My kind of movie star: Drew Barrymore’s Wildflower book tour at Ann Arbor’s Michigan Theater

Drew and Drew

Drew and Drew

Drew Barrymore is a special creation. The scion of an American acting dynasty as renowned for their craft as for their addictions. A Gen X phoenix who climbed from the ashes of a pre-TMZ/Perez Hilton (thank goodness) cocaine/disco-fueled death spiral to become America’s pop culture sweetheart.

A hippie goddess whose love of animals, the environment, and a Free to be You and Me socialist aesthetic she has magically transmuted into a flower power capitalist multimedia empire that includes films, cosmetics, books, and, yes, WalMart eyeglasses.

Oh, and she’s Steven Spielberg’s goddaughter.

Somehow it all makes perfect sense. Like an interesting second cousin you don’t actually know very well but whose life you’ve followed in an endless series of Christmas letters – a relative who seems older than their actual years because of the passing, near-mythic familiarity you have and whose every action seems simultaneously fascinating and mundane.

DrewI’ve had two occasions now to be in the divine Ms. Barrymore’s luminous presence. I was an extra for one marathon day of shooting on her Detroit-filmed 2009 directorial debut Whip It (a charming slice of roller derby women’s empowerment, criminally remembered only as a box office disappointment).

I was fortunate enough to land on the day Barrymore filmed the climactic roller derby battle, and every cast member (and what a cast!) was present: Ellen Page, Jimmy Fallon, Eve, Marcia Gay Harden, Kristen Wiig, Daniel Stern, and, yes, Juliette Lewis (who ended up being the sweetest, most generous of the bunch – who knew?). I was struck by Barrymore’s warmth and exuberance so late in a filming schedule.

Outside the Michigan

Outside the Michigan

She was as accommodating to us lowly extras as she was to her co-stars, and the esprit de corps was infectious, even when the carny band launched into an impromptu wrap party at 2 am. I was pretty spent at that point and wandered quietly away with fond yet foggy memories of a clutch of Hollywood movers and shakers who made Southeast Michigan their home for a summer.

(I did get a shout out from one of Whip It‘s producers tonight in the Michigan Theater lobby for wearing my well-loved/well-worn/dingy Whip It t-shirt. He exclaimed, “I didn’t even get one of those! Thanks for helping us out.” My pleasure!)

And tonight, six years later, Barrymore returned to the scene, reading from her new book of “stories” (autobiographical essays) Wildflower on the renowned Michigan Theater stage in Ann Arbor.

Wildflower ... autographed

Wildflower … autographed

Interviewed by a fellow “Drew” (Ann Arbor’s Drew Waller), Barrymore really needed no introduction or guide. Her boundless presence was a tonic – the word “authentic” was bandied nearly to the point of cliche … if it hadn’t been so darn true.

Her casual Cali vibe infused every anecdote and reading, but a steely tinge of “little girl lost” regret has always been a welcome counterpoint to her “Rainbow Bright” stage presence. It was evident tonight as well.

She spoke at length about the adoration and respect she has for longtime business partner Nan Juvonen (Jimmy Fallon’s wife and, for all intents, Barrymore’s surrogate mom).

She offered a glimpse of the wistful gratitude she has for her unconventional, tortured, charmed childhood; the topsy-turvy upbringing her sometimes-estranged mother Jaid gave Barrymore in a West Hollywood walk-up with only a sole avocado tree as her backyard.

Barrymore then gave us a quintessentially left-of-center take on her own parenting of daughters Olive and Frankie; she admitted a refreshing aversion to the other Hollywood mommies who sniff in her direction when not every meal she makes is “organic.”

Drew and Drew 2She confessed that she adores Adam Sandler (someone should … and he is at his best when he shares the screen with her, IMHO).

But she was at her most affecting when she described her lifelong love of animals – from the pack of three rescue dogs who lived with her through her tumultuous 20s and into her 30s (all passing relatively recently to much heartbreak in the Barrymore home) to her current canine adoptees Lucy and Douglas, a couple of characters who clearly bring great light to her life. She gushed that animals have taught her to love, unconditionally. When she looks in an animal’s eyes, she knows what true love can be.

Barrymore’s mantra? Live in the moment. Be kind. Be real.

Roy and John at Drew

Roy and John (and random friend)

And where was this most apparent? At least for us? When my cold-afflicted husband John, caught in a sneezing fit, received a very gracious “bless you” from a concerned Ms. Barrymore. She turned in her chair, looked lovingly in his general direction, and, with great concern, said, “I hope you feel better.” Later, when I was hustled through the manic autograph queue (seriously, she barely had time to look up at any of us – Motor City assembly line bench-marking?), she shouted after me, “Don’t worry about it! I’m covered in snot all day, every day.”

My kind of movie star.

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Roy at DrewReel Roy Reviews is now TWO books! You can purchase your copies by clicking here (print and digital)In addition to online ordering at Amazon or from the publisher Open Books, the first book is currently is being carried by Bookbound, Common Language Bookstore, and Crazy Wisdom Bookstore and Tea Room in Ann Arbor, Michigan and by Green Brain Comics in Dearborn, Michigan. My mom Susie Duncan Sexton’s Secrets of an Old Typewriter series is also available on Amazon and at Bookbound and Common Language.

