Just the Usual, Mel Brooks and Anne Bancroft Singing 'Sweet Georgia Brown' in Polish on a British Variety Show

Don't Quite Quit, A Word or Two About Typos

Because I have a private account, every so often I get follow requests on Instagram account. Other than wanting a follow back I have no idea why most of these people ask to follow. I’m sure a lot of them are bots. Several have been (supposedly) young women with Only Fans or porn site links in their profile. It is rare that I give one the o.k. (the okay?).

Today I got one from someone named Daniela. Another private acount. She had a pleasant enough profile pic.  In addition to it she had a quote, as some people do. Here’s hers: “People will quit on you. you gotta get up every day and make sure you never quite on yourself.”

Daniela, I guarantee that I’ll never quite on myself. In fact, I never quite at anything. I’m not a quiter. But let’s not make fun of Daniela who appears to be a real person and based on her smile, polo shirt and flashing the peace sign is likely a heckuva nice person. But Daniela, if somehow you stumble upon this post (imagine the odds) let me suggest to you the art of proofreading. It’s rather simple. Read over what you’ve posted and make sure that there are no typos in it. Especially if this is essentially your public face. Lord knows my blog has been littered with typos over the years, many of which I still haven’t caught. But to have one in your profile, a short one at that, well, come on.

By the way her quote was followed by a series of emojis most of them of the heart, kissy face variety. I am not a snob about emojis as I used to be. I occasionally employ them in text messages as I find them a fun way to emphasize certain points but I would never insert one in an email or on a message board post. I have stuck a few on tweets but never on Instagram. I do feel that many, many, many people overuse them — a lot of these folks can be excused on account of being 14 years old. With one notable exception I do not like to see a long row of them in any context from anyone out of their mid teens. The exception is Ringo Starr. He was a Beatle so can do whatever the fuck he wants. Ringo always peppers his tweets with emojis with a special emphasize on peace and love two words he uses extensively. Let me here further add if someone is going to overuse any two words in the English language peace and love seem like really good choices. Better than using xylophone and haberdashery or incontinent and bestiality. 

Okay I’ve made a meal out of one lousy typo. Hopefully someone will point it out to Daniela and after an initial flush of embarrassment at her faux pas, she 'll fix the damn thing. 

(Here’s an interesting typo from history that I learned about on that Internet thing everyone is always talking about: In 1870, a German chemist named Erich von Wolf was measuring the iron content of various foods. A misplaced decimal recorded spinach as having 35 grams of iron rather than 3.5 grams. It took 67 years for this mistake to be discovered. In that time, spinach’s reputation for being an iron-rich superfood firmly took hold, helped significantly by the cartoon character of Popeye the Sailorman, who owed his bulging muscles to the vegetable. Even after the error was unearthed by a team in 1937 and more accurate figures began to appear,  people still wholeheartedly believed in the immense strengthening power of spinach. To this day, its exaggerated reputation as a superfood has survived.)

My final advice to one and all is that if you find you’ve made a typo merely correct it. Don’t quite. That would be quit stupid. Or words to that effect (not affect).

Bikers and Murder for Hire: Two New Films Suggest Another Good Year in Movies

Adria Arjona and Glen Powell in Hit Man

Is this going to be another stellar year in films? I saw two new pictures over the weekend and enjoyed them both which means that I've seen five excellent movies this year and we''re not even in July. (The other three are Evil Does Not Exist, La Chimera and Totem.)

What particularly impressed me about The Bikeriders was the performances of Tom Hardy and Jodie Comer. (Austin Butler was solid but I'd like to see him in something very different next.) Hardy and Comer are both British and in Bikeriders played American Midwesterners with the thickest of accents. However mostly I noticed the truth of what Norma Desmond said in Sunset Blvd: “We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!” The best actors say so much more with their eyes and expressions than do mediocre ones. Think of Al Pacino in the first two Godfather films. Yes, he had monologues, yes, he had outbursts but so much of what he told us was unsaid. Note in particular the scene in which he’s about to assassinate Sollozzo and Captain McCluskey. He’s not saying a word but his eyes are telling us all about the emotions roiling within him. The eyes have it. This is the art of acting. A twinkle of the eyes, a crinkle of the mouth, the raising of an eyebrow. Acting is more than knowing your lines and hitting your marks, it's what you say without speaking. 

