In which we meet the snooty Ima Rae Beare, fight the battle of poodle skirts and crinolines and learn that fashion is more important some places than others, and rescue the UPS delivery that caused the trouble.
Anonymous (2011) Directed by Roland Emmerich Here’s a sentence I never expected to read, much less write:
Director Roland Emmerich has made a movie of ideas.
Yes, the man who gave the world high-concept, nutritionally light hits like “Stargate,” “Independence Day,” "Twister," “Godzilla,” “The Patriot,” “The Day After Tomorrow” and “2012” has put on his thinking cap and delivered a Gordian knot of convoluted history from Elizabethan England.
And if his “Anonymous” is a largely chilly and cerebral affair, it’s positively overflowing with brain-tickling notions.
Nominally this is the story of Edward DeVere, Earl of Oxford, a member of the court of Elizabeth I who in some quarters has been credited with being the true author of Shakespeare’s plays and poems.
But screenwriter John Orloff (HBO’s “Band of Brothers,” “A Mighty Heart”) rips open a veritable Pandora’s box of daring supposition, not just about the authorship of “Hamlet” and the other plays but about their subversive political purposes and about Elizabeth’s sex life.
Like the less ambitious “Shakespeare in Love,” “Anonymous” takes known facts and slyly extrapolates them into a rich tapestry of possibilities.
Unfolding over 40 years and presented in a jumbled chronology, "Anonymous" depicts a world of deadly political intrigue. The aging Elizabeth (Vanessa Redgrave, with chalky makeup and rotten teeth) is childless (or is she?) and, being chronically indecisive, refuses to name an heir.
One faction supports her cousin, James of Scotland. Another gathers around the swashbuckling Earl of Essex, widely believed to be the Queen's bastard son.
Among Essex’s supporters is the Earl of Oxford (Rhys Ifans), now firmly in middle age. Oxford is a bit of a mess. He has ignored his once-vast investments to write plays and poetry. He does so in secret — writing isn't considered a proper pastime for a nobleman and in fact theater companies are regularly persecuted by the Queen’s powerful Puritan adviser William Cecil (David Thewlis) and his hunchbacked, resentful son Robert (Edward Hogg).
Early in “Anonymous,” in fact, we see playwright Ben Jonson (Sebastian Armesto) being arrested by Cecil’s men and grilled about a collection of Shakespeare manuscripts believed to be in his possession.
But Oxford — who, ironically enough, is trapped in a loveless marriage to William Cecil's daughter — cannot stop himself from indulging his literary compulsions. His head, he says, is filled with characters and stories.
“I would go mad if I didn’t write down the voices.”
Oxford's one hope to justify his failed life rests on seeing his plays produced. But his goal goes beyond mere aesthetics, for his plays have been cannily fashioned to stir Elizabethan audiences to the cause of Essex and turn them against the manipulative Cecil.
“All art is politics," Oxford says, "else it would just be decoration.”
Since William Cecil is a major supporter of James of Scotland, Oxford lampoons him in "Hamlet." In the pompous pedant Polonius, Oxford creates a thinly-disguised parody of his theater-hating father-in-law. And the deformed villainous title character of “Richard III” bears an uncanny resemblance to the Robert Cecil, Oxford's brother-in-law.
Since Oxford cannot take credit for these works, he needs a front. That would be a semi-illiterate actor named William Shakespeare (Rafe Spall), a drunken, egotistical buffoon (and, possibly, murderer) who becomes the toast of London. Oxford uses Ben Johnson as his middleman in dealing with Shakespeare.
All this intrigue eventually leads up to an open rebellion by Essex that will have disastrous consequences for all involved.
But wait, there’s more. Much of “Anonymous” takes place in flashback, with the young Oxford (Jamie Campbell Bower) having a passionate affair with the somewhat older Queen Elizabeth (Joely Richardson, Redgrave’s daughter…a nice bit of casting). Later on this coupling will be the source of a gasp-inducing revelation.
And I haven't yet mentioned yet another wrinkle. Bookending the film are scenes set in a modern Broadway theater where an actor (Derek Jacobi) is introducing a play called "Anonymous" that purports to tell the truth about who really wrote the Shakespeare plays. These segments are unnecessary but at least serve as a clever homage to Laurence Olivier’s 1944 screen adaptation of “Henry V,” which began with the play being performed in the Globe Theatre and then segued into the “real” world of castles, horses and battlefields.
With all this skullduggery and intrigue jerking us first in one direction and then the next, “Anonymous” has no shortage of provocative material. Its major shortcoming is its emotional neutrality — one can find its ideas fascinating but there's little genuine feeling here.
