Posts Tagged ‘minneapolis’

prince12

We are gathered here today to get through this thing called life —

He certainly did more than “get through,” though, didn’t he? Equal parts icon and iconoclast, superstar and outsider, there was always a sense that Prince was something other than, or at the very least apart from, the rest of humanity. Mind-bogglingly talented on a level most of us can scarcely conceive of, watching him perform a guitar solo live is the closest thing many folks will ever have to a truly cosmic experience. Surely this virtuoso energy, creativity, and freeform mastery that was flowing through him came from some otherwordly, perhaps even extradimensional, source. I mean — how else to even explain it, right?

Unless you’re from here. His home town. Minneapolis. In which case, he’s not only the most impossibly gifted musician of his generation (as well as any number of those that preceded and followed it), he’s one of us. And that’s doubly true for an Uptown kid.

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Everybody’s going Uptown — that’s where I wanna be — Uptown — set your mind free.

There’s a line in Ang Lee’s generally-reviled Taking Woodstock that’s always stuck with me, melodramatic as it might be — when Liev Schreiber’s transgender character tells the film’s young protagonist, played by Demetri Martin, to go down to the concert and “see what the center of the universe feels like.” Been there, done that, thanks to Prince. I was about 12 years old at the height of his Purple Reign, and Minneapolis was ground zero for a new sound, new style, and new sensibility that was sweeping the nation. And ground double-zero was Uptown, well known as the burgeoning mega-star’s favorite neighborhood. It’s also where I grew up. And where waiting around for a chance to see our local royalty was not just a thing to do, but a bona fide way of life for a good couple of years there. Whether you were loitering at one of the tables they used to have in front of the McDonald’s on Lagoon and Hennepin, or standing in line for tickets for that evening’s midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show (which played every Friday and Saturday at the Uptown Theater to packed houses for at least a decade), one way or another you were on a Prince-sighting mission — and more often than not your efforts weren’t in vain, as he’d cruise by on his purple motorcycle, no entourage in tow, just taking in the sights and sounds of his city. Yeah, we all know he put First Avenue on the map — but when he wasn’t performing or practicing or writing or producing or acting he was Uptown. It’s where he wanted to be, after all. Was it really the center of the universe? Of course not, but it sure felt that way when you were an impressionable little kid and the star of the biggest movie in the country at the time who had a string of number one hit singles to his name hung out five minutes from your house almost every weekend.

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I guess I should’ve known, by the way you parked your car sideways, that it wouldn’t last.

Here’s the thing, though — it did. Prince didn’t just have a moment, he was the moment. Even when he was tanking his career on purpose to get out of his contract with Warner Brothers, or changing his name to a symbol, or directing movies when he had no business trying to, or going bankrupt — he never totally faded from view, and still commanded the attention of any and every room he entered. At his career’s lowest ebb, there was never any sense that he needed a “comeback” so much as that he was biding his time waiting for another breakthrough — for the world to catch up to wherever he was at. From time to time it did and he’d be back at the top of the charts with a surprise multi-platinum single or album, and once Musicology cemented his place as the modern king of funk/dance/R and B/rock and roll all over again, he went from legend to “guy for whom legend is too small a word” and stayed there, on his self-made throne, arrived at in his own time via his own singular methodology, until today. He exists — and I suppose always will — as a genre unto himself. Someone whose name will immediately be linked with a sound that’s entirely his for as long as people have ears to listen with — and feet that can tap along to the beat. Go out and find me somebody who doesn’t like at least one Prince song. I dare you.

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Sometimes it snows in April.

It didn’t today, but the sentiment from that song, which Prince wrote for a dead friend, certainly applies, especially here in the Twin Cities. Hard-core fans are understandably in mourning, more casual fans are in disbelief, and even folks who hardly followed his career seem a little off. Minneapolis has a palpable sense of loss hanging over it that you can feel, and complete strangers are striking up conversation with each other about something they have in common — an event they can relate to — in a way I haven’t seen since the Twins first won the World Series back in 1987. Back then it was random high-fives and “yes!!!!!!!”s — today it’s a shared sense of sorrow that our greatest living vessel of civic pride is gone, and that maybe we didn’t even realize all he’d done for us until it was too late. Yes, his untimely passing at only 57 years of age (just a handful of weeks after the death of his former protege, Vanity) is front-page news the world over, but it takes on added weight and significance here. I met some of the most passionate Prince fans you’ll ever find anywhere when I saw him in concert in Melbourne, Australia in 2003, and I have no doubt that he’s got zealous adherents all over the globe who are devastated by today’s events, but we’re still, in many ways, a provincial backwater (“fly-over country,” as a former football coach who went on to greener pastures once said of us), and nobody let the world know we were here the way he did. And while we’ll still be here tomorrow, our favorite son won’t — and that’s the most quietly seismic happening this community has arguably ever felt.

A world without Prince is really going to suck. But it’s going to suck even more for us former Uptown kids.

