I REAALLLY wanted to like "A Prairie Home Companion." This pairing, "Altman meets Keillor", should have been a high summit -- like Frank Capra meets Mark Twain. Sadly, Altman's nonchalance - and perhaps Keillor's - has drained most of the humor from the funniest show on radio.
I consider Garrison Keillor the Mark Twain of our time. He's unbelievably prolific, consistently mordent and always gets two or three belly laughs from me each show. His political humor provokes frequent fist pumping in the kitchen, where we listen. Keillor gets more out of his typewriter (okay, word processor) than most sitcom Hollywood producers squeeze out of a staff of writers. (Has GK EVER done a show in LA? It would be like a whale run aground.)
Because Keillor lets some of the steam out of the American pressure cooker every week, I feel passionately grateful as a fan. But in this film, Keillor's expressionless face and lumbering presence just seem frozen. The man is MADE for radio. Sadly, not only GK, but his comic universe, seem UN-made by Altman's film.
I have to wonder what Altman thought he was reading, shooting, editing all those hours in the cutting room - "Three Women" for comedic masochists? A squirm-box for those who otherwise love laughing? Even the brilliant Kevin Kline, whose physical slapstick offers some of the film's rare comic relief, appears trapped in an uninspired cameo. There is nothing written for him here that hasn't been surpassed in any of the countless Guy Noire segments on PHC. And the appearances of his foil, Virginia Madsen's looming Dangerous Woman/Angel, was at first merely clumsy, then predictable, then tedious - a lackluster conception compared to the femme fatales Sue Scott has played on radio for years.
Not only isn't this film classic Keillor; it's not classic Altman. There's no evidence of the ensemble directing genius of Gosford Park or Nashville. There are few characters and little character work. And this from a legendary "actor's director". As a result, a show that is usually a feast for the ear becomes an ordeal for the eye. The only human color lighting up the screen in an otherwise overstuffed, haphazard collection of characters comes from Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, John C. Reilly and Woody Harrelson. All other character presence is perfunctory. A character dies in the first act; but you know nothing about him, so you don't care. In fact found myself caring very little about anyone on screen.
What I did care about was Altman burying PHC's real radio talent - especially Sue Scott - in minor roles. Scott's impersonation talent, and Tim Russel's, have helped carry PHC's comic skits for years. Yet NO comic skits featuring them were recreated on screen!! What was Altman thinking? Or Keillor? Short of one amusing segment with sound effects genius Tom Keith, PHC's REAL talent is shoved to the side so we can here musical number after musical number sung by actors. Did Altman think he was making Nashville again? Or did Keillor? Finally, PHC's crack Shoe-band is there, but even they don't get solos. There's not one shot of Rich Dworsky's incredibly proficent hands -in fact, no visual appreciation of the band at all. It's as if Altman himself isn't a real fan of the show, and doesn't know where the brilliance and talent of PHC lies. Everything takes on a self-conscious drabness that just wearies the heart after about 30 minutes.
I guess Altman can't be blamed entirely. GK wrote the screenplay and collaborated on the story. Which leads me to think the budget for this film was tight. Shooting may have been confined to the Fitzgerald auditorium due to fiscal limitations. But the resulting claustrophobia is what disappointed me the most. After years of imagining the Lutheran Minnesota Keillor has portrayed on radio for so long, I saw none of it. I expected a few fantasies, a Lake Wobegone segment perhaps. Instead we get Altman slow-panning endlessly around rambling characters, perfunctorily dollying through a kind of "Phantom of the Fitzgerald' cum "Last Waltz". He creates a visual mood more suitable to Andrew Lloyd Weber arias than to our last, and perhaps greatest, American radio comedy show.
In the end, A Prairie Home Companion, is a misconceived project. Its legacy may be that it offers media students an object lesson in the distinctions between radio and film - between the ear's gateway to the visual imagination and the literal eye. It may also show that like songwriters who shine in the short form, but bog down in oratorios and opera, Keillor, the sketch and skit guru, hasn't yet found the narrative discipline and stamina of the screenwriter. Mark Twain, yes. Woody Allen, no.
