La La Lame?

Considering the 14 nominations, expectations for this year's predicted best film, "La La Land," were obviously higher than for the other lesser films currently playing in movie theaters around the country. It's not often that all the bases are covered when it comes to movie nominations, and the interest of those who enjoy watching the best picture nominees is currently piqued enough for many to leave their homes and pay the $10 for surround sound and leather chairs.

Telling of two artists trying to make their way in competitive Los Angeles, the movie itself is rather aesthetically satisfying, with a bright color scheme to grab viewers' attention and an upbeat opening theme that has feet tapping. The entire soundtrack itself is unlikely to leave your head for the next few hours after leaving the theater. The protagonists are lovable and relatable, and the plot has the typical romance that many thoroughly enjoy. On the surface, these aspects alone seem like enough to make a strong case for why this film is so successful. 

What one fails to take into account, however, are the deeper levels that usually give a film the credentials needed to be considered one of the greats. The script, camera work, lighting, and all the minor details that are enough to either amuse or annoy, enough to create the difference between "I loved it!" and "It could have been better." In the case of "La La Land" it turns out to be the unfortunate latter.

With the loving characters the classic, artistic aesthetic, and the unique soundtrack comes blurry shots, awkward lighting, and a script that doesn't live up to the height that has been associated with the flick. A slow build leads to a rapid, heavy finale that, while interesting to think about and original in its own right, seems long awaited and drawn out. It seems as if the colorful lights and the score is compensating for this plot that is rather dull and redundant.

Overall, the film is vibrant and comical, but only on the surface. With an excellent score comes a basic verbal script and plot line that leaves many shifting uncomfortably by the end, anxious to get through to the end credits, and with lovable characters comes shaky camera work and blurry sequences that require more concentration than any audience member wants to exert. While it isn't the worst film, it certainly isn't the best, and rather undeserving of the exaggerated hype the academy has created for them.

The Fantastic Tale of King Arthur

At the 6 o'clock hour, before the sun has risen and when groggy students and adults begin to trudge through their morning schedules, and fellow early birds are sipping through their first cup of coffee, silence is golden. No one, not even the lively, always chipper, morning lovers want to be disrupted from this brief moment of peace before the world speeds up and there isn't a second to rest. It is an understood quiet, an upheld staple of early goers. That's why, of course, there is no better opportunity than during this cherished silence, to cause mischief.

Sitting on the couch, a warm beverage in hand, and wrapped in a blanket, I found myself catching up on potential future assignments, relishing in the fact that the morning had gone smoothly and that for once I would not be rushing out the door. The rest of the household slept on, my introverted self more than satisfied to have the extra recharging time. No one was shouting at each other to wake up on time, there was no loud shuffling or the obnoxious sound of warm water rushing through cold pipes, just me, myself, and I and the rejuvenating scent of lavender earl grey tea.

This silent sanctuary, however, failed to take into account anything outside of the comfortable bubble that encompassed the warm couch. There was no reason to take into consideration the potential movement from upstairs, it was far too early, and the kitchen had no purpose save offering the light necessary to see the paper I was writing on.

What I failed to notice, however, was the movement in said kitchen, the seemingly casual shuffling as the only other organism awake at this hour meandered around on the playground of counters and shelves, making his rounds to see if there was anything worth his interest, worth meddling in. He was carrying out his own morning routine, happily sniffing in places he didn't belong, knowing he was walking on the edge, and happily content to cause any and all trouble. Always one for dramatics, it seemed to please him to happily swat at the full glass of water sitting precariously close to the edge of the counter.

All at once, the peace and serenity of the morning shattered with the glass that was now scattered all over the kitchen floor. Sitting proudly on the counter was the devious ginger looking smug, waiting for me to unravel myself from my warm nest to clean up his mess. He watched as I cleaned up the glass, casually perched, his tail flicking back and forth, as he himself wouldn't dare to risk walking through the shards. After I finished, risking slipping from the spilt water and the cuts form the fragments, he hops down like it was nothing, walking into the living room to take up a new spot nestled in no other place than in my blankets, promptly settling in for the first of many morning naps.

This diva that shares my house resembles a king in his castle, prowling through the halls as if he owns the place, and in his mind, he does. He sits where he pleases, eats where he pleases, breaks glass where he pleases, and demands attention at least three times a day, but only for a few minutes before he's swatting and biting at your fingers, as if you had committed a heinous crime of touching his long fur. Even now, he sits, comfortable to block my hands from the keys of my computer, as he always has priority. Because why type a blog when I can devote my attention to pampering his royal highness as he pleases? I am, after all, merely his humble servant.

A Bleak Road

The excitement is over, the holiday season fading back into the far off distance where it lies dormant for nine months of the year. The Christmas presents have all been put away or put into use, the lights come off of the bushes, the trees, and the gutters, and the champagne and party poppers have all been disposed of. New Year's resolutions are forgotten about, and the wheel starts turning again, bringing back into full motion the grind of the work week. Before us lies the cold, dark months of January and February, unforgiving in their lack of excitement and crushing dullness.

