I Need A Wintervention

Just got back from watching Warren Miller's Intervention. The place was packed and the energy electric. I love how ski movies are part of our pre-season ski conditioning. They get you drooling for the white stuff the way a cupcake makes a five-year-old's chin drop. You shut your eyes and imagine the same cold smoke wash over you. But I have a problem with this year's Miller entry.

The skiers are getting farther and farther away from being relate-able. I'm never going to ski Antarctica or Georgia and there's no resort (ie Telluride) that's going to send me out with a guide to ski deep untracked before allowing public access to it. WM producers would have you think the only people who ski inbounds are jibbers who use the lift shacks and towers as terrain park features.

In Utah, we have some pretty mind-blowing turns but to send the Crists over to ski Cedar Breaks National Monumentwhere NO ONE that's not with a film crew is ever going to ski because 1) it's not a true ski area and 2) everything is mandatory air, is pushing it. To be fair, the filmmakers did say that this 61st annual installment was meant to be exotic. I just would have liked the exotic to also be realistic as a destination.

The running theme on addiction and staging a 'wintervention' for your recovery hit home. My favorite quote of the night was "I keep turning down my future just to go skiing one more time."

Anyone who anxiously watches the fall weather patterns for those first signs of snow knows what it's like to Jones for winter. The segments of the late Arne Backstrom floating in Heavenly's untracked (shot at 7 .m. before the mountain opened to the public) were right on the money. And those crazy Kiwis ripping at the Freeskiing Championships and bungee jumping in the New Zealand segment were sick.

No Warren Miller production would be complete without a narrator and Jonny Moseley has finally gotten a handle on his voice overs. They're more friendly and casual- much more like he's talking than reading us something someone else wrote. However, the movie sound in Abravanel Hall was so loud that most of what was said by the athletes was distorted and difficult to understand. Wish I could say that the music was better but it seemed a bit 'off' as well. The songs themselves were great but they didn't complement the moments. Take Mr. Scruff "Music Takes Me Up", for example. It's a very cool song... about music not skiing. And not life. And how about the punkish Grinderman? Something about sucking her dry and biting him on the 29th floor?

Still, you can't get too technical about a Warren Miller film. They call it ski porn for a reason. It's not 'real'. The athletes and photographers bust their butts to bring you some stunning imagery and inspiration so even if you will never spend a night in a tent on a Norwegian island surrounded by polar bears, you can appreciate the effort. Besides, at the end of the night it gets the job done. Wintervention reminds you that it's time for a fix.

Wintervention plays at 8 p.m. in Park City, Oct. 29/30 at the Eccles Center for the Performing Arts.

More film dates.

Where the Wild Things Are- FILM REVIEW

Saw "Where The Wild Things Are" tonight. Sage loved it and actually sat in my lap the whole time without squirming. My little 3 year old is growing up! As cool as the scenery and the monster puppets were, though, there's not much to engage adults. The boy is a brat with no insight or chutzpah to communicate with the Things and help them understand how to get along and be happy. Max tries to order them around but he's often stumped and silenced when the Things call him out. Finally when he does confess that he's not a Viking King he has absolutely NOTHING to say for himself; no way to elonquently explain why it doesn't matter that he's not a real king. What impresses the most are the Things themselves. The actors (especially James Gandolfini) do a phenomenal job of bringing their beings to life-especially when the 1963 book never explores their characters. This film adaptation by Spike Jonz attempts to put some meat on the bones of a nine-sentence children's story about a neglected little boy who gets sent to his room without supper and finds himself in a far-off land where he finally gets to be the boss and the one showered with attention- even if it is by a bunch of large creatures who thump the ground and roar.
The monster-play in this movie script drags on and on and there's no cool moral that ought to hit your rugrats over the head with. Still, I did shed a tear when Max said good bye to the Wild Things. I hate good byes. If you've got little ones, take them to see it. They'll have nothing to fear.