In part this is because the film lacks a strong center, a performance around which all these ideas and plot threads can coalesce. Ostensibly that should be Oxford's role, yet here he's but one of many characters. Ifans is a hugely entertaining comic actor ("Notting Hill," "Pirate Radio"), but despite a few moments of sardonic humor he seems a bit suffocated beneath the weight of “important” material.
Oxford's fate should be heartbreaking. It isn't.
Which is not to say there isn’t plenty of diversion here. The art direction contrasts muddy, rubbish-strewn streets with the luxury of court (although much of the computer-generated scenery falls just a pixel or two short of convincing).
Particularly satisfying are the depictions of Elizabethan theater. During a Globe performance of “Henry V” the St. Crispin’s Day speech galvanizes the audience of groundlings, who rise as one. The line between art and life is erased, the playgoers in effect become the English army, eager to engage a foreign foe. It’s a breathtaking moment, a delicious bit of cinema/theatrical magic.
It’s questionable whether “Anonymous” will make sense to anyone not already reasonably well-versed in Elizabethan and Shakespearean topics. In fact, a couple of viewings are necessary to truly grasp its labyrinthian plotting.
But those open to it will discover at the very least a rich feast of speculation.
Here are the next pages in chapter one of Night Watch. Thanks to all of you who gave us your first sentence and commented on our first pages. We’re waiting for your comments. The last of this chapter will be posted soon. Stay tuned.
Chapter 1 Continued
“The real problem is I know too much, or at least they think I do. I overheard a conversation no one was supposed to have heard.”
“And that was…..”
“Bad question. I just said I know too much. Believe me, you don’t want to share that knowledge.”
“Right. I have to get along with those guys. But now you’re onboard with me. How do I convince them that you haven’t told me what you heard?”
“You don’t. And it’s really bad. They said they were taking me to jail in Nassau to wait trial, but I know better. That wouldn’t have solved their problem. They wouldn’t want publicity over this. As soon as I got past the Northwest Channel Light and into deep water, I would have found myself overboard with an anchor chained to my ankle.”
“Where’d they pick you up?”
“Bimini. That’s where it all happened.”
She’s lying. “Doesn’t make sense. There’s deep water in the Gulf Stream, just west of Bimini. No need to go to Nassau to drown you.”
“Going to Nassau was the original plan. But just before I slipped over the stern, I heard a message on their single side-band. They were all up on the bridge deck, but there was a radio in the main salon as well. I couldn’t hear everything over the engine noise, but the orders were to be sure I didn’t get to Nassau.”
“Let’s see if I’ve got this right. You overheard two conversations. One that got you arrested and one that got you in the water swimming for your life. I’m supposed to believe this?”
Kat was quiet. “It doesn’t sound believable does it?”
“Not really. But let’s just say I do believe you. What would you have done if you hadn’t seen my anchor light before you went overboard?”
“I honestly don’t know.” They both stared out over the expanse of ocean.
Carter broke the silence. “So, now it’s my ass as well as yours.”
“Are you going to radio the police?”
“I don’t think so. Don’t ask me why not.” Carter paused. “Any bright ideas?”
“Yeah, take me to the Turks and Cacaos. Go into some obscure inlet and let me off. I’ll pay you.”
“Aside from legal issues, I don’t have time for that. Those islands are days away, even if we sailed day and night, and there’s a hurricane down that way. I’ll get you toNassau. Maybe you can fly out from there.”
“With no passport, I can’t fly anywhere. They know I don’t have it. They’ll be watching the embassy inNassau. Airports too. Are you going to Nassau?”
“Yeah, I’ll spend the night there, refuel, pick up some fresh produce and go on.”
“Maybe I can sign on as crew on another boat.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Don’t kid yourself. The police will be searching all boats and asking questions to anyone who picked up crew. It’s a risk for any owner. Like the one I’m taking now.”
“I can pay.”
“And how will you convince anyone? You don’t exactly look the part, no passport, bleached out shirt and shorts no credit card or check book that I see. No way to prove who you are. With lots of wanabee sailors willing to sign on for temporary crew positions, you still have to have some credentials.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“All I know is you risked your life trying to swim to my boat. It may help if you’d tell me what happened that made you take that risk.”
Kat bit her lip and looked at him. “I’m scared.”
“Yeah well, I would think so. I don’t know what trouble you’re in, but I’m not going to throw you to the wolves—or sharks. We’ll think of something.” Am I being taken for a fool? And do I care? I’m not depressed!
