Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget

Another Plot to Hatch

or

Can They Pullet Off?

It's been 23 years since Chicken Run, the splendid little film that used the basics of The Great Escape in a tale of a flock of chickens penned at the Tweedy Farm, who decide to escape the fate of being the main ingredient in pot pies, decide not to be a brood about it and flock off in a mass eggs-odus. It was funny, clever and—as in the style of its studio, Aardman Animations—up to its beak in fine details, rendered one frame at a time through stop-motion animation.

 

It's a laborious process, that, despite the work-load, never looked rushed, and, if anything, the animators only made things harder for themselves by having all sorts of activity—seemingly going to each frame's event horizon—to keep track of before moving on to the next 24th of a second. Aardman has been doing this for 34 years, since the creation of their first short film, the Oscar-winning Creature Comforts. Their last film before this was 2018's Early Man, which, while still being clever and all, seemed to have a slight dip in overall quality of the production. The story was just a little off, even if the aanimation remained aastounding.

So, what have the plucky chickens from Tweedy's been doing? Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget gives the answer. Like any good meta-sequel, there's been some reproducing. Rocky (voiced by Zachary Levi) and Ginger (Thandiwe Newton) welcome an egg to the family, the precocious Molly (Bella Ramsey), who has inherited her father's sense of adventure and her mother's rebellious, stubborn streak. She is doted on by the other ex-Tweedy's, but the parents have to admit Molly is one tough chick to handle.

Molly is curious about life off their community island, especially as there seems to be a lot of activity going on around what used to be the Tweedy Farm. But, Ginger discourages this, even as she's coping with her own PTSD about the escape from the previous film and the past treachery of Mrs. Tweedy (Miranda Richardson). But, Molly can't be repressed and one night she makes her way to the mainland to get an answer to her questions. This sends Ginger into a panic and she sets up a squad—a "wild bunch" if you will—to try to find Molly and get her back to the island and coop her up.

Molly has made progress of a sort; she's run into a contemporary chicken named Frizzle (Josie Sedgwick-Davies) who is on a trek to find a wonderful place she's heard about called "Fun-Land Farms" which appears to be a place where chickens can run free and enjoy life to the fullest. Their motto is "Where Chickens Find Their Happy Ending"—sounds...promising? And their logo has a happy chicken in a bucket giving two thumbs up. Hardly ominous at all, and Frizzle is determined to go there and get her own bucket.

Alright, synopsis over—no one wants spoiled Chicken—but one can guess that "Fun-Land Farms" is not what one expects—a more sinister version of how corporate theme parks disappoint. Complications ensue and Ginger's squad takes on an IMF resemblance to stop the evil overlords at "Fun-Land" and return home. It's much too soon for Rocky and Ginger to be empty-nesters.

I did a Lambcast this week where we discussed Chicken Run: Dawn of the Nugget and the consensus was that it was ("welllll...") good and all, but not as good as the first one (conceding, of course, that this one lacks the initial element of surprise), and I took umbrage at that. It may not be all the first one was, but it's damned good and is one of the better Aardman movies. Yes, they can do a clunker—I don't remember being quite as enthused with Early Man—and reading the review, the prevailing sentiment was "okay, it doesn't add up to much, but the work involved..." If it was absolutely for naught, all that sweat would have been a waste.

That sentiment roseates the edges of my feelings about this one, but I think the results are far more accomplished...and earned than that Early movie. There are so many details to be discovered—there are whole scenes that look like a "Where's Waldo?" panel with their own little individual stories going on that a re-watch is almost mandatory (it's almost a blessing that the thing is only available on Netflix making repeat viewings effortless). The comic timing is cracking-good, and there are technical pleasures...the eye-twitch of brain-washed chickens, the demo-reel that is so spot on it might have appeared on "Mad Men," the sheer delightful perils that the chickens are challenged with*...and there are moments of just random silliness that bubble-up the best of Aardman's movies. I spent the entire time watching it with a big smile on my face...when my brain wasn't shutting down with the surges of information that were coming off the screen.**

There was a slight disconnect with the character of Rocky—Zachary Levi's goofy self-confidence is a different tone than Mel Gibson's goofy self-confidence—but, for the most part, it all seems of a piece, and one should also state that Aardman has upped its game technically and artistically from the first film while still maintaining that trademark Aardman bubble-off-plumb sensibility.

