BIG SCREEN: The Tree of Life Revieux (Rated PG-13)

If you’re sick of the same ol’ formulaic movies, then The Tree of Life is for you.

And that’s probably the simplest, most concise statement you’ll read in this whole review. It’s just that kind of movie.

Let me see if I can sum it up in one sentence: It’s writer/director Terrence Malick’s highly conceptual interpretation of the existential crisis people face when they question their faith and ponder the meaning of life. Does that sound like academic babble? If you’ve ever seen his other movies, like The Thin Red Line, you understand how hard it is to describe his work in simple terms. But I’ll give it another shot.

There are two major components to The Tree of Life that are broken down and shuffled together like a deck of cards. One is a storyline that lets the audience hear a 1950s Texas family’s inner thoughts/prayers/dialogues with God as they each try to make sense of loss and other harsh realities of life. Brad Pitt plays the dad who loves his family to bits, but tends to take his frustrations and failures out on them with his nitpicking and explosive outbursts. His wife (Jessica Chastain) is a loving, nurturing mother who’s torn between remaining obedient to her husband and protecting her sons from him. Their oldest boy (Hunter McCracken) is struggling to find a balance between being a good kid and doing the naughty stuff red-blooded mean big brothers do. As an adult, he (Sean Penn) continues to grapple with the big questions, appears to eventually make some sense of it all spiritually, but can’t seem to apply it to the real world.

The story is presented in chunks, mostly out of sequence, and it’s interspersed with the other major component: spectacular images of natural and cosmic events. I guess they’re open to interpretation, but I took them to represent everything from the human soul to heaven and hell to the origins of life on Earth. Y’know, the concepts people tackle when they’re trying to figure out… well, the meaning of life.

Quite an ambitious undertaking, don’t you think?

There's a line towards the beginning of the movie that says, and I'm paraphrasing, that people have to choose between the way of grace and the way of nature. I think Malick's suggesting that we have to marry the two or we wind up with confusion, as he illustrates with the unusual composition of the movie.

If you don’t enjoy puzzles and visual stimuli that don’t always have a clear-cut purpose, you probably won’t dig this movie. I sort of took it as a challenge, and I wavered back and forth between just letting images and concepts wash over me to guessing their meaning like a mental game show. (Lava flow of emotion! Inner demons? No, wait -- purgatory!) I've chosen not to read much that's been written about this movie because my interpretation makes sense to me, so if it's wrong, I have no freakin' idea what I watched for two-and-a-half hours.

I hear the movie was booed by audiences at Cannes, which I think is ridiculous. Sure, it’s frustrating that Malick didn’t fill in all the gaps and some of his symbolism just flew right over my head, but the performances are pretty strong (even Brad Pitt’s, can you believe it?!) and you’ve gotta at least give Malick major points for creativity and originality. At the very least, I doubt you’re going to walk out of this thinking, “Oh, please. He totally ripped off Liar, Liar.” (See Mr. Popper’s Penguins revieux.)

For New Orleans-area movie theaters and showtimes, visit...
http://neworleans.mrmovietimes.com/

BIG EASY: New Orleans Museum of Art

At long last, I decided to take advantage of NOMA’s freebee Wednesday afternoon – and to take my son with me. He’s a typical five year old, so I pretty much knew what to expect: mild to moderate interest followed by a rapid decline. So, I decided to sweeten the deal by throwing in lunch at Ralph Brennan’s Courtyard Café, located on the first level of the museum. He was psyched. As was I.

I’d checked online and it didn’t give specifics, but mentioned a kids’ menu, so I thought I was home-free. We made a bee-line as soon as we got there because we all know, a full tummy will buy you at least a little more patience (this usually goes for husbands, too, right?). I scanned the menu and saw amazing cheese plates and a really great assortment of paninis, soups, salads and such at very reasonable prices -- mostly under $10. Excellent.

What I hadn’t counted on was the proliferance of cheese, with the kids’ selections limited to grilled cheese and flatbread pizza. And here’s me with – you guessed it -- the only non-cheese-eating kid on the planet. Uh oh. I really thought I was a goner when they told me they had no plain lemonade, just the fancy basil variety. The only option, other than water, is flavored Italian soda – and he can’t stand carbonation. Oy, right?!

After a little negotiation with him and some amenability on the café’s part, we managed to put together a side order of roast chicken, a bag of Zapp’s, and ice water with as many lemon wedges as he cared to jam into it. I ordered a lovely little spinach salad and finally we got to enjoy the sleek, airy space with its floor-to-ceiling windows that afford views of both the park and the quaint patio, filled with umbrella-shaded tables.