They sat, each with their own thoughts. Finally Kat asked, “Where are we now?”
“In about an hour we’ll reach the narrow passage at the Northwest Channel Light.”
There had been no traffic on the radio. Then someone keyed a microphone. They listened. “Reel Time, Reel Time. Dis is Fish Story. Over.”
“Fish Story, Reel Time here, go to our working channel.”
These were Bahamian fishing charter boats headed for Chub Cay. Carter knew these fun-loving captains and their often questionable charters. Guys you’d want on your side in a fight, but they walked a thin line with authorities. He keyed the radio to channel 17, “their working channel.” Hardly subtle.
“Reel Time, come back. Fish Story here.”
“I wid you. Where you at?”
“ ’Bout five miles west a da Northwest Channel.”
“We at da light. Lots goin’ on. Police boats boarding ever boat comin’ off da banks. Never seen dis afore. We be next but dey take their own sweet time. You probly catch up wid us. Hope you sorted out your catch fo you get here or the police sort it fo you.”
“Tanks for the heads up. We be clear. Back to sixteen.”
Carter chuckled. “Guess Fish Story will be dumping their drugs overboard. Won’t be a good day for them. Not for us either. Can’t take you past that light. No way to get off the banks.” He shifted into neutral and let Mo coast to a stop.
“Isn’t there another way?”
“Not without going north of the Berrys and I don’t have fuel for that.” Carter fell silent, then something occurred to him. “You know, a couple of years ago, I was talking to a Bahamian captain at the End of the World bar in Bimini. He was bragging drunk. Told me he knew a way through the coral reefs about four miles south of the light. Said it was complicated. You needed good light to watch depths and spot the coral heads. A look-out on the bow. Claimed you could take about six feet through there at high tide. The guy pulled a piece of paper out of his wallet and showed me three sets of coordinates. I didn’t really believe him, just drunk talk, but I did write them down and put it on my chart. Thought I’d check it out sometime, figured it’d be a short-cut for my run toNassau, if it’s even possible.”
“How much does your boat draw?”
“Five feet nine inches. It’s worth a try. I’ll plot our course if you’ll stay here and watch for traffic. Never could teach Captain Auto to do that. He doesn’t multitask. Good with keeping the course, but shit as a look-out. Don’t take chances; call me if you spot another boat.”
Carter went below with the GPS, turned on the dim red light at the chart table and searched his worn chart until he found the three sets of coordinates. He entered them on the GPS and waited. Soon it indicated a course of 203 degrees and a distance of 8.4 miles. Checking the tide table he saw the next high tide was at 10:56 am. Need to get there about 10:00 to get through a little before high tide. If we go aground on a rising tide I can probably still get off. Calling for help with a fugitive on board is not a good plan.
He could stand on the foredeck and see the bottom and the coral heads, but he’d need Kat at the helm, responding to his signals. Might as well find out if she’s telling the truth about being a sailor. He called to her on the intercom. “Kat, shift into forward, 1600 r.p.m., course heading 203 degrees.”
“Roger that.” He felt the engine shift into gear, rev up, and the boat swing to starboard. Walking forward to the inside steering station, he looked at the instruments. She was dead on course and the engine was turning 1600.
He came back to the companionway. “Was that a test?” she asked.
“Yeah. And you get an A. I’ll need you at the helm when we go through the coral. I’ll stand on the bow and give you hand signals to indicate which way to turn. We’ll go through dead slow. Engine at idle.”
“Roger, Captain.” She smiled as she said it.
Carter looked at the GPS. It showed an ETA of 10:32, “Give her 200 r.p.m. more.”
“Say, Captain, is there any food on board? My stomach seems to be a little empty.”
“Of course. How about an omelet with ham and cheese?”
“Sounds great. You eat well for a solo sailor.”
“This used to be a charter boat. If I fed my guests crap, they wouldn’t come back. Just let me know if you see another boat—any boat.”
“ ‘Carter’s Charter,’” she said. “That’s just too cute.”
Somehow that broke the tension. “OK, wise-ass. For your information it was Carter McDowell’s Charter Service. That’s my last name. Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
“How you like it?”
“Black is fine.”
“Great. That’s what’s in the thermos.” He handed her an empty mug and went into the galley to fix omelets.
…the book’s approach is born out of the paradox that we deal most fruitfully with loss by accepting the fact that one day we will lose everything…
The Interrupters (2011) Directed by Steve James Heart wrenching and gut twisting, “The Interrupters” spends a year in Chicago’s meanest neighborhoods following three individuals committed to stopping the cycle of violence in the inner city.