Other actors are expressive with their body language. The languid movements of Henry Fonda, the muscularity of Marlon Brando, the nimbleness of James Cagney, the gestures of Cate Blanchett. The sensuousness of Sophia Loren. The intensity of Jack Nicholson and Denzel Washington. And yet they are all natural, unaffected, real, while telling their characters’ stories with so much more than words. 

I’ve not had a lot of exposure to Hardy but he’s been brilliant anytime I’ve seen him. In Bikeriders he absolutely stole scenes as the head of the biker gang. I don’t recall seeing Comer before. But I look forward to more of her work.

The Bikeriders was written and directed by Jeff Nichols who is not exactly a household name. But I've seen three previous efforts of his, Mud, Loving and Take Shelter. Take Shelter was a superb film which started Michael Shannon. Shannon had a supporting role in Bikeriders, he’s a wonderful actor who clearly had a great time as an over the top character called Zipco who equates everyone he doesn’t like with Pinkos. Shannon is always a delight bringing a rawness and power to his performances. Never subtle but always memorable.

Bikeriders is wonderfully evocative of a time and place (1965-1973, Chicago) creating a world that our imaginations couldn't have done justice. Not surprisingly it centers around a biker gang (that's still a going concern), particularly one member (Butler) and his wife (Comer). The wife provides much of the narration.

Hit Man is a surprising film and surprisingly good. Though one expects quality from director Richard Linklater. No, this is not a movie about a Mafia hit man. It is the story of someone who works for the police pretending to be a Hitman to entrap people planning murders. It is also a romantic comedy (really? Yes!). Gary Johnson (Glen Powell), is a philosophy professor who drives a Honda Civic, is divorced has two cats and frankly seems a bit of a milquetoast. But like so many other interesting characters in interesting films he goes through changes. In meeting people looking for hitman he takes on different personas, costumes, accents and mannerisms. When he plays a cool, tough guy in meeting a beautiful woman looking to have her abusive husband offed, he gradually morphs into that character. After all, said beautiful woman (the absolutely gorgeous Adria Arjona) is smitten with him. Why go back to being a regular schmendrick when you can woo beauties while being someone cool? Thus begins the romance of this most beguiling tale. Adding to Hit Man's wonders is that it's all based on a true story.

The best adjective for Hit Man is clever. Although unexpected, surprising, fun and delightful would also do. I was unfamiliar with the co-stars but was suitably impressed by both. Admittedly the voluptuous Arjona particularly impressed me (don’t tell my wife).

Without planning it Saturday was Linklater day for me. Earlier I’d watched Dazed and Confused which he directed 31 years ago. D and C is set on the last day of high school in 1976. We follow a dozen or so different characters. There is no plot to speak of. It has been compared to a similar and much better known film, American Graffiti. I think D and C makes Graffiti (which I watched two weeks ago for the first time in ages) look like a student film. Linklater’s film is rawer, more real, more intense, more interesting and funnier.

Linklater is a consistently good director having also helmed such films as Bernie, Boyhood, Slacker, Me and Orson Welles and the Before trilogy.

D and C remains my favorite of his pictures but I just might slot Hit Man into the second slot. 

I can't wait for what else 2024 has in store in the world of movies. 

Say Hey! Remembering One of the Greatest, Willie Mays a Lifelong Hero

My autographed picture of Willie

(Willie Mays, a retired baseball player and member of baseball's hall of fame, died yesterday at the age of 93. He played most of his career with the San Francisco Giants.)

I’ve long said that there were only two people in the world who could tell me to do something and I’d comply without hesitation: my father and Willie Mays. The Say Hey Kid. Number 24. He’s been part of my life for as long as I can remember. 

From when I was four years old through my second year in college he was a member of the San Francisco Giants. The best player of his generation — without question. In my estimation only Babe Ruth could possibly be considered as good or better a player. Mays was so good that he transcended the sport of baseball. He was mythic. He was also an honorable man, widely respected and loved. 

Such memories.

When you were at a Giants’ game you leaned forward when Mays was at bat. This could be one of those moments when he sent the ball into orbit. Or perhaps he would hit one into the gap and you’d get to watch him fly from base to base, his cap inevitably flying off. Of course if he merely singled or walked then you might get to see him steal a base. Yes, he was fast, but better still he was a shrewd base runner. Willie was the thinking man’s baseball player. When the Giants were in the field you wanted opposing batters to either strike out or hit one toward Willie so you could watch him with gazelle-like strides run down the ball. If it was a fly ball you got to see his signature basket catch.