"Into Temptation" Movie Poster

"Into Temptation" Movie Poster

Okay, right off the bat, maybe it’s fair to say that your host can’t be neutral on this one. Not only was writer-director Patrick Coyle’s second feature (the first being 2003’s little-seen “Detective Fiction”) lensed entirely in my hometown of Minneapolis, much of it was shot not even a mile from my house. A good half the action or more takes place a the fictitious St. Mary Magdalene Catholic church, which is, in actuality, Incarnation Catholic church, which is just about ten blocks up 38th street from my house and right across the street from where I attended elementary school. And hey, even though this is an ultra-low-budget effort shot on hi-def video, it’s still pretty cool seeing one’s home environs up on the big screen.

Our story is pretty straightforward : hip, liberal young priest  Father John Buerlein (played by Jeremy Sisto, who turned in superb roles as Brenda’s crazy brother Billy on HBO’s “Six Feet Under,” as the inattentive-at-best husband in “Waitress,” and as the nominal love interest in Lucky McKee’s outstanding and powerful humanistic horror flick “May, among others—and I guess he’s now one of the leads on “Law And Order,” a show that, even though it’s been on literally forever, I admit I’ve never seen more than two- or three-minute snippets of when flipping through the channels) is hearing confessions in his working-class (and purportedly downtown, even though it’s on 38th) parish one day when a young woman  (who we later learn is named Linda, played by Kristin Chenoweth, who I understand starred on TV’s “The West Wing”) comes in and gives a doozy—she’s there to confess a sin she’s about to commit, namely taking her own life. She then proceeds to tell Father John about her tragic childhood (her stepfather repeatedly raped her beginning when she was twelve) and how this set in motion a chain of events that lead her to eventually become a high-end escort. She’s tired of being a prostitute, though, sees no hope for the future, and has decided to end it all. Why she came to Father John to make this heartfelt (and heart-rending) confession, though, is a mystery that will remain unknown to us until the film’s very last scene, and one that he himself will never uncover (along with her final fate—and we in the audience are in the same boat as him with that one, since the movie never explicitly states whether she goes through with her plan in the end or not, although she sure is ready to).

All Father John sees of her through the confessional is a somewhat large and impressive crucifix  dangling between her (also somewhat large and impressive) cleavage, and when she’s done telling her tale, he rushes out to try and stop her from leaving the church only to find she’s already gone.

The memory of her confession remains with him, though, and in the days that follow, in between attending to his other parish duties such as counseling his flock, administering mass, and what have you, he begins to try to formulate a plan to figure out who this woman was, where he can find her, and how he can save her. Soon he’s trolling the streets of Minneapolis’ (admittedly largely imaginary, but they do a good job of turning the last nominally sleazy block of Hennepin Avenue into it) “red light” district and trying to find any sign of this ethereal woman.

Fearful that he’s getting in over his head emotionally, he relies upon another priest at a decidedly more well-to-do parish for moral support (as well as a loan after he gets mugged), and recruits one of his parishoners, an ex-Gold Gloves boxer, to back him up as he combs our fair city’s “mean” streets in his quest.

His physical search is neatly paralleled with his concurrent emotional and spiritual one, and the juxtaposition of the two is obvious without being heavy-handed. It’s a fine line to walk and Coyle’s tight script and economical direction straddle it perfectly, and Sisto is absolutely dynamite in conveying his character’s quiet inner turmoil that threatens to become out-and-out anguish at any moment. Honestly, we don’t know if he’s more interested in her out of pure concern, sexual attraction, or a deep psychological need on his own part to be a savior. And neither does he. Maybe he’s drawn to her because of her plight, maybe it’s because he gets off on being a hero, maybe the similarities between her story and that of the saint for which his parish is named are too much to ignore and literally compel him to go forward,  or maybe it’s just because of her tits. In truth, of course, it’s all of the above, and only as he begins to resolve all of these conflicting reasons for wanting to find her does he draw closer to her in her final, fateful hours.

Again, the parallels between resolving his own inner conflict and resolving the mystery “on the ground” before it’s too late are in no way subtle, yet handled incredibly effectively. Paradoxically, the direction, scripting, and acting are more subtle and understated than the core of the plot itself.  This is key to the film’s success, because in lesser hands this whole thing could come off as incredibly heavy-handed.

I’ll refrain, like the professional critic I’m not, from giving away too much more (well, okay, I kind of blew a big chunk of the ending already) — suffice to say that Father John learns very little in terms of concrete information as the movie draws to a close, but learns the most important thing that he possibly could—that “closure, ” such as it is, comes from within, and that he can “know” this woman, and know a kind of peace, without ever knowing what really happens to her. The up-in-the-air nature of the ending demands that we as an audience take that lesson to heart, as well, and in that way, it works beautifully. The conclusion is only unsatisfying for us if we allow it to be, if we are more focused on what happens in the movie than we are on what it’s really about.

Understatedly dramatic, turbulent, and gripping, “Into Temptation” is a provocative, thought-provoking and ultimately extremely rewarding piece of work. It speaks softly, yes,  but it also speaks volumes, and it’s a movie that will stay with you for a long time. I’d say the same if it was shot in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago—or even St. Paul.