he’d be stoned, given his often-mentioned fondness for weed. He didn’t zone out on us. On the contrary. He cried. His daughter was in the audience, and he kept choking up whenever he looked at her, finally telling us, “I’m sorry but I haven’t seen her in months.” Who knew he was so emotional.
He told us how he researched the part by spending time with two cops in LA and learning about their culture. He said he never thought he’d be able to play a cop, let alone this particular bad cop, but he lost 29 pounds for the role and really immersed himself in it. As I said, his name will be mentioned at Oscar time even if the movie itself gets lost in the shuffle.
If it’s rolling around in my head, it’ll find its way here – from what I’m writing, reading and watching to what and who makes me laugh. Also look for news of upcoming projects, answers to readers' questions, even recipes from friends!