There are many great athletes but few who are so good that they seem from another world. A better one.

Watching a game on TV side chatter would stop when Willie came to the plate, all eyes on the screen. With the game on the radio as background you’d stop whatever else you were doing when Mays was up. He drew everyone’s attention. If others were about you'd say, "Willie's up."

One of the reasons I was so proud to be a Giants’ fan was because it meant that Mays was ours. Fans of other teams admired Willie, but he was part of us. The we of a fan base. He made it extra special to be a Giants fan. He always has. Still does.

The number 24 (Willie's number) has always been special. In one of his films Woody Allen wore a shirt with number 24 on it. In another he referenced Mays as one of the joys that makes life worth living. And how!

I don’t know how many times I saw Mays play nor how many home runs I saw him hit. I can think of three. Its one of the great thrills of my life that I can say that. It’s like having seen Da Vinci or Shakespeare or The Beatles.

As an adult I went to a baseball card show where for a fee you could get Willie’s autograph. I happily stood in line just for the honor of being within inches of him. Given the circumstances he was not going to engage in chit chat or even smile. I don’t think signing autographs for hours on end was his thing — not that it appeals to most people. He didn’t look up at me when he signed the photo I presented but I didn’t care. I had his autograph and I’d basked in his presence.

Yesterday my older daughter came by as the missus and I were making dinner. I could tell from her expression that something was amiss. She strode over to me and held up her phone which showed a photo of Willie captioned 1931-2024. Mays was 93 so I’d long been anticipating the day coming when he’d no longer be with us. It still hit hard. It was like losing a parent. Someone you took comfort in knowing was around. I didn’t weep but if I wasn’t such a stoic Finn I could well have. 

I moved the autographed photo from my desk to the living room. Today I’m wearing my Willie Mays tee-shirt that I usually only don on those rare occasions when I go to the ballpark. I’m a little bit sad but more than that I’m happy that Willie was with us for so long and that I had the privilege of witnessing his magic. 

What an honor.

Say hey!

A Glimpse of the Past: I Discover A Hand Written Letter from Over 114 Years Ago and Share its Contents

The letter in question

A few weeks ago I was helping clean out a room in the  Finnish Hall in Berkeley in preparation for construction that will make the historic building ADA compliant. (My maternal grandfather helped build the Hall which was completed in 1932.) It seems that Finns never throw anything away. There were programs, tickets, ledgers, meeting minutes and photos aplenty from 1920s through the 1990s before most everything started to be done online. I also found file after file of applications for membership including my father's, brother's uncle's and aunt's. One of my more unusual finds was the 124-year-old letter you see a picture of above and the transcript from below. It was in a box with a lot of unrelated items. It was the oldest item I came across. Though handwritten I was able to make out everything but the last name of the doctor who signed the letter. (Teaching for over 37 years prepares one to read all manner of handwriting.)

The letterhead says only: "Emergency Hospitals Dep't of Public" and on the right, "San Francisco" with the date Nov 23 1909.

Here's the letter:

To the Finnish Brotherhood. There was no written agreement between us, as I remember the verbal agreement it was to the effect that for a stipulated sum I was to give any professional services to the members of your Lodge. This included all accidents & sicknesses except the venereal diseases. All members that were able were presumed to come to the offices otherwise they were to be visited at their residences. Major surgical operations were presumed to carry additional pay — the amount to be given to the Doctor to be determined by the lodger. Accidents or injuries resulting from intoxication are not entitled to lodge treatment. Payment of salary to be at the end of each quarter.

Respectfully,

JC Egrberg(?) MD

Obviously I haven't a clue if there was a particular incident that this letter refers to. It could well be that it was not in reference to anything in particular but was meant to verify the doctor's understanding of his agreement with the Brotherhood. According to the research I did for my speech, When Berkeley was Finntown, given at the Hall a a couple of years ago, Berkeley's brotherhood was established in 1911. However this letter is dated two years prior. Perhaps this letter was written to another brotherhood, like one in San Francisco. Alternatively, perhaps the sources I used in my research were wrong. 

