Tuesday Minute
No. 133 | July 20, 2010
Our theme this week
Chick flicks—one guy’s take
Featured this week (theme introduction)
Monday — When Harry Met Sally… (1989)
The Bridges of Madison County was adapted from the 1992 novel by Robert James Waller. The book had generated a wide range of reaction from critics, much of it not very complimentary. The story, though, captivated the country. The novel was wildly popular, among the best selling books of the decade. A movie version was inevitable. Despite any faults found on the page, the story worked especially well on the big screen.
Clint Eastwood, who made some of his best films during the ’90s, directed and co-starred. For the female lead the studio wanted a young actress, but Eastwood preferred someone older. He prevailed, casting the actress he called “the greatest…in the world,” Meryl Streep. He was in his sixties, she in mid-forties—hardly the typical pairing for a Hollywood love story. Based on the result, there may be a lesson there.
Eastwood played Robert Kincaid, a National Geographic photographer visiting Iowa on assignment. Looking for directions one day, he stops by a farm and meets Francesca Johnson (Streep), an Italian-born housewife whose husband and children are off at the state fair. For four days, Robert and Francesca have a passionate, “once in a lifetime” affair. With her family due to return, Francesca must decide whether to leave with the stranger she just met or continue her mundane and lonely life on the farm.
It’s a beautiful film, heartbreaking at times. The performances are richly textured. Eastwood is sometimes underrated as an actor, and his subtle, quiet style is perfectly suited for the material. Streep gives one of her best performances. The real story is Francesca’s inner life, her longing, temptation, and torment, and watching Streep you can’t help but feel every joy and ache she experiences along the way.
…58…59…60.
Tuesday Minute
No. 33 | February 16, 2010
Our theme this week
Women directors of notable films from 2009
Featured this week
Monday — Lone Scherfig
The essentials
Notable 2009 film: Julie & Julia; nominated for 1 Oscar; worldwide box office, $118 million.
Julie is Julie Powell, a blogger. Yes, they made a film about a blogger! (Insert your own joke here.) Julie had an idea for a blog and eight years and $118 million later, somebody may well be thanking her on Oscar night. Who’d a thunk it? I’m partial to the idea of Hollywood turning the stories of blog writers into multimillion-dollar productions (please contact my agent if interested), but the real appeal of the movie, I must admit, is the cookbook author. I’d guess that cookbook authors, in general, are not a whole lot more fascinating than bloggers, but when the cookbook author is Julia Child, you’ve got a movie—and when she’s played by Meryl Streep, you’ve got a good one. There’s not much to say about Meryl Streep that hasn’t been said before. She’s a great actress and gives one of the most entertaining performances of the year.
Great acting doesn’t come out of nowhere. Credit Nora Ephron for not only directing the movie but for writing the screenplay too. She knows about writing. She grew up in Hollywood, the daughter of screenwriting team Henry and Phoebe Ephron (There’s No Business Like Show Business). She started as a journalist working in print media, then wrote scripts for the movies. Silkwood (1983) and When Harry Met Sally… (1989) were both big successes. She also adapted her own novel for Heartburn (1986), drawn from her marriage to journalist Carl Bernstein. In the ’90s, Ephron had her first chance to direct. Sleepless in Seattle (1993) and You’ve Got Mail (1998) were both hit romantic comedies starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. She’s collaborated several times with her sister, Delia, splitting writing and producing credit. Three times Ephron has been nominated for an Oscar, each of them for original screenplay.
Beyond the final credits
While married to Bernstein, Ephron apparently had guessed the identity of her husband’s source for Watergate stories, Deep Throat. Bernstein referred to him as “My Friend” and used the initials “M.F.,” which Ephron guessed—and the world would later learn—was Mark Felt, associate director at the FBI in the Nixon years.
…58…59…60.

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