0 The Stand (1994)

USA, 366 minutes, ABC TV miniseries
Director: Mick Garris
Writer: Stephen King
Photography: Edward J. Pei
Music: W.G. Snuffy Walden
Editor: Patrick McMahon
Cast: Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald, Jamey Sheridan, Laura San Giacomo, Ruby Dee, Ossie Davis, Rob Lowe, Miguel Ferrer, Ray Walston, Corin Nemec, Matt Frewer, Adam Storke, Kellie Overbey, Bill Fagerbakke, Rick Aviles, Stephen King, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, John Landis, Sam Raimi, Ed Harris

Stephen King's heavy participation in this TV miniseries, which aired on ABC during the sweeps month of May 1994 (and won some Emmy Awards and nominations), complicates any assessment. He makes about three cameos too many, gets a credit as executive producer, and most importantly owns sole credit for the script. It seems to safe to assume King had sufficient clout by 1994 to get his way—or maybe not. Not always sure how these things work. But the miniseries bears his imprimatur. He approved this message. Too bad, because it's weak sauce compared to the original novel (which I know only in its first-published shorter form). We're talking about a six-hour production here. If nothing else, for once and for all, this should retire the debate on the natural narrative scope of feature movies, which is much closer to short stories than novels. Let alone a mammoth novel such as The Stand. Let alone any fiction so explicitly grounded in the voice of the author. I don't think I had actually realized until now how important King's distinctive voice is to what he does. Somehow it makes all the disjointed claptrap that occupies these six hours cohere and work. This miniseries is to King's novel as David Lynch's Dune is to Frank Herbert's. The good points: the continuity of King, a lot of goodwill, a decent cast, a reasonable budget. Sure, more money might have helped. It never feels remotely like the end of the world, for one problem (whereas feeling exactly like the end of the world is one of the novel's great strengths). But special effects is not the problem. The relative compression of the miniseries ("compression," recalling that it is six hours) paradoxically just exposes all the flaws of the novel. It's the titanic showdown we know between Good and Evil—a ground that is terribly fraught with pitfalls already, yet managed well in the novel—suddenly reduced to a series of skits and dramatic reenactments of famous scenes from the novel. Sometimes things seem to be here just so we can hear the line, or see the visual. The rock 'n' roll soundtrack is lame too. The dynamic finally is on the order of Bugs Bunny (aka Good) and Daffy Duck (aka Evil). We know who wins that one. And we know who wins this one. Because that's the other thing—I can't see it makes any sense without bringing familiarity with the novel to it. All that said, if it's OK with King, and with at least a plurality of his fans (as judged by comments on IMDb.com, and skipping that nothing should ever be judged by comments on IMDb.com), then who am I? Inevitably, in today's moviemaking climate, another film version of The Stand is in the works—sounds like King will have less involvement, though his status as 800-lb. gorilla has to be more imposing than ever. If it makes any difference. Whatever. I can't help thinking it's bound to look approximately as meager as this. For me, the whole thing is a no-brainer. Read the book.

Detail: The Stand (1994)

0 Hoop Dreams (1994)

USA, 170 minutes, documentary
Director: Steve James
Writers: Steve James, Frederick Marx
Photography: Peter Gilbert
Music: Ben Sidran
Editors: William Haugse, Steve James, Frederick Marx
With: William Gates, Arthur Agee, Steve James, Emma Gates, Curtis Gates, Sheila Agee, Arthur "Bo" Agee, Earl Smith, Gene Pingatore

A couple of things about Hoop Dreams: First, perhaps most remarkably, it hasn't dated much for a documentary that somehow is already 20 years old. The story of two Chicago youths with a knack for playing basketball and dreams of turning that into their ticket to better lives remains, if anything, more poignant, compelling, and relevant than ever. This is accomplished partly by its willingness to slip into the syntax of classic Hollywood sports tales—for me, Breaking Away and Hoosiers come to mind immediately. Some of the best parts emerge directly out of the drama of important games with high stakes. Even more, it's accomplished by director and co-producer Steve James's willingness to settle on a story and follow it down its tortuous path. It's the story of any sports career. It's the story of any life.

