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A Prairie Home Companion

I think back fondly on a weekend last summer in which I immersed myself in Robert Altman classics. I studied up on some of his seminal 1970s work by renting Mash, The Long Goodbye and California Split. If my adoration for the director had ever been called into question before that weekend, it was firmly cemented by that Sunday night. I was captivated by his ability to capture honest and natural performances and tell meaningful stories, all the while blending comedy and drama with ease.

One of the directorial traits I admire the most is career longevity. Like two of my favorite active directors, Woody Allen and Brian De Palma, Altman has been working consistently for the past four decades. When a director amasses a body of work that substantial, his or her films take on an interconnectivity, revealing common themes and stylistic motifs that make each new entry an appendage to their long-lasting career. Like Allen, Altman manages to accomplish the remarkable feat of approximately averaging a film every year. I meet each one with equal parts excitement and anxiety, nervous it won't live up to their standard. While A Prairie Home Companion does not quite replicate the glory of some of his 70s classics, it does offer everything you hope to see in an Altman picture: long takes, quirky characters, biting humor, overlapping dialogue, bustling backgrounds, slow zooms and the occasional bout of pathos.

Here, Altman directs a script penned by NPR superstar, Garrison Keillor, who also stars in the film"¦ as himself. His story is a fictional account of the final broadcast of his real life radio program, A Prairie Home Companion. The variety show is filmed on a stage in front of a live audience but broadcast exclusively on radio. With the release of the film, many of his diehard fans (those who haven't seen his live broadcasts) will get their first glimpse at the man whose soothing voice they've been listening to for the past thirty years. Keillor may have a face for radio but his enthusiasm is worthy of the silver screen.

In the film and in reality, Keillor moderates the program, singing songs, telling stories, spieling facetious advertisements and introducing guest musicians like the rustic cowhands Dusty and Lefty (Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly) or the chummy Johnson Sisters (Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin). The heartfelt performers go on stage with stoic oblivion, standing on the brink of their last show, with The Axeman (Tommy Lee Jones) scheduled to deliver the official word by the night's end. The performers make barely a mention about the impending cancellation because as the narrator (Kevin Kline as security guard Guy Noir) informs us, the Midwestern ideology is "if you ignore bad news it will go away." The proceedings are imbued

with an unexpected, ethereal quality through the arrival of an angel played by Virginia Madsen, who waltzes her way backstage with a duty to fulfill.

Like any good Altman ensemble should be, the acting is uniformly top-notch without any one performer upstaging the rest. The film radiates joy, suggesting the actors had a great time during the shoot. This year's Oscar presentation by Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin gave a small taste of how funny the two are together. Rarely do two actresses complement each other so well. Similarly, Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly bicker continually but with a comfortingly pleasant demeanor about them. Kevin Kline, as always, is a pleasure to watch. If a lesser actor had attempted the role, the character might have felt completely out of place instead of ironically appropriate. Tommy Lee Jones plays a brusque pragmatic with such ease that I have to wonder how closely this resembles his own personality. Meanwhile, Lindsay Lohan reminds us that she is in fact a good actress and not just a tabloid headline with her performance as Streep's daughter, Lola, a depressed teenager who writes poetry about a suicide.

Altman fans will be taken off guard by just how sentimental A Prairie Home Companion is. Bucking his trend as an unflinching cynic, the film is a laconic lament about the passing of radio. There is some occasional dark humor but an inescapable sentimentality runs throughout. If anything, the cynicism is incorporated by Keillor, whose radio show is an enormous success in reality, chooses to tell a fictional story envisioning its demise.

Not all of the humor works in the film. A lengthy scene of Keillor stalling with the Sound Effects Man falls on deaf ears. He also incorporates a few scenes that feel more like fulfilling personal fantasies than honest to the story; his sing-song nostalgia with Lohan and his past relationship with Streep's character in particular. But there's an undeniable joy surrounding the production and a lot of fun to be had watching this film. Non-fans of country music need not be hesitant about going. While I wouldn't necessarily listen to this kind of music on my own accord, the performances are so engaging that they render the songs completely accessible. Each song, like the film itself, is an infectious medley of energy and elation from start to finish. The characters thrive on the rush from performing on stage and that's why they refuse to acknowledge it will be coming to an end. Judging by these performances, it appears the actors felt the same way.

Movie Grade: B+

Synopsis:

A Prairie Home Companion is a fictionalized account of Garrison Keillor’s award-winning show, which currently runs on more than 558 public radio stations. The film follows the show’s cast of characters preparing for the final live broadcast on the eve of being shut down after

30 years. As passions erupt, secrets emerge and a mysterious stranger lurks in the shadows, the vigilant stage manager must hold it all together since the “show must go on”.