Appetites sated and a wad of bubblegum shoved into his mouth (for insurance purposes), we ventured into the galleries. The Ancestors of the Congo Square African art exhibit was a hit with its super cool masks, exotic statues and animal-skull-infused pieces. A couple of the other exhibits had sporadic pieces that piqued his interest, but about 30 minutes into our somewhat fast-forwarded tour, I sensed the end was drawing nigh. I managed to squeeze another 15 minutes out of him as we breezed through pretty much every remaining gallery on the museum's three floors, but we moms know when the party’s over.

Naturally, it was on our way out that I discovered the secret to getting my kid more interested in the art. I let him take a few pictures with my phone and I saw the light come on. I asked which was his favorite piece in the whole museum, and I let him go take a few shots. (That’s the “naughty dogs,” as we referred to them, at right, as photographed by my boy. I wish I could blame the lopsided photo of the exterior of the museum on him, too -- but that's all me and my cockeyed view of the world...)

Holy smokes, why didn’t I think of this sooner?! Even if it’s just a disposable one, I’m definitely going to give him a camera next time we hit a museum. Eureka! Now, I’m not naive enough to think this will result in a three-hour in-depth tour, but what better way to encourage them to really check out the art than to give them the freedom to photograph the stuff that catches their eye? Then, you can tell them a little about each one. It’s guerilla education at its finest.

All in all, it went pretty well. I’m a firm believer in exposing our kids to the arts as early and as often as possible (whether they like it or not--ha!) – and I’m hoping he’ll have more of an interest/appreciation after the George Rodrigue arts camp next week. We’ll definitely be back to try the camera thing. HOWEVER, I'm thinking my next visit will involve some Manchego cheese, Sauvignon Blanc and a leisurely and thoughtful stroll through the galleries with a girlfriend!

Ahh.

For more information on NOMA, their special exhibitions and their calendar of events, visit www.noma.org.

BIG EASY: Hotel Monteleone... for Kids?

Given that the hubster is STILL in recovery mode after contracting French Quarter Funk at the Oyster Festival last week (perhaps I overplayed the bravado a bit in that post), I decided to skip all the festival festivities this weekend, and opted for a less crowded French Quarter activity: a birthday party for Monte the Lion, the Hotel Monteleone’s mascot.

Like me, I’m sure many of you have been to a kiddie party or two in a swank locale that tried to cater to both the kids and the parents, only to fall short in both categories. Oh, cool -- mommy gets to go the fancy hotel in a nice dress, but she has to spend the whole time catering to her bored, cranky kid because the hosts just threw out some stupid crafts, a lame DJ, and some snacks in silver serving dishes. Certainly the kids will be satisfied simply hanging out in the Ooh-La-La Hotel. Serious miscalculation. Wasted afternoon.

That’s why when I committed to this party, I didn’t have very high expectations. Sure, it was at the fabulous, historic Hotel Monteleone, which I’ve passed in the French Quarter a million times, but never actually visited. I always hear about the cool Carousel Bar and its amazing cocktails, but this ain’t that kind of affair. So, in we trudged, up to the ballroom, past all the chandeliers and grandeur, and I wondered how long we’d have to stay without seeming rude.

I have to admit, it was a pretty nice spread. Kid-friendly hot dogs, hamburgers, and french fries galore were all displayed in the aforementioned silver chafing dishes, along with fine silverware, embossed napkins, and a friendly, accommodating staff in crisp white uniforms. And they upped the ante quite a bit with a made-to-order, cold-stone ice cream station and a DIY cupcake decorating table. Nicely played, but come on, even if we hit the crafts table, we could burn through this in 45 minutes flat.

What I didn’t account for was the formidable hosting committee. Monte the birthday lion was joined by Gumbo the Saints’ St. Bernard, Boudreaux the Zephyrs’ nutria, Hugo the Hornet, and B97’s bee (they're pictured, above, playing a comical game of musical chairs). Yeah, I know it’s their jobs to entertain and all, but you’d sort of understand if they phoned it in for a little kids’ party. But for two hours, these guys (and a girl) were as committed to silly party games as they are to entertaining thousands of screaming sports fans, and they lavished each kid with tons of attention. Seriously, after being hugged on and spun around and tickled the whole time, I had to pry my son off poor Gumbo more than once.

Even their choice of DJ was spot on. This dude managed to keep things rolling with just enough banter to goad the mascots and keep both kids and parents amused – not an easy task. The grand finale was a second line around the room, complete with napkins a-wavin’ all over the place. God bless New Orleans!

I’m not kidding when I tell you I was grinning like an idiot the whole time, and my kid was sopping wet with dance-induced sweat. Oh, and our final departure time was 15 minutes after the event was scheduled to end. THIS is how it’s done, folks!

We skipped Monte’s annual children’s holiday tea last year, as it sounded like a disciplinary nightmare for my active five-year-old, but I’ve seen the light. These people know what they’re doing, so we’ll be first in line for this year’s festivities!