Make that two stories: Arthur Agee and William Gates. The second remarkable point about Hoop Dreams is how short and incomplete it feels, even at nearly three hours. It focuses on Agee and Gates from when they are 14 and looking to use basketball as a leg up and a way in, both with talent enough to receive financial assistance from a Chicago private high school with a successful basketball program, St. Joseph. The picture follows the twists and turns of their high school careers and suddenly leaves us with only a few clues about their subsequent college careers. It's up to us to rush to Wikipedia to fill in what has happened with their lives since then, including whether or not they ever made it to the NBA. Hoop Dreams is so good at what it does it's virtually guaranteed most people seeing it will take the time to poke around for that information.



In fact, that's where the real spoilers are, so I will leave that information for you to discover on your own after you see this movie. Even across the four or so years that the picture covers it's difficult to guess what's going to happen next. Gates enters the program practically a star already as a freshman but is sidelined by injury for most of his junior and senior years. Agee does all right on the court, though never reaching Gates's heights at St. Joseph. Financial problems force him out of the school altogether in his sophomore year, after which he returns to the public school system. Ultimately, in a surprise to everyone including contemporary media observers, he gets a bite at a state championship when he takes his public school team far into the playoffs in his senior year.

Once again we are in the territory of "documentary gold"—events and moments that happen serendipitously in front of the camera, raising the level of what we see and experience to something nearly along the lines of great art. Hoop Dreams feels like a novel: sprawling, detailed, engrossing, surprising, structured, artfully balanced yet with ragged lines and vectors and wonderful small moments. That must be another reason it rarely feels dated. At the same time, James also manages to give a sense that these two young men and their families could have been anyone. James didn't just get lucky, or he got lucky simply by deciding to pay attention. He finds giant hopes compressed into the meat grinder of limited opportunity, poverty, and the specter of simmering racism. The wonder is that it seems so easy. Pick two, commit, and film. That's all he did.

That's not to deny the wonderful particularities of these two stories, however, which is what makes this movie, along with doses of luck in what was captured on film. Arthur's father Bo and William's brother Curtis are two key sideline stories, each nursing his own failure and unfairly seeking redemption for perceived (and misperceived) shortcomings by imposing an outsize dream on his son or brother. In one extraordinary scene, Bo shows up at a playground court where Arthur and his friends are playing. At that point, Bo and Arthur's mother Sheila have separated and not much has been seen of Bo. He is shirtless and loose, a little too loose, embarrassing Arthur when he attempts to compete. Then he wanders away and James's voiceover informs us that the playground has lately become a site of drug dealing. Later, Bo returns to the family, a recovering addict and full of God and himself, though sincerely humbled. Such fleeting glimpses hint achingly at the wells of pain going on just beyond what we see here.

Indeed, the powerful crosscurrents of the narrative remain a critical key to the visuals throughout, which operate as much as possible within the documentary fly-on-the-wall aesthetic of Frederick Wiseman, passively observing. But James urgently has a story to tell—make that two stories, make that eight, make that many, many, many—and that is why he injects his narrative voiceover. The narrative is what makes this film so powerful and special in the end, and enduring. That's why we rush to Wikipedia. We still want to know how it ends.

Detail: Hoop Dreams (1994)

0 Morrissey, "Now My Heart Is Full" (1994)

(listen)

Over the years, The Queen Is Dead has only sounded better, but I must say I never connected well or easily with the Smiths. Yet somehow, many years later, the Morrissey solo album kicked off by this song, Vauxhall and I, went directly to my heart (all that Graham Greene name-checking notwithstanding). Seeing the show approximately in support of it only cemented the affection, not least perhaps because the audience hysteria for him was pitched at such extreme and infectious levels. Later that night I caught sight of fans sprinting in the street after his tour bus, screaming his name. It's an uneven album, but about half is in this vein: sultry and vulnerable ballads with the ability to soar, sticky with emotion. "Hold on to Your Friends" and "The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get" sound nearly as good. As pop stars go, Morrissey remains one of the most interesting, sincere and eccentric like Jonathan Richman, fascinating and hard to parse like Aladdin Sane-era Bowie. I take Morrissey at face value, perhaps because he appeals to all sorts. When he says his heart is full, it's hard to explain, and he won't even try to, there's no need to say any more. It's all validated in the thick churn of the music, a wanton mess of rock band, strings, and droning keyboard figures delicately touching and holding the important notes. It's likely that the elegiac tone is product of losses Morrissey suffered in the early '90s, deaths of people close to him. I'm sorry for his loss, of course, and would not wish anything like it on anyone. But the result was nonetheless music that makes my heart full, and does still.

Detail: Morrissey, "Now My Heart Is Full" (1994)