Customer Reviews

A Prairie Home Companion : Widescreen Edition

5 star:		(71)
4 star:		(33)
3 star:		(22)
2 star:		(24)
1 star:		(24)

 

 

I wish I'd said this: A Prairie Home Companion is a lovely film about death, and with some great bad jokes. Death and how we deal with it drifts through the film like a dream, but it turns out to be real. Word has gotten around that the 30-year-old radio program is giving its last show. The theater where it has been broadcast from all these years has been sold and will be turned into a parking lot. A woman in a white trench coat moves dream-like through the place, searching for a person whose time has come, and then finds him. And then she finds another. Memories of past successes are talked about, but sometimes not. Reminiscences are wept over or laughed over. The backstage emergencies happen and are dealt with and the radio show goes on. It's just a marvelous movie. People who dislike the actual A Prairie Home Companion will probably not like this movie. Those who do like the radio show I'm sure are going to run out and buy the DVD of the movie as soon as it's available.

Garrison Keillor is not center stage so much as he's the imperturbable head guy who isn't always there, even when he's there. Most of the regular members of the radio show are present, as well as some new names. Lily Tomlin and Meryl Streep are incredibly authentic and incredibly funny/poignant as the two remaining members, Rhonda and Yolanda Johnson, of a country-music family singing group. Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly are great as the dim cowboys, Lefty and Dusty. Their bad-jokes song is one of the highlights. Guy Noir looking like Kevin Kline tries to keep a lid on the crises. Streep and Tomlin (and Harrelson and Reilly) sing their own stuff and they are first class. Tomlin, in particular, gives a terrific performance as Rhonda, tough, funny, a little bitter and a trooper.

After 105 minutes you may find death not too frightening, may find a kind of comforting acceptance of life, and may find funny some awful jokes...like the name of the country song Lefty sang on last week's show, "I'll Give You My Moonshine If You Show Me Your Jugs." Or a great new wheezer, "Did you hear about the crate of Viagra that was stolen?" "No! Who took it?" "The cops don't know but they're looking for hardened criminals."

I also wish I'd said this, from the New York Times: A Prairie Home Companion isn't great, it's wonderful.

This is definitely one of the most entertaining film experiences I've had in a while. Garrison Keillor plays himself in this musical dramady that depicts the sundown performance of the popular National Public Radio program "A Prairie Home Companion". Robert Altman directs the screenplay by Keillor. The film is nostalgic in timbre with elements of noir detective mystery. Keillor's dry and straight-faced humor coupled with the stellar performances of the star studded caste makes this film a must see. I saw it in a packed theatre which helped create the experience of actually being in the audience of the real show. As the show's last performance ensues, we are given a look into the private lives of the shows performers and the past life of one of the show's listeners. "A Prairie Home Companion" is smart, funny and musically astute, just like the real show. NPR fans will get an extra lift from this flick but anyone with a bit of wit and an ear for great story telling is bound to find this movie enjoyable. Highly Recommended!

No movie has packed more punch than Robert Altman's "Nashville" as a criticism of life, a chilling yet exhilarating dissection of a culture incapable of living the examined life. Altman was in control with that film, seizing upon a "real" place as a microcosmic landscape of mid-1970's America, then orchestrating the actions of characters who ironically have lost their place. But Garrison Keillor is himself the personification of control, a highly skilled literary and dramatic artist not the least of whose creations is the wise and witty persona serving as host of his faux-retro radio show, which is his own criticism of life.

Altman captures Keillor's cosmos, but nowhere does it acquire the life-like authenticity of "Nashville," "The Player," or "Gosford Park." The ironies that Altman's camera normally exposes have already been attended to by another ironist of undeniable brilliance. This is Keillor country, ordered exactly as its creator writes, acts, narrates, and sings it. I've attended a broadcast of "Prairie Home Companion" and found it curiously distant and unengaging, my presence and that of the rest of the audience serving as props, or a bit of window dressing, for the purpose of establishing the show's credibility for a home audience. In fact, the entire premise of the movie is absurd--the last broadcast of a folksy variety radio show that was never more than a contrived simulation from the start. As a place, Nashville took itself seriously. By contrast, Keillor's "Prairie Home Companion" has the feeling of those small town renovations with anachronistic gas lanterns, pricey soda fountains and quaint antique shops. It's clever, even artful, kitsch, yet Keillor makes it work, often putting his finger on what is most genuine and real, the repressed stuff of consciousness suddenly taking on a welcome familiarity.

