The only passage of scripture that I know by heart is from Ecclesiastes: "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy might; for there is no work, nor device, nor knowledge, nor wisdom, in the grave, whither thou goest."
Here's a poem about the work of just one pair of our hands, by Floyd Skloot, who lives in Oregon. His most recent book is Approaching Winter, from Louisiana State University Press.
Handspun
My wife sits in her swivel chair ringed by skeins of multicolored yarn that will become the summer sweater she has imagined since September. Her hand rests on the spinning wheel and her foot pauses on the pedals as she gazes out into the swollen river. Light larking between wind and current will be in this sweater. So will a shade of red she saw when the sun went down. When she is at her wheel, time moves like the tune I almost recognize now that she begins to hum it, a lulling melody born from the draft of fiber, clack of spindle and bobbin, soft breath as the rhythm takes hold.
A movie about an immigrant doctor’s discovery of the connection between American football and the severe neurological problems brought on by repetitive head trauma is not exactly cheerful holiday fare.
But, at least, “Concussion” allows the deft portrayal by Will Smith of the reluctant, nuanced medical crusader Dr. Bennet Omalu, who believed so passionately that his breakthrough in the field of forensic pathology could save lives of football players.
It must be granted that “Concussion,” however, has the fortuitous good timing of landing in theaters just in time for the nearly endless parade of college football bowl games and the upcoming NFL playoffs.
NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell is probably not too thrilled with Hollywood’s treatment of this serious issue, considering for one thing that the direction of “Concussion” is in the hands of investigate journalist Peter Landesman, doing double duty as the film’s writer.
Additionally, Goodell may be equally displeased to be portrayed on film by Luke Wilson, whose screen time, though limited, generates no real emotional impact other being another proverbial corporate honcho of dubious moral character.
“Concussion” has an important story to tell for the simple reason that the issue of the health risks to pro players has been percolating in recent years. Will Smith, coming across with naïve yet principled conviction, is the right fit to infuse Dr. Omalu with credibility.
By all indications, Dr. Omalu is a highly educated forensic pathologist from Nigeria who seems overly qualified to be working in the Pittsburgh morgue for the Allegheny County Coroner Dr. Cyril Wecht (Albert Brooks).
Possessed of idiosyncratic tendencies, Dr. Omalu is perceived to be somewhat eccentric by his fellow medical colleagues as he talks to the cadavers while conducting autopsies. His stated reason for this behavior is to intuit the truth of a person’s demise.
Conducting his medical examination on retired Pittsburgh Steelers star center and local sports hero Mike Webster (David Morse), Dr. Omalu reportedly discovers a football-related brain trauma disorder that he names Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy (CTE).
Granted that I am no medical expert, but it seems to me that awareness of repeated blows to the head have been known for some time to cause permanent damage, both mental and physical, to professional boxers, and by extension to any sport involving physical contact above the neck.
The story of Mike Webster takes on special meaning in a community like Pittsburgh where the Steelers are widely revered. Dr. Wecht observes to his Nigerian pathologist that the NFL has claimed Sunday as the day of the week that it owns, thereby upping the stakes to any challenge to the prevailing orthodoxy of football supremacy.
Then, it comes as no surprise that Dr. Omalu’s research into game-related brain injuries was certain to stir passions on both sides of the issue, with certain interests trying desperately to discredit the pathologist’s clinical studies.
That Mike Webster, known as “Iron Mike,” who died of an alleged heart attack at age 50, had suffered from severe dementia and was living in his pickup truck at the time of death proved to be merely the beginning of medical fascination to Dr. Omalu.
Other famous cases of CTE include Philadelphia Eagles defensive back Andre Waters and Chicago Bears defensive back Dave Duerson. The characterization of the latter in this film has drawn fire from family members.
Aside from support from the Coroner, Dr. Omalu had few allies in his quest to bring his research into the public light. Alec Baldwin’s Dr. Julian Bailes, a former team physician for the Steelers, joined the cause after realizing the risks to players formerly in his care.
Playing his role with quiet intensity, Will Smith’s Dr. Omalu may be unorthodox in his approach to medical science but his quest for truth is a matter of personal ethics and professional duty.
“Concussion” works best when the focus is on the doctor’s good works and his interaction with medical colleagues, whether they are hostile or favorable to his efforts.
The film gets bogged down a bit in his personal life story, one that lacks much excitement until his church persuades him to provide temporary shelter to new Nigerian immigrant Prema Mutiso (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), who later becomes his wife.
Not that going up against the powers that be in the NFL is any easy task worthy of focused attention, but the story veers off into a subplot of intrigue in which on one occasion Prema finds that she is being followed ominously on back roads. Moreover, Dr. Wecht gets arrested by federal agents on what looks like retaliation.
In the end, Will Smith stands out in a cast with many excellent performances, but “Concussion” leaves the impression that the conflict with the NFL could have been even more pronounced than as it is portrayed.
Tim Riley writes film and television reviews for Lake County News.
LAKEPORT, Calif. – The first of a four-part contemporary chamber music series produced by Beth Aiken and Jeff Ives takes place on Sunday, Jan. 10, at 3 p.m.
January's program features mezzo-soprano Heather McFadden and tenor Nick Reid performing songs by Johannes Brahms, Frank Bridge and Ralph Vaughan Williams for oboe and tenor, as well as a Johann Sebastian Bach Cantata for solo voices.
The series is presented under the auspices of the Soper Reese Theatre. All seats are reserved.
Tickets are $20 and $15. Children 18 and under are free.
Three more concerts follow on the second Sunday in February, March and April.
On Feb. 10 Bay Area harp group, Triskela, and Mendocino County’s Panamericana present a classical Latin program.