Countdown: August – Osage County

Susie Duncan Sexton

Susie Duncan Sexton

From my wonderful publisher Open Books

Just 7 days left until the official release of ReelRoyReviews, a book of film, music, and theatre reviews, by Roy Sexton!

Don Sexton

Don Sexton

Here’s a snippet from Roy’s review of AUGUST: OSAGE COUNTY: “Whether you have survived a combative Thanksgiving family get-together, navigated the treacherous waters of a matriarch playing ‘who’s in the will/who’s out of the will’ games, or discovered relatives colluding with perfect strangers to undermine some special accomplishment of yours, you will find something to which you can relate in this caustic, fractious, anarchic dramedy. (Hey, I’m not saying the terrible things detailed above have happened to me and mine … oh, wait, who am I kidding? Of course they have.)”

Learn more about REEL ROY REVIEWS, VOL 1: KEEPIN’ IT REAL by Roy Sexton at http://www.open-bks.com/library/moderns/reel-roy-reviews/about-book.html. Book can also be ordered at Amazon here.

Mama’s Family redux … August: Osage County

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[Image Source: Wikipedia]

No one can turn the knife quite like family. That seems to be the central premise of the film adaptation of Tracy Letts’ Pulitzer Prize-winning play August: Osage County.

Whether you have survived a combative Thanksgiving family get-together, navigated the treacherous waters of a matriarch playing “who’s in the will/who’s out of the will” games, or discovered relatives colluding with perfect strangers to undermine some special accomplishment of yours, you will find something to which you can relate in this caustic, fractious, anarchic dramedy.

(Hey, I’m not saying the terrible things detailed above have happened to me and mine … oh, wait, who am I kidding? Of course they have.)

The film is like an episode of Carol Burnett’s/Vicki Lawrence’s old sitcom Mama’s Family … if it had been co-written by Eugene O’Neill, David Mamet and Tennessee Williams … with directorial consultation by Ryan Murphy and David Fincher. The story is a bleak one with Sam Shepard, playing an alcoholic Sooner poet whose sell-by date has long expired, committing suicide and setting off a whole raft of fireworks as his drug-addled, cancer-stricken, chain-smoking widow (portrayed by Meryl Streep) tears through her assembled family of grieving ingrates and dopes.

Streep is a hoot, throwing vanity to the wind and not once making the critical error of having contempt for her spiky character Violet. She is authentic through and through, calcified by years of disappointment, betrayals, and brutality (both genuine and mythologized).

Julia Roberts as bossypants daughter Barb is Streep’s match, their scenes together crackling with sympathetic ugliness. I lost any affinity for Roberts ages ago, but it came back in spades while watching this entry in her illustrious career. She wrings comic gold from the sympathy/revulsion/love/hate she feels for her family, which also includes the very good Julianne Nicholson and the disappointingly so-so Juliette Lewis as her two sisters Ivy and Karen as well as a heartbreaking Benedict Cumberbatch as their cousin Little Charlie.

Rounding out this star-studded cast are Chris Cooper and Margo Martindale as Charlie’s parents and the three sisters’ uncle and aunt. Martindale plays Streep’s wry, equally embattled sister Mattie Fae. These two are so good and so believable, beautifully centering the proceedings which often threaten to spin off into absurd melodrama.

Less effective are Ewan McGregor as Roberts’ yuppified, simpering husband or Dermot Mulroney as Lewis’ yuppified, slime-bucket fiance. Their respective performances are phoned in and dull, lost in the nigh-operatic ACTING! cacophony generated by their fellow cast members.

Little Miss Sunshine‘s Abigail Breslin is rather pedestrian as the daughter of Roberts and McGregor, rising to the fore only once when she delivers a deeply-felt monologue about the “fear we eat” when we consume animals. Her character is a vegetarian, and the monologue, imparted to her family at the post-funeral dinner table, clearly is a metaphor for the vicious consumption her relatives do of each others’ souls. And the fact that they all behave like jackals, immediately ridiculing the young girl’s beliefs, compounds the imagery.

I haven’t seen the stage version upon which this film is based, nor have I read it, so I can’t play the pretentious “I saw it on Broadway and I know how it is supposed to be performed so the movie sucks” card. I do suspect, however, that the film struggles, as so many adaptations do, expanding upon the insular, claustrophobic, sweaty envelope that the stage experience can so brilliantly create for an audience. Do you keep these characters trapped around the dinner table, or do you have them cavorting all about Oklahoma?

Director John Wells, who has worked primarily in television, has a workmanlike approach that doesn’t do much to open up the material, but wisely he just gets the heck out of the actors’ way and lets them do their scenery-chomping thing.

I will also suggest – and this is a criticism of the script and its source material (both written by Letts) – that the third act suffers from some over-baked, soap opera twists that I found rather silly. These plot points do set up a zinger of a scene with Roberts and Streep and some ill-fated plates of catfish, but overall they left me scratching my head a bit. Ah well.

As relentlessly dark as this material is, the film is fun and mostly moves at a brisk pace. I don’t know how well the years will treat it. I suspect it won’t age well and eventually will seem like a quirky exercise in pulpy camp. However, in its moment with most of its cast at the peak of their powers, it’s worth checking out … and probably cheaper than two hours of therapy.