One of the throwaway jokes in the film turns out to be a matter of life and death: One penguin asks another, "Why do you appear to be wearing a tuxedo?" The other penguin answers,"Why would you think I'm not?" No matter that the joke was responsible for the angel of death who shadows the characters in the show; it's also a reminder that there's no reason we shouldn't trust Keillor's sleight of hand. "Reality radio show" or not, "Prairie Home Companion" becomes the stage for a strangely compelling essay on time and change, chance and paradox, the presence of absence (the bust of F. Scott Fitzgerald). The final scene of the film is lifted from Ingmar Bergman's "The Seventh Seal," when the angel of death walks in on the diners, assembled this time not at a Knight's castle at Elsinore but at Mickey's Cafe in St. Paul. It's a deeply affecting moment, one that moreover has the effect of bringing the audience in on Keillor's literary conceit--an inclusion I missed when I attended the actual production. Keillor shares with Altman cynicism about many features of the present mediascape as well as an elegiac attitude toward a gentler, more cohesive American community. Like the reader who's finished James Joyce's "The Dead," the spectator at the end of this film is at one with a human community of equals, embraced by the ties that bind.

As a movie "A Prairie Home Companion" is at once more lively, colorful and honest than it is as a variety show. Altman serves Keillor well, no less than Meryl Streep serves the director, enabling him to compose shots that are too warm and glowing to be forgettable images merely. In fact, in her second appearance on the show within the show, Streep's singing a song about her childhood past reprises and nearly equals the soulful, heart-stirring moment in "Nashville" when Ronee Blakey performs the song "Dues."

Perhaps this film, which is at once archetypal and particular, allegorical and human, will be the octogenarian filmmaker's farewell. Deep down, however, I hope that a film we might regard as Keillor's film-directing debut doesn't wind up being Altman's swan song. There's got to be another "Nashville" in the protean imagination of the great director--perhaps like Shakespeare's "The Tempest" a film allowing him a fitting valediction to his cinematic magic while ushering us into a brave new world.

Robert Altman turns Garrison Keillor's long-running radio show into a truly unique experience. In less capable hands, this celluloid translation could have been disastrous. However, Altman is the perfect filmmaker to capture Keillor's musical and storytelling charm. An impressive cast (Woody Harrelson, Kevin Kline, Lindsay Lohan, John C. Reilly, Meryl Streep, Lily Tomlin) complements Keillor's radio ensemble with their comedic and vocal talents. Though a bit pretentious at times (Virginia Madsen's "Dangerous Woman" gradually wears out her welcome), Altman and Keillor maintain a comfortable tone of lighthearted nostalgia. Not for all tastes, but a must for any "Prairie Home Companion" listener.

It seems from the reviews on here that if you like the radio show, you will like/love the movie. If not, you don't get it.

Maybe that is fair. I do like/love the show, even though GK and I do not agree on much politically and I sure loved this movie.

A Prarie Home Companion is just that. It is a companion. It warms you. Makes you laugh, smile and shed a tear or two. Keeps your toes tapping to the music and invites you to join in and harmonize. It shows you the talents of some people you didn't know they had (Meryl Streep is a terrific CW singer as is Lily Tomlin and Woody Harrelson looks more like Dusty than Dusty ever did.) Kevin Kline is Kevin Kline and that is all anyone could want. GK doesn't tell us about Lake Wobegone, but that is the only disappointment he delivers in this tale of the last show.

Every actor and participant are first rate, the songs are to keep with you forever and it is a jewel to hold close and put in your DVD library when it is finally released.