There is nothing to look forward to save the one or two holidays that manage to close school, banks, and businesses and the unending hope that a blizzard will grace the world overnight, effectively cancelling any and all responsibility, at least for the next twenty four hours. Students spend their time dwelling in fatalistic humor, wishing for anything and everything to get them out of these two months of endless responsibility, be it a tragic accident or a simple flu. Anything exciting enough to create bumps in the road, to briefly take the eyes off the very straight, uneventful path ahead and off to the side where something more interesting may be occurring.

A veil of depression covers everything and anything as the days are shorter, the sky is rarely blue, and harsh cold berates those who trek out in the early morning and the late evening, unforgiving even towards the prepared ones with coats, hats, mittens, and gloves. It seems endless, this empty abyss of the start of the year. Productivity dwindles below the highest efficiency, repetition kills happiness as each day passes, one after the other, until they all muddle together in a mass of average boredom.

The days are numbered, though, and it's the only thing keeping us all going, determined to work through til the end.125 days until graduation. Two months til spring break.  Four days until the weekend. The countdowns make the dullness tolerable, providing a semblance of a purpose for a time that seems absolutely purposeless. Soon, the days will be long enough to battle the exhaustion that has kept us all in its unrelenting grasp for the dark winter months and the rejuvenation of spring will attempt to strike life into the dreariness.

Despite these dwindles of hope, until the next large event appears on the horizon and the excitement builds for next chapters and extra down time, we all are doomed to continue the monotonous grind, waking every bleak morning and returning home every colorless evening, repeating over and over, seemingly consumed by a desolate winter.

A Gentleman's Guide to Surprise Comedy

The year is 2014, and the Tony Awards have just named this year's best musical. It is a flashy, hilarious, and slightly morbid but endlessly catchy production, one that had been previously off of my radar, as I was too caught up in the classics to pay much attention. A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder. It was a long title, one so blatantly British that I was intrigued enough to watch their Tony's performance and take a peak at their cast recording. Content with my discovery of a humorous and modern new musical, I filed the album away for later and moved on to other things, thinking back to the work only when a song would pop up on my playlists.

Move two years ahead and I am immersed in the world of Hamilton and Lin-Manuel Miranda's next big hits throughout the movie business and the theater world alike. The best musical winner from two years ago certainly wasn't on my mind. That is, until I looked at the shows coming to Cincinnati this season, and discovered that this musical that had closed on Broadway over a year ago had launched its first national tour, and had placed one of its first stops on the stage of the Aronoff Center. Once again, it managed to spark my interest.

I pursued tickets, putting them on Christmas lists and setting aside money here and there, admittedly rather lazily. If I didn't see the show, it wouldn't be the end of the world. There were plenty of others that I wanted to see more adamantly this season. However, as fate would have it, Christmas morning bestowed me with a pair of tickets for the first Friday evening of the new year. I'd get the chance to see a show that had been put on the back burner with hopes of being as impressed as everyone else who had seen it.

The plot is relatively simple, the average, unassuming man Monty Navarro suddenly realizes he's eighth in line to be Earl of High Hearst, held by the flamboyant Dysquith Family. Like any man desperate for an improved station, he begins killing all of his relatives in hopes to succeed the current Earl. All the while, he is seduced by the alluring Sibella, an unhappily married woman, and is also pursuing a relationship with the quiet, kind Phoebe Dysquith. These two conflicts collide into one messy entanglement of murder trials and marriages until Monty achieves his goal of rising considerably above his station as the new Earl of High Hearst.

The production, while rather small and quaint, succeeds to surpass expectation. Gentleman's Guide is wildly funny, with both the dark sensed humor, full of snark and irony, and the light humor of silly jokes and foolish antics. While not for the faint of heart, the musical does offer touching moments full of affection, perfectly balanced with the grotesque notion of mass murder for personal gain. The cast is top tier with the unique trait of having one man play each of the eight murdered relatives, encompassing the full range of stereotypical characters once may act as. The talent is immense and refreshing, a true modern musical with a familiar, traditional sound.

By the end of the long running time (a surprising three hours), the viewer is engrossed in Monty's life, tapping their feet to the catchy, witty songs and taking in the bright colors distinct for each character, paired with a wildly different personality. The plot is far from predictable, with twists and turns that enthrall and excite, and by the time of the final act, one is on the edge of their seat, waiting for the overall irony of the last resolution of the show to make its hilarious impact.

A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder in the end proved to be much more entertaining than initially presented. Expectations were high with a musical that took the prime honor of the glamorous Tony's, but the unique comedic atmosphere presented in the flamboyant production has yet to be matched. For those who thrive on the snarky, darker humor, the show is nearly perfect. It is a hidden gem that is a welcoming surprise to those who happen to receive tickets, whether on a whim or out of genuine interest. It is the perfect way to spend an evening, for what could be more entertaining than watching eight elaborate murders taking place within the span of two acts?