For more info on the Hotel Monteleone or to check out their calendar of events, visit http://www.hotelmonteleone.com/

BIG SCREEN: Judy Moody and the Not Bummer Summer Revieux (Rated PG)

You know how so many movies these days manage to bridge the age gap, appealing to kids and parents alike? Some of the jokes and references are lobbed way over the kids’ heads, just to entertain the adults. Uh, yeah. This ain’t one of those movies.

Judy Moody (Jordana Beatty) is a third grader who’s determined to make this the best summer ever, unlike all the previous boring ones. She devises a competitive chart, complete with a point system, to encourage her posse of friends to strive for a “thrilladelic” summer. To her dismay, her best pals and even her parents leave town, and she seems doomed to another season of utter boredom. When her wacky and beautiful Aunt Opal (Heather Graham – oh, Rollergirl, how far ye have fallen) shows up to babysit, things start to look up. But can Judy actually keep this summer from turning into a total bummer?

Unfortunately for parents, Judy’s is a world of precocious, over-enunciating kids (except for her brother, Stink, who has a thick speech impediment), a hefty supply of poo and puke jokes, and Steve Urkel (aka, Jaleel White) as a teacher. Sure, he’s all grown up, but how can we ever see past that lasting impression? Highly. Annoying. BUT, it’s also a world where a little kid constantly uses her imagination to entertain herself. It’s kind of refreshing that her list of thrills involves stuff like walking a homemade tightrope, riding a local rollercoaster with no hands, and camping in a tent in the backyard in hopes of catching Big Foot. Ah, simplicity and ingenuity. Remember summers like that?

So, while it ain’t the universally appealing Shrek or Kung Fu Panda, the kids all seemed to dig it. And I guess it’s our job as parents to occasionally take one for the team, right? As we left the theater, my son actually asked if we could see it again. Wow, that’s a ringing endorsement. I smiled, tousled his hair and said, “No way, dude.”

I’m no martyr, people. I said take ONE for the team.

For New Orleans-area movie theaters and showtimes, visit...
http://neworleans.mrmovietimes.com/

BIG EASY: Oysters with a Side of Funk

So, my family and I went to the Oyster Festival last weekend (my husband and son are pictured, left, digging the "Bag of Donuts" show), and I would’ve blogged about it sooner, but my husband’s been battling a nasty case of the plague ever since -- and I’ve been on Florence Nightingale patrol. After 24 hours of non-stop, um, regurgitation and fever, we hit the ER Monday night. Blood work, urine analysis, x-ray and a basic symptom check ruled out pneumonia, infection and food poisoning. They juiced him up with an IV and sent us home with anti-puke pills, but three days later, the fever is still lurking. They call it a nasty virus, I call it French Quarter Funk.

Now, before you call me out, I’m not suggesting that every case of the upchucks after hanging out in the Quarter is germ/virus-related. Certainly, we’ve all gotten caught up in festivities and perhaps, er, overhydrated ourselves with spirited beverages once or twice, but this is different.

It’s no secret that the French Quarter isn’t the most sterile of environments, but throw in festival food that’s been baking in 100-degree weather, hoards of people emitting all kinds of bodily fluids, and close proximity to said-hoards, and there’s just no guarantee you’re coming out unscathed. A few months ago, my five-year-old son caught a similar bug after spending an afternoon in the Vieux Carre and consuming a Lucky Dog on the street. Who knows where he picked up that bug, but if mama’s incessant hand-sanitizing couldn’t ward it off, it was obviously just meant to be.

One would think that one would avoid regions that one has identified as major germ distribution centers, wouldn’t one? But then, one would miss out on all the fun -- it’s the Quarter and we love it!

Okay, stick with me on this one -- I see this whole incident as a metaphor for the city of New Orleans itself. And I’ve got one more example before I make my actual point.

On Saturday night, after we got home from the festival and the neighbors’ shrimp boil, I tweeted, “Living in Nola has taught me to not obsess over the fact that I may or may not have watched a server drip sweat into my order at the Oyster Fest.” To which, New Orleans tweeple replied with something to the effect of, “Dawlin’, he was just adding a little seasoning!” My native neighbors reacted the exact same way. Not a single one was disgusted. And I felt just a little more like a local for having blown off the whole, unsanitary event in order to enjoy myself.

Now do you get it? Many people from the outside world see New Orleans as a tainted entity. Like an oyster poboy topped with someone else’s bodily fluids… like a drive-thru daiquiri that’s served up with a side of stomach flu. What they don't understand is, the beauty of New Orleans lies not in its amazing cuisine, its classic architecture, or even its soulful jazz. No, the true beauty lies in the dirt and the decay and the bodily by-products that go along with it. They give the city its depth of character, and they weed out the riff-raff. If you can’t accept the good with the bad, the yin with the yang, the sweet with the stank – well, then maybe you don’t belong here. Scurry on back to your sterile suburbs and Purell yourselves head to toe. We’ve got some livin’ to do!