Since 1974, the radio show "A Prairie Home Companion" has been broadcast from St. Paul, Minnesota. The brainchild of Garrison Keillor, the show has been a fixture of National Public Radio for years, usually airing on Saturdays from 5 to 7 P.M. Central Time. Its current home is the Fitzgerald Theatre (formerly the World). Each show features a storytelling monologue from Keillor, claiming to be a report from his fictitious home of Lake Wobegon, "the little town that time forgot and the decades cannot improve." The show also includes folksy music of the Grand Ole Opry school and commercials for such fictitious products as Powdermilk Biscuits, Bebop-a-reebop Rhubarb Pie, Jack's Warm Car Service, and Bertha's Kitty Boutique.
Turning the radio show into a movie was the task of director Robert Altman ("M*A*S*H," "Gosford Park"), known for his ability to elicit improvisational performances from his actors, create intriguing ensemble casts, and put his personal, inimitable stamp on his films. "A Prairie Home Companion" entered theatres like a whisper, rather than with the huge publicity push that accompanies most new movies. And that seems appropriate for such a low-key, gentle film. Like the radio show, the movie focuses on spirited entertainment but also gives us revealing glimpses of backstage relationships as the stars and technical crew discuss their personal lives, reminisce about their careers or simply allow us to savor their eccentric characters.
The premise of the movie is that "A Prairie Home Companion" is solely a local broadcast and this one is its last. A mixture of nostalgia, sentiment, steely show biz acceptance, and nonchalance pervades the wings of the theatre.
GK (Keillor) is the emcee and host of the show. His singing stars are the Johnson sisters, Yolanda (Meryl Streep) and Rhonda (Lily Tomlin) and the cowboy duo Lefty (John C. Reilly) and Dusty (Woody Harrelson), who incorporate endless bad jokes into their routine. Lola (Lindsay Lohan) is Yolanda's daughter, a young woman who writes poems about suicide but is able to pitch in on stage when the need arises.
Though Altman integrates his cast nicely, editing their private moments with the onstage show being aired, Keillor comes off as its heart. He maintains his down-home manner and Everyman face throughout, never breaking character. His on-air personality and real personality are essentially interchangeable, and he sails through the show's swan song performance with expert timing.
Tomlin is just wonderful as Rhonda, who has spent a lifetime in show business but never really hit the big time, resigned and content to earn a living doing what she likes best. Her comments about the business ring true because she assesses her audience, her coworkers, and even her family with biting accuracy.
Streep's Yolanda is the dreamy one. Lost in her own world, when we first see her check in backstage, she has the misty-eyed look of a woman attending her tenth high school reunion. She is entering another time, another place, and she has always felt the thrill of being on the verge of a performance. Streep looks as if she's having a ball dreaming, commenting on her family ("We're like the Carters ... only not famous"), and waxing nostalgic.
We like these people because of their complete lack of pretension. You feel that if you met them at the supermarket, they'd be exactly the same. I'm sure this is what Altman strove to achieve, and he does it almost completely.
Where he fails, I think, is in two characters: the Dangerous Woman (Virginia Madsen) and Guy Noir (Kevin Kline). Noir is a recurring character on the Home Companion radio shows -- a 1940's gumshoe detective. In the film, he's made the show's security guy. Dressed in striped suit and speaking in Warner Brothers gangster flick dialogue, he is entirely out of synch with the rest of the film. While the cast members have eccentricities of their own, his seems closer to psychotic, though no one in the film seems to notice. You never believe Guy Noir is real. And in a film built on solid, if quirky, characters, Noir just doesn't convince.
The Dangerous Woman is a mysterious, trench-coated woman seen lurking backstage, saying little. Eventually, we understand she is a sort of angel or specter of death, hovering over both a person connected with the show and the show itself. This symbol strikes a false note and seems an obvious attempt to help the viewer "get" the demise of an era. We get it, Mr. Altman.
Rated PG-13 for some mildly risque humor, "A Prairie Home Companion" is not for everyone. It moves along at a moderate pace with no conspicuously big scenes, and it requires the viewer to pay attention and learn about the characters through dialogue and interaction with others. Altman intended a look at a world not known to most of us, one in which people enjoy entertaining an appreciative -- if small -- audience and have respect and affection for one another.

I have enjoyed several great Altman movies (like Nashville or Short Cuts) and many good ones. Some were less than great.
This one is maybe not the greatest, but surely the most loveable. The cast is superb, a few Oscar nominations should be coming up, surely for the Johnson sisters (Streep and Thomlin). Lots of great bad jokes. Some even with metaphysical consequences. What did the penguin answer again? What makes you think I don't wear a tux?
Kline in one of his marvellous parodies of himself tells the story, using the pseudonym Noir, appropriately.
And over it all watches Francis Scott Fitzgerald, resp. his bust in the theater's VIP room.