One should never refuse a second helping of Chicken Run.

Wilhelm Alert at 00:34:34. 

 

* ...and the sets are magnificent. Ken Adam would be proud...or Disney.

 

** I may have talked about this before, but there have been moments sitting in a theater where the vast overwhelming output of a movie have made me fall asleep. It's not that I'm bored. It's not that I hadn't snoozed the night before. It's that the movie so overwhelms me that I...pass out. This happens with a lot of Terry Gilliam movies (Brazil, Baron von Munchausen, for example) and before I see one of his movies I coffee up so I don't miss anything.

 

I'm perfectly willing to admit that I might have a screw loose up there, given the ample evidence of my life.

Taking Woodstock

Written at the time of the film's release...

"I Haven't Slept in Three Days, My Hip is Acting Up, and the Beer is Warm."/"So...you're Good."

 

Ang Lee has spent almost his entire career showing the common humanity in the disenfranchised, whether they be the lower rungs of Class Society, gay cowboys, set-apart and -upon martial artists, political spies, and Incredible Hulks—the commonality of the different. Even with the slightly lighter touch he employs here, he does the same for Catskill Jews and Hippie culture in Taking Woodstock. Both groups are isolated and flung apart, but come together—initially uneasily, but soon in mutual satisfaction, to produce something intangible and real, that would change everything.

 

For a little while.

 

Elliott Tiber, nee Tieschberg, (Demetri Martin) is a repressed jangle of contradictions, a cosmopolitan boy lost in the woods. He's hasn't quite left the nest of his parents (Henry Goodman, Imelda Staunton) who own—barely—the El Monaco Hotel in the Catskills town of White Lake. He hasn't quite left the closet, either. A painter, he hasn't met with success in The Big Apple. He deals with the banks about the Hotel's financing, but has nothing to say about how it's run, despite trying to stir up business. He's the President of the White Lake Chamber of Commerce...which is basically just a Chamber, but in a Church basement, and little Commerce.

The one thing he has going for the Hotel is a low-key Arts Festival he puts on every year, featuring a couple folk-singers and the gonzo theater-troupe who inhabit the barn on their property. Until...the planned "Woodstock" festival with a few choice acts is driven out of their original venue by the locals, and Tiber makes it known to the organizers that he has a permit for an arts festival, a rare thing with the reluctant townspeople, who are content with the "regular crowd" and don't want much disruption. Pretty soon, the Tieschberg's and local dairy farmer Max Yasgur (a genially subdued Eugene Levy, making more of less) are persona non grata around town as the area is crowded with a motley crew of organizers, "suits," crew-men, helicopters, expectant hippies, and, as the concert grows closer, one of the largest traffic jams in the Nation's history.

By that time, the Tieschberg's are in constant motion as their hotel is over-crowded, water-shortaged, beer-deficient and out of control, if not for the efforts of Mr. Tieschberg and self-appointed head-buster Vilma, a trans ex-Ranger with a baseball bat (Liev Schreiber, in a bad blonde wig and a Southern Belle's wardrobe, looking just like you'd expect him to, and bringing a rueful dignity to the enterprise).

As long as Lee focuses on the chaos, the film is a raucously good-natured train-wreck. Once he leaves the side-show for Elliott's Odyssey to "The Festival," the film becomes one of those earnest little movies that tells you its important but can't show you, just as it can't show the concert going on. Oh, you hear snippets of song-track that was featured at Woodstock, but not the actual performances (as they're owned by somebody else, I guess) reverberating in the background. There's a couple of FX shots that suggest the scope of the thing (one an LSD-influenced version that shows the crowd turning into an undulating sea-scape that would be more effective...oh, if you really were on acid, say), but the whole sequence is not only un-involving, it diminishes the event...far-off, rather than far-out.

Woodstock has been romanticized so much over the last 40 years that it might better be called "Three Days of Peace, Love and Understanding and All the Crappy Parts You've Forgotten." But, Lee doesn't shy from the problems (segmented into easily focused nuggets of information through a split-screen technique which was the vogue at the time), although nothing is dwelled upon: the famous "brown acid" is mentioned, the muddy conditions, the interminable traffic jams, the inconsistent weather and jerry-rigged wiring that combined to cause so much metal on the grounds to shock when touched, the unsanitary conditions, the constant air-lifting of accidents and overdoses. and the fact that damned few people heard much music. It was enough to "be there," and that entailed a super-human ability to "go with the flow," of which, with the rain, there seemed to be plenty. It's all catalogued, but briefly, because like a lot of movies about "big events," it boils down to who's telling the story and how much they really played a part in it.