On March 13 a string quintet performs Schubert and Onslow, and the season ends on April 10 with SquarPeg, a group that brings a 21st century perspective to classical chamber music.
Season tickets are now on sale and include the January concert.
The four-concert package is priced at $70 and $50.
Go to www.SoperReeseTheatre.com to purchase individual or season tickets. Tickets also are available at the Theatre Box Office, 275 S. Main St., Lakeport on Fridays from 10:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m., or at The Travel Center, 1265 S. Main, Lakeport, Monday through Friday, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m.
Here’s a New Year’s poem by Judy Ray, who lives and writes in Tucson.
I like the way that common phrase, “the turning of a year,” has suggested to her the turns in a race track.
Her most recent book is To Fly Without Wings, (Helicon Nine Editions, 2009).
Turning of the Year
We never know if the turn is into the home stretch. We call it that—a stretch of place and time— with vision of straining, racing. We acknowledge each turn with cheers though we don’t know how many laps remain. But we can hope the course leads on far and clear while the horses have strength and balance on their lean legs, fine-tuned muscles, desire for the length of the run. Some may find the year smooth, others stumble at obstacles along the way. We never know if the finish line will be reached after faltering, slowing, or in mid-stride, leaping forward.
There are two things to know about the comedic reunion in “Daddy’s Home” of Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg, once again polar opposites that previously carried the day when they were mismatched detectives in “The Other Guys.”
First, the slapstick humor is crude and raunchy often enough to be extremely questionable family-oriented entertainment.
That’s why it seemed surprising that the screening was set up so that critics could bring along younger kids.
Second, this is type of film that one must grant is sufficiently predictable in many ways and yet leads to some dumb fun, which many critics are going to dislike.
Perhaps they were duped into bringing their grade school children to the screening and now seek payback with bad reviews.
For the rest of us, the overriding consideration is whether “Daddy’s Home” might provide enough laughter so that our concern about a PG-13 rating is mitigated by having the good sense not to take young kids to this kind of movie in the first place.
It’s good to see Will Ferrell and Mark Wahlberg back together on screen, this time around as parental rivals vying for the affection of grade school kids who need the nurturing of the stepdad but yearn for the reckless fun times with their cool biological father.
In familiar typecasting, Ferrell’s Brad Whitaker, the sensitive beta male, is now married to Sara (Linda Cardellini), the mother of Dylan (Owen Vaccaro) and Megan (Scarlett Estevez).
Brad is an executive at the Panda, a smooth jazz radio station rated the third most popular in the nation, where his boss Leo Holt (Thomas Haden Church) is fond of giving marital advice while telling absurd stories about his many failed marriages.
Driving a sensible Ford Flex family car, Brad wants to be a model stepfather, often reading from the self-help book “Step by Stepdad” and trying hard to win over bratty kids that have been drawing crayon pictures of the nuclear family with Brad depicted in various stages of distress.
Along comes Mark Wahlberg’s Dusty Mayron, the ultra smooth alpha male father who rides a Harley, wears cowboy boots and often takes off his shirt to expose a well-sculpted muscular torso, thereby revealing a true contrast to Brad’s basic nice guy timidity and flabby physique.
That Brad is essentially insecure and unsure of himself may have a lot to do with his inability to procreate. A flashback shows that Brad suffered a blow to his manhood as the result of an accident with an errant dental x-ray machine.
Having returned to the family scene with macho swagger, Dusty senses an emerging chasm in the household that he may exploit in order to reclaim his patriarchal role.
It’s not without irony that Dusty enjoys telling bedtime stories to his little tykes about the noble king being the superior person in returning to the castle to protect the kingdom where the step king has failed.
At first, Brad is seemingly seduced by Dusty’s self-assured charm offensive, trying a bit too hard to be his friend even though Sara has knowingly warned that her ex-husband is potential trouble.
Trouble arrives quickly in the guise of very competitive games to win the hearts and minds of the young children for the title of the finest dad, with Brad constantly one-upped by the cunning, persuasive Dusty.
The competition goes from the ridiculous to the sublime, and along the way Dusty manages to turn others against Brad, even convincing African-American handyman Griff (Hannibal Buress) that Brad is a racist.
Dusty does not confine his damage to the Whitaker household. On a visit to Brad’s radio station, he lucks into a chance to become the on-air voice of the station’s identity, thereby securing a handsome residual income.
The outlandish competition goes to extremes. Dusty builds an awesome tree house fit for an entire family, while Brad stages a full-blown Christmas celebration with expensive gifts during the summer.
Some of the humor is a bit cringe-worthy such as the visit to a fertility doctor where Brad and Dusty are reduced to the primitive state of exposing their manhood for the sake of medical examination.
Sexual innuendos, questionable at best for a younger audience, aren’t confined to clinical assessment. This and other forms of more adult-oriented humor are just part of the territorial contest between the father figures.
“Daddy’s Home” is filled with plenty of goofy antics, which are not only downright conventional and predicable, but on the whole prove to be quite funny.
Tim Riley writes film and television reviews for Lake County News.
The only times I feel truly homicidal are when I see somebody abusing a pet, and I was glad to find this poem so I could get that off my chest.
But don’t ever even think about taking a kick at my old dog, Howard.
Wesley McNair lives in Maine and is that state’s poet laureate. This is from his book Lovers of the Lost, from David R. Godine. His most recent book is The Lost Child: Ozark Poems, (Godine, 2014).
The Puppy
From down the road, starting up and stopping once more, the sound of a puppy on a chain who has not yet discovered he will spend his life there. Foolish dog, to forget where he is and wander until he feels the collar close fast around his throat, then cry all over again about the little space in which he finds himself. Soon, when there is no grass left in it and he understands it is all he has, he will snarl and bark whenever he senses a threat to it. Who would believe this small sorrow could lead to such fury no one would ever come near him?
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