I have only recently seen Prairie Home Companion as it did not get wide release and was not "at a theater near you." After making the journey to find it, I understand why. It is not a "box office" movie. It is not molded and marketed to the ever-lowering common denominator of the mass movie audience and will be a stretch for those who have become accustomed to receiving their entertainment intravenously rather than actually having to chew anything. It is not for those who like their most strenuous intellectual exercise at the theater to be whether or not they want butter on their popcorn. (Oh, well, we all go to movies for different reasons.) What the rest of us have is a refreshing piece of creativity and craftsmanship adrift in a sea of commercialism.
Prairie Home is a collaboration of Master Craftsmen. It is Keillor and Altman and a whole theater full of actors who approach their work with intelligence, integrity and a respect that they generously extend to their audience.
Some acknowledgments: Is this "great cinema?" Probably not. Is it just like the radio show? C'mon. What did you expect? Is it some deep philosophical statement about death? Every day of your life is, friend, but jeeze, let's not take the fun out of it!
Robert Altman seems to draw performances out of actors that no other director can. Or maybe it is that he creates the environment that challenges and encourages actors to want to do a little bit more. From Kevin Kline's delightfully theatrical Guy Noir to Meryl Streep's sentimental and fragile Yolanda Johnson to Garrison (Just-bein'-myself) Keillor to Virginia Madsen's ethereally confused Dangerous Woman to Marylouise Burke's motherly but deliciously vital Lunch Lady, Altman mixes them together like one of grandma's favorite recipes (a cup of movie; a quarter-cup of theater; a big dollop of the love of story-telling) and creates something really tasty.
Prairie Home (as many of Altman's films) is very much like people from Keillor's Upper Midwest. If you want to get to know them, you need to work at it a little. You will not be coddled or spoon-fed. You will be expected to bring your own dish to the pot luck dinner and to help clean up after. You need to listen. You need to watch. You are expected to use the intelligence God gave you and, of course, some imagination and some common sense which do not have to operate independently.
If you do put forth the effort, you will discover something funny and vulnerable; admittedly a little bizarre but unquestionably human and absolutely endearing. Something grounded in our eclectic American culture with a nod to those things around us be they natural or spiritual that we don't understand; can't understand; probably aren't meant to understand. So, like the weather, you simply respect what these things can do and go on. But the real wit here is dry as the dust on a county road and will be delivered with a completely straight face just to see if you are on your toes. If you are, you will be rewarded with a really satisfying visit with some quirky but beloved family. If you aren't or you simply don't care that much about those kinds of folks that's OK. THEY know deep down what they've accomplished even if others don't.
Prairie Home is a collaboration of Master Craftsmen. It is Keillor and Altman and a whole theater full of actors who approach their work with intelligence, integrity and a respect that they generously extend to their audience.
Some acknowledgments: Is this "great cinema?" Probably not. Is it just like the radio show? C'mon. What did you expect? Is it some deep philosophical statement about death? Every day of your life is, friend, but jeeze, let's not take the fun out of it!
Robert Altman seems to draw performances out of actors that no other director can. Or maybe it is that he creates the environment that challenges and encourages actors to want to do a little bit more. From Kevin Kline's delightfully theatrical Guy Noir to Meryl Streep's sentimental and fragile Yolanda Johnson to Garrison (Just-bein'-myself) Keillor to Virginia Madsen's ethereally confused Dangerous Woman to Marylouise Burke's motherly but deliciously vital Lunch Lady, Altman mixes them together like one of grandma's favorite recipes (a cup of movie; a quarter-cup of theater; a big dollop of the love of story-telling) and creates something really tasty.
Prairie Home (as many of Altman's films) is very much like people from Keillor's Upper Midwest. If you want to get to know them, you need to work at it a little. You will not be coddled or spoon-fed. You will be expected to bring your own dish to the pot luck dinner and to help clean up after. You need to listen. You need to watch. You are expected to use the intelligence God gave you and, of course, some imagination and some common sense which do not have to operate independently.
If you do put forth the effort, you will discover something funny and vulnerable; admittedly a little bizarre but unquestionably human and absolutely endearing. Something grounded in our eclectic American culture with a nod to those things around us be they natural or spiritual that we don't understand; can't understand; probably aren't meant to understand. So, like the weather, you simply respect what these things can do and go on. But the real wit here is dry as the dust on a county road and will be delivered with a completely straight face just to see if you are on your toes. If you are, you will be rewarded with a really satisfying visit with some quirky but beloved family. If you aren't or you simply don't care that much about those kinds of folks that's OK. THEY know deep down what they've accomplished even if others don't.