For the sub-title of the movie should be "Elliott Tiber and what he did at Woodstock." Tiber's account has been questioned by organizer Michael Lang* who claims that he may have had the permit, but he wasn't present at all the places he claims he was. And so the movie is reduced to the old conundrum of who gets to re-write history as Tiber shows "how Woodstock was important to him," as well as how "he was important to Woodstock." This might have been a bit more convincing if Tiber weren't portrayed by Demetri Martin. Martin is a gifted comedian as his stints on "The Daily Show," and his own "Comedy Central" series have amply displayed. But, "Taking Woodstock" shows none of the puppyish energy that makes his observations so hilarious. Instead, his Tiber is slackly reminiscent of Chance the Gardener in Being There, wandering like a ping-pong ball through the movie, with just as much dramatic weight. He is handily eclipsed by Goodman and Staunton, Schrieber and Emile Hirsch's "Charlie"-obsessed Viet-vet.

In the end, it's a let-down—like being stuck in the traffic jam and missing the concert, although Lee does manage to show us a lot of entertaining portraits while missing the big picture.

In the final irony, the cost of a ticket to the "real" Woodstock was $8.00. An evening ticket to "Taking Woodstock" costs upwards of 10.

*Lang is played by Jonathan Groff as an intensely smooth corporate hippie, who never seems to sweat the small stuff...or the big stuff, for that matter. In fact, he rarely seems engaged in any of the complexities of the festival, concentrating on "The Big Picture."

Downton Abbey: A New Era

The Very British Art of Pre-Crying

or

"Oh! How Musical You Make It Sound!"

Well, if it is to be my fate to be addicted to SOME soap-opera, it might as well be "Downton Abbey." After all, I'm of the age for it—elderly and impatient with commercials.

 

Plus, it always was impressively cast, performed, and smartly written (by creator Lord Julian Fellowes), with enough intrigues amid the family (while also negotiating historical events) to keep the considerable cast going for six seasons of episodes.* Yes, it's soapy, and far too nostalgic for the past while also acknowledging that the way of life is, without a doubt, past its sell-date and will be replaced with less familial trappings and a more (Lords help us!) egalitarian sense that would be self-evident if one didn't live in a huge estate with a peerage and a schedule that wasn't filled with breakfasts, lunches, dinners, tea, and high tea that one can barely squeeze in a cracking round of croquet. Why, it's so precious that one could even forgive Fellowes for writing The Tourist.

 

No. No. There are SOME things that just shouldn't be allowed...even in the most liberal of households.

So, as change is inevitable, one notices that things are quite a bit different in Downton Abbey: A New Era, since the first movie which was derived from the series a couple years ago. The first thing I noticed was that the film opens on a bloody hectic "drone" shot, not the quaintly hovering aerials taken from hot-air balloons as previously. I suppose there's so much plot in this one that one felt the need to rush into it a bit with a jarring anachronistic approach with a shot through a stained glass church window. We're attending the marriage of Tom Branson (Allen Leech) and Lucy Smith—née Bagshaw—(Tuppence Middleton). Once doesn't want to get too far into the weeds here (one can attest from looking at the lingering shots of lawns that Downtown Abbey doesn't HAVE weeds) but Tom is the Irish former Downton chauffeur who married the youngest Crawley daughter (who died, leaving him with a legitimate Crawley heir) and we left the last movie with him promising to write to Lucy—maid to Imelda Staunton's Maud Bagshaw (Lady-in-Waiting to the Queen), but actually Maud's illegitimate daughter. Those letters must have been some hot stuff as, in the time one can do pre-production of a sequel, they've gone from admiring flirtation to walking down the aisle.

Oh, dear me. We ARE in the weeds, aren't we? And so soon. This is what happens when one tries to explain soap-ish operas to any level of understanding. One is conflicted between trying to be informative while also employing brevity. One can't have one without the other without appearing devoid of either. Shall we move on? To the Cliff's Notes version?