Mr. Altman is a genius, and his ability to present massive ensemble films as diverse as "Nashville", "Short Cuts", "Cookie's Fortune" and "Gosford Park" with coherence and true entertaiment value MUST be commended. Films have undergone evolutionary strides, and it's usually the rich studio heads that have damaged the industry. Radio, too, is not what it once was, though Mr. Keillor has always been a charming draw. A sad, fond farewell to the wonderful media that once were is the focus of Mr. Altman's "simple" film. I've read the other reviews, and I'm sorry that so many people just don't "get it". Mr. Keillor's radio programs, rife with wit and humor, are simple and straightforward. Mr. Altman gave Mr. Keillor this very respect by keeping the film simple, though the man, despite his years, is gleefully putting together another crazy exposition of the human condition, with the deviously humorous help of Mr. Keillor himself. What's not to love? The cast is stellar, and I was particularly amused at the scenes between Kevin Kline & Maya Rudolph. Kline's name was Noir; backstage intrigue, and an endless reference to life as it ought to be...well, I was moved and entertained. This is NOT a simple film. Traces of "Nashville" (music), "Cookie's Fortune" (grisly humor) and "Gosford Park" (a narrow set), reminded me that Mr. Altman knows how to take a new and fresh approach to his material. I can't wait til his next film project. UPDATE: I'm glad to have the DVD in my collection. Mr. Altman will be sorely missed. Other director's will make ensemble films, but Mr. Altman is the creator of that genre, and I hope people don't forget.

A Prairie Home Companion is a great tapestry of storytelling. On the evening of the last show before being bought out and consumed by a corporate rival, the cast members of the show attempt to come to terms with the end of their long-running radio installment. The movie seems to take place mostly in real time as the final show unfolds. Each member has his or her own personal story and the show has meant something unique in each of their lives. We only catch glimpses of these characters' lives, like you would when making conversation with new acquaintances at a dinner party. But we also catch brief glimpses of the pain, frustration or beauty in each of them. We don't get to know them well but we get to know them well enough to see their humanity. Even when a beloved cast member drops dead backstage after his final performance, we see the grief in these characters and subsequently the resilience in them to remember him lovingly--and even use a bit of humor to dull the pain. The little bits of drama weaved in between heartfelt down home songs, goofy advertising jingles and the even goofier songs played by Dusty and Lefty (Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly, respectively) are perfect counterpoints. It takes a wise and perhaps grizzled man to stare death in the eye and not flee from it--whether it be the death of a friend, death of a radio show or death of a comfortable way of life. Garrison Keillor is wonderful in this role and brings a bit of grace to the idea that you can't control change, you can only control how you react to it. How fitting that this was director Robert Altman's final show as well.

My daughter must be growing up, as she sat with my wife and me, but without complaint (albeit with a friend) through this quirky and somewhat disappointing film adaptation of Garrison Keillor's popular public radio program. The quirkiness resulted from screenwriter Keillor and director Robert Altman's decision to wrap a ghostly, pseudo-religious story around the happenings at the last broadcast of PHC, and to exclude the storytelling around Lake Woebegone that's the hallmark of the real radio show. Some notable non-singing stars do fine jobs in singing roles--most notably Meryl Streep as aging folk singer Yolanda Johnson. Lily Tomlin plays sister Rhonda Johnson (she mostly sings backup). Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly have fun as The Trailhands, a couple of sometimes off-color cowboy singers. Three big stars are wasted in the wraparound story---Kevin Kline as detective Guy Noir; the beautiful Virginia Madsen (Sideways) as the angel of death; and Tommy Lee Jones as The Axeman, representative of the Texas corporation that's bought the Fitzgerald Theatre and shut down PHC. There are some good folksongs and funny mock-commercials (and a great radio sound effects scene). Since Keillor wrote the story and stars in the film, you've got to believe he was happy with the outcome. Still, I can't help feeling that it could have come out better.