In radio and books, Keillor rules. In film, Altman usually does. Sadly here, we have both geniuses creating a kind of Waiting for Godot, a hapless existential deconstruction of everything a beloved radio show has come to mean (and hopefully still will) to its devoted listeners.
I consider Garrison Keillor the Mark Twain of our time. He's unbelievably prolific, consistently mordent and always gets two or three belly laughs from me each show. His political humor provokes frequent fist pumping in the kitchen, where we listen. Keillor gets more out of his typewriter (okay, word processor) than most sitcom Hollywood producers squeeze out of a staff of writers. (Has GK EVER done a show in LA? It would be like a whale run aground.)
Because Keillor lets some of the steam out of the American pressure cooker every week, I feel passionately grateful as a fan. But in this film, Keillor's expressionless face and lumbering presence just seem frozen. The man is MADE for radio. Sadly, not only GK, but his comic universe, seem UN-made by Altman's film.
I have to wonder what Altman thought he was reading, shooting, editing all those hours in the cutting room - "Three Women" for comedic masochists? A squirm-box for those who otherwise love laughing? Even the brilliant Kevin Kline, whose physical slapstick offers some of the film's rare comic relief, appears trapped in an uninspired cameo. There is nothing written for him here that hasn't been surpassed in any of the countless Guy Noire segments on PHC. And the appearances of his foil, Virginia Madsen's looming Dangerous Woman/Angel, was at first merely clumsy, then predictable, then tedious - a lackluster conception compared to the femme fatales Sue Scott has played on radio for years.
Not only isn't this film classic Keillor; it's not classic Altman. There's no evidence of the ensemble directing genius of Gosford Park or Nashville. There are few characters and little character work. And this from a legendary "actor's director". As a result, a show that is usually a feast for the ear becomes an ordeal for the eye. The only human color lighting up the screen in an otherwise overstuffed, haphazard collection of characters comes from Kevin Kline, Meryl Streep, John C. Reilly and Woody Harrelson. All other character presence is perfunctory. A character dies in the first act; but you know nothing about him, so you don't care. In fact found myself caring very little about anyone on screen.
What I did care about was Altman burying PHC's real radio talent - especially Sue Scott - in minor roles. Scott's impersonation talent, and Tim Russel's, have helped carry PHC's comic skits for years. Yet NO comic skits featuring them were recreated on screen!! What was Altman thinking? Or Keillor? Short of one amusing segment with sound effects genius Tom Keith, PHC's REAL talent is shoved to the side so we can here musical number after musical number sung by actors. Did Altman think he was making Nashville again? Or did Keillor? Finally, PHC's crack Shoe-band is there, but even they don't get solos. There's not one shot of Rich Dworsky's incredibly proficent hands -in fact, no visual appreciation of the band at all. It's as if Altman himself isn't a real fan of the show, and doesn't know where the brilliance and talent of PHC lies. Everything takes on a self-conscious drabness that just wearies the heart after about 30 minutes.
I guess Altman can't be blamed entirely. GK wrote the screenplay and collaborated on the story. Which leads me to think the budget for this film was tight. Shooting may have been confined to the Fitzgerald auditorium due to fiscal limitations. But the resulting claustrophobia is what disappointed me the most. After years of imagining the Lutheran Minnesota Keillor has portrayed on radio for so long, I saw none of it. I expected a few fantasies, a Lake Wobegone segment perhaps. Instead we get Altman slow-panning endlessly around rambling characters, perfunctorily dollying through a kind of "Phantom of the Fitzgerald' cum "Last Waltz". He creates a visual mood more suitable to Andrew Lloyd Weber arias than to our last, and perhaps greatest, American radio comedy show.
In the end, A Prairie Home Companion, is a misconceived project. Its legacy may be that it offers media students an object lesson in the distinctions between radio and film - between the ear's gateway to the visual imagination and the literal eye. It may also show that like songwriters who shine in the short form, but bog down in oratorios and opera, Keillor, the sketch and skit guru, hasn't yet found the narrative discipline and stamina of the screenwriter. Mark Twain, yes. Woody Allen, no.
In radio and books, Keillor rules. In film, Altman usually does. Sadly here, we have both geniuses creating a kind of Waiting for Godot, a hapless existential deconstruction of everything a beloved radio show has come to mean (and hopefully still will) to its devoted listeners.