There are two plot-threads in ...A New Era (a quite neat little title), one involving the revelation that the Dowager Countess of Grantham, Violet Grantham (Maggie Smith) has been bequeathed a villa in the French Riviera by an acquaintance from her past—a past that brings up many questions that go unanswered but much speculated on—and that comes with it an invitation to visit by many of the Grantham's to see what's what and why, while, at the same time, (in a move that surely seems "meta" to the Lord and Lady Carnarvon, who own Highclere Castle, which serves as Downton Abbey) the family has received a request to use Downton as a film location which, although on the surface feels distasteful, comes with it a generous sum that would aid in much needed repairs to the estate's leaky roof. So, while some members go off to the south of France, Lady Mary (Michelle Dockery), the Earl's oldest daughter, remains behind to oversee the prevention of chaos by the invading film production.

The Dowager Countess herself is too frail to travel, but is resigned to stay at home, leaving the past in the past, and the villa in the future hands of her great grand-daughter, both of whose parents are now not of her blood. It's a legacy to a family member who would otherwise receive nothing.

Her son, Robert (Hugh Bonneville) is curious to learn what the story is and begins to worry about his actual parentage, all the while being soothed by his American wife Cora (Elizabeth McGovern), who may have medical issues of her own.

Back at the Abbey, the staff is all agog at meeting the stars of the film, a silent pot-boiler called "The Gambler," primarily dashing Guy Dexter (Dominic West) and the porcelain Myrna Dalgleish (Laura Haddock)—who, it must be said, is something of a diva. Her manner is in stark contrast with her background, for though she is, indeed, a beauty, her accent reveals her to be a Cockney. This causes complications as the film is canceled mid-shooting as the studio is no longer interested in making silent pictures, as the market is now demanding "talkies."

Yes, they use the Singin' in the Rain gambit, where the starlet has a voice completely unsuitable to her image and post-production "dubbing" is used to temporarily solve "the problem." This is such a minor plot-point in the movie that I don't think I'm spoiling anything by mentioning it. Certainly, there are other bombshells that I won't reveal as mentioning them would surely rankle.

There is one little thing that popped into my head hours after the film, stemming from this film showing Bonneville's Lord Grantham breaking down into tears, not once but twice. It is always done in private and always in anticipation of some heart-wrenching event. And then it occurred to me—"Ah! That's how he does it!" With all the vagaries that life bestows upon him, Robert has always been something of a rock, although able to appreciate humor and irony, and quite capable of taking umbrage. But, he gets his weeping done out of the public eye, so that when disaster strikes and he must be the "7th Earl of Grantham," he can keep a stiff upper lip and present a stoic facade to the public. Jolly good show, Earl!

And Downton Abbey: A New Era is a jolly good show. It all goes down like comfort food, with just enough spice to make it memorable, but not too much to make it unpalatable. And it provides a good repertoire of memorable "catty" lines that one can use to sound snarky while appearing high-toned. There may be some continuity jumps a couple times—I think that is due to cramming so much material into a little over two hours that some connective tissue hit the cutting room floor—but, all in all, the Empire of Downton Abbey remains strong and may the sun never set on it.

* Just to show how well-cast—and inhabited—these roles are, I always find it a shock to see pictures of the actors on the red carpet in contemporary fashions. So many of them seem unrecognizable out of period clothes.

Downton Abbey

You're Gonna Have To Serve Somebody
or
"Will You Have Enough Cliches To Get You Through the Visit?"

There has always been a dramatic tension about "Downton Abbey". Not the tensions between upstairs and downstairs, the privileged and the privileging, that's been done before. 

No, what makes "DA" different is its acknowledgment that the very life its depicting is going to go away, there is a built-in tension of time, that maybe these old ways are unrealistic and "we" should sell the place and get on with our lives, after all, who are we doing this for, if not ourselves. It makes all the fussing and fustiness precious—in the valuable way, not the sarcastic way.

At the same time that writer Julian Fellowes (whose conceit this is) is celebrating the old ways of the past, he is also focusing on the "becoming." Things are changing, there is the usual hesitancy, a bit of grousing (usually from matriarch Violet Crawley played by Dame Maggie Smith), but no filibuster, no stonewalling, the future is welcomed, not feared, and, who knows, something good may come of it. Carry on.

Pip. Pip. I'm not sure there HAD to be a