The brotherhood was established in part to provide aid and succor -- as well as a center for social events -- for the many immigrants from Finland coming to the area in the early 1900s. Health services were included, though not without out-of-pocket expenses as we shall see. 

I found it -- what's the right word? -- thrilling, exciting, interesting, fun? to hold in my hands a letter that was written when William Howard Taft was president, a Tsar ruled Russia, manned flight was but five years old and World War I was still five years away. That's an old letter, my friends.

I found it interesting that the doctor specified that he would not treat venereal diseases or injuries stemming from "intoxication." (Was he given to believe that many Finns are prodigious drinkers?) His unwillingness to treat STDs betrays a prudishness that was likely much too common in the medical community back then. My understanding of the Hippocratic Oath is that you treat the ailing -- period, full stop -- without passing moral judgments.

It is also noteworthy that he made house calls. This fell out of fashion among general practitioners by the 1960s. It is also quaint that a verbal agreement was sufficient (talk about the old days)  between the brotherhood and the doctor and there was merely the presumption of "additional pay" for operations. No HMOs need be applied to. Of course another of this letter's charms is that it is hand-written by the doctor himself. Did he even have a secretary to type for him? Perhaps not. Typewriters weren't yet ubiquitous in offices.

The letter, even at a mere 120 words, is a glimpse into the past and interesting one at that, revealing as it does the stricter moral codes of the time, the innocence and simpleness. It was a time before corporations and lawyers dictated so much of peoples' lives. What a cool thing to find.

The Following is an Overly-Dramatic if Accurate Title: I Come out of Surgery Cancer Free

About a month ago I noted that something was poking out of my nose. Not out of a nostril! That would be gross. The side of the nose. I thought it might be the start of a wart but it was a skinny little thing like a shoot of grass. I did not like it. I also did not like that it was tender to the touch. Wisely I went to my dermatologist so she could have a look-see. She looked, she saw, she did a biopsy. A day later the verdict came (that was fast). Cancer. That sounds quite dramatic and horrible and like staring death in the face. But it was more like a dash of cancer (trying not to be flip here) in a small area that was easily removed. The other side of the universe from the pancreatic cancer that felled two friends of mine. I would require something called Mohs Micrographic Surgery.

The next day I got a call scheduling the surgery for one week from that day. (Yes, this all happened very fast.) Yesterday was the surgery. If I’d blinked I’d have missed it. Literally lasted less than five minutes. The worst part was getting the shot to numb the nose and even that was just a little prick (something I believe I was once called — the little part of the insult was uncalled for). What it seemed the doctor did was to scoop out a tiny part of my nose. The extracted part was then given the once over in a lab that was right across the hall from my surgery. Meanwhile I waited. I finished listening to a podcast then read. It was an hour before the results were known. Cancer gone. Time to stitch me up. I’d been told that sometimes the cancer is not immediately extracted and they have to go in again and sometimes a third of fourth time. Lucky me, I was home a little over three hours after I left.

I now have a huge bandage on my nose which I get to remove tomorrow and replace with a regular tiny bandaid. I have to apply ice every so often to keep swelling down. Tylenol is recommended for pain but I’ve had little of that. I had to take it easy yesterday after I got home and all day today as well. Taking it easy is something at which I’m quite accomplished, so no problem.

Tomorrow I’ll be bouncing around again and Monday I’ll be back at the gym. Friday the stitches come out and it’ll all be forgotten.

I have learned the key to surviving until your 70th birthday and beyond and generally being in fine mettle is the following: good luck. I’ve had plenty. My friends who died of pancreatic cancer did not. So it goes.

It’s been an interesting six months. Getting Covid canceled Christmas for the wife and I. She fell and broke her leg canceling the majority of our planned vacation (all of hers). We’ve both had nasty colds recently. I lost a tooth yesterday and had my nose chopped into. Yet I remain ambulatory with the power of speech and my mental faculties seem intact. My wife’s leg will be completely healed by Summer’s end. Much to look forward to. But I’ve also learned that life is constantly throwing us curveballs. It can be damn annoying but if we’re lucky they only cost us a tiny piece of our nose.

You Can't Choose Your Family But You Can Choose a Great Film That Centers Around One -- Eight Examples

The Royal Tenenbaums

Families are often complex units that can be highly functional and supportive, nurturing happy and successful individuals. They can also be highly destructive to the mental health of its members and do irreparable damage. They can also be anywhere in the vast land between those two extremes. Families are the home base from which we start life. Later we can form our own. Many of us model our own parenting style and philosophy based on how we were raised. Many of us try to do the opposite.

Families come in various sizes. They can be as small as mom, dad and one child. There can be multiple children, there can be grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins included. There can be children who are adopted. Some families are close and loving. Some families spend a modicum of time together. Many close, loving families are also restrictive and repressive. Some families that are not tightly-knit nonetheless adequately fulfill the needs of its members. 

Some families fight constantly. Some with real rancor and others harmlessly with no ill will. Some families hold in their feelings towards one another. Much goes unsaid. Resentments brew.

Movies that focus on a family too often deal in stereotypes. Maybe the mom is a typical nag or perhaps she is totally self-sacrificing, tolerant and a buffer to a temperamental father. The Dad can be a tyrant or he can be a milquetoast whose every other utterance to his wife is, “yes dear.” Rarely do motion pictures give every family member their own unique identity and rarer still do they seem more than cardboard cut-outs.

But I found eight films that created interesting families that are either totally believable and relatable or thoroughly entertaining. All those selected are excellent movies most by one of filmdom's great directors. They are offered in no particular order.

Amarcord (1973) Fellini. The Biondi family is one of the great delights of cinema in one of the greatest of all films. To say they are eccentric is a massive understatement. The Father (Armando Brancia) is a construction foreman, and an anti-fascist who's demanding of his children. He also quarrels constantly with his wife (Pupella Maggio) a strong-willed woman, protective of her brood. When father's frustration grows too much he tries to "kill himself" by pulling his mouth apart with his hands pulling simultaneously up and down as if he can tear his head apart this way. There’s also a horny grandfather, an Uncle in a mental hospital who forgets to unzip before relieving himself, a lazy brother-in-law who wears a hair net, and of course the children, one of whom is the movie’s central character in a wild menagerie of them. Taken together they are a seemingly a hot mess but under the deft touch of director Federico Fellini they're grand fun.

Fanny and Alexander (1982) Bergman. The Ekdahl family. The story centers on the titular characters, especially the boy Alexander. It is partially through his young eyes that we meet this wonderful family led by the grandmother and matriarch Helena (Gunn Wallgren). She’s what one would call a “cool grandma.” She’s a vital, wise, handsome woman and likes to kick up her heels. Fanny and Alexander’s loving father dies early in our story and their lovely mother (Ewa Froling) makes the mistake of marrying a stern, cold-hearted bishop. The children go from a loving extended family of uncles, aunts and cousins in their virtual playground of a house to a austere, cold home with the bishop’s dour, dull-as-dust spinster sisters. It would be a shock to anyone. Unsurprisingly it all works out and they ultimately return to the Ekdahl wonderland. 

The Godfather (1972) F. Coppola. The Corleones. Mom, Dad and five kids, four boys (one adopted) and a girl. They’re a prosperous. The parents are immigrants from Sicily who realized the American dream  starting with nothing before building a business empire. Capitalism at its finest. True, their business is organized crime and ultimately two of the boys will be murdered and Dad will be badly wounded in a shooting. Oh, and and the daughter’s husband will be killed -- by order of one of her brothers. Family stuff. The children are all unique. The oldest son, Sonny (James Caan) will blend easily into the family business though his temper will prove a fatal flaw. The middle son, Fredo (John Cazale) will also go into the biz, but the poor sap is bumbling idiot, ill-suited for such serious work. Youngest son Michael (Al Pacino) initially wants nothing to do with the business side of his family. He’s a college boy who joins the marines when the U.S. enters World War II. Ahh but here is where our tale gets interesting. Fascinating  Celluloid history. Michael changes. Boy does he ever. Circumstances force this transformation, but there’s something within the boy too. Ultimately he takes over the family business when Pop dies of natural causes. The Godfather is indeed a movie about the Mafia, but it is also about family. At that it excels. The sequel, Godfather Part 2, continues the story.

Radio Days (1987) Allen. There is mother (Julie Kavner), father (Michael Tucker), their son Joe (Seth Green) whose latter day narration guides us through this story set in the early 1940s. They live with an aunt, uncle and cousin. Radio Days is the story of how the radio was often the center of the household but in seeing the media’s effect we learn about this not always charming but always interesting family and its disparate members. They bicker, they support each other. They are quirky and eccentric and eminently relatable. Each are unique and fully realized in one of Woody Allen’s very best films. Radio Days, like the family it depicts, is touching, funny and relatable. Each family member is unique and memorable on their own merits, but would suffer mightily without the support of the family as a whole.

The Grapes of Wrath (1940) Ford. The Joad family. The displaced family. Torn from their home and sent across the country by the combined horrors of The Great Depression and the Dust Bowl, in search of the Nirvana that California supposedly was. The Joads are one of literature’s  most famous families. Through the brilliant direction of John Ford they became one of cinema’s most indelible families too. Henry Fonda stars as Tom Joad, whose story is the focal point of the family. He has an everyman quality which lends his family the same feeling. They are any of us who are unfortunate, who’ve become victims despite our hard work and best efforts. They were what happens when luck is all bad. They prove that when one door closes another one does not necessarily open. Jane Darwell as Ma Joad is perhaps film’s greatest representation of the power of motherhood. The family center holds despite misfortunate, even as some members leave or die.

The Ice Storm (1997) A. Lee. The four-member Hood Family. All families are of a particular time and place. This one is suburbia in 1973. Watergate is dominating the news. Hairstyles have uniformly changed. Many of the freedoms fought for in the Sixties are in place. Key parties are a thing. Bell bottoms and plaid are worn. Tobey Maguire as the son Paul is the center of the story. He’s in prep school developing a love of literature but a far greater love of the fairer sex which he pursues assiduously in the form of the delicious young Katie Holmes. His younger sister Wendy (Christina Ricci) is disaffected, moody, sexually curious and perhaps quite angry at her parents. She’s certainly got, as they say, “issues” — many of them. Then again everyone in this story does and that's rather the point. Ben and Elena (Kevin Kline and Joan Allen) are the parents. Ben is having an affair with a neighbor and isn’t fooling the missus. Emotions are stifled, appearances are kept. Life is awkward, something to be soldiered through. This is a dysfunctional, if fascinating and revealing family in one of the most honest portrayals of suburbia ever filmed.

Shadow of a Doubt (1943) Hitchcock. The Newton family and its Uncle Charlie (Joseph Cotton). They’re a pretty ordinary group and that’s the trouble for the eldest, who like her uncle is also a Charlie. There’s no excitement in their lives. Mom and Dad (Patricia Collinge and Henry Travers) are agreeable, amiable folks who love their brood. (They’re a bit old to have an eight-year-old. This was an oddity of casting in the first forty or so years of films, parents in their fifties or sixties with young children.) Charlie (Teresa Wright) who appears to be nearing twenty, is clearly the driving force of the family and when her namesake Uncle (mom’s brother) comes for a visit she feels that the sun has come out after too many dreary days. Idyllic! The beloved uncle comes bearing gifts. But Uncle Charlie brings menace too. He’s not the hail-fellow-well-met he seems. Indeed he's a serial killer of rich widows, hence his wealth. Only young Charlie can see this. Families are often all about facades. The false front that fools everyone. The Newton family doesn’t even know — except for young Charlie — that their happy face is an illusion. It’s a fascinating story and one of Hitchcock's best.

The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) W. Anderson. I defy you to find a more interesting film family that the Tenenbaums. I further challenge you to identify a weirder patriarch than Royal Tenenbaum (Gene Hackman). He’s a rascal, a scoundrel, a liar, a cheat and a loving father. Here are a few quotes of his: “Anybody interested in grabbing a couple of burgers and hittin' the cemetery?” 

“I'm very sorry for your loss. Your mother was a terribly attractive woman.” 

“I've always been considered an asshole for about as long as I can remember.”

“Hell of a damn grave. Wish it were mine.”

The three children (Ben Stiller, Luke Wilson and Gwyneth Paltrow) are all madly eccentric in one way or the other — indeed in many ways. Only mom (Angelica Huston) has a touch of normalcy to her. It’s a mad crew that scrap and yell but ultimately get along…um, just fine? At the start of the movie they’ve all gone their separate ways but circumstances bring them all together and Royal makes himself the center of the ensuing insanity (he is the nexus wherever he goes). It makes for great hilarity but if you watch closely enough it’s also an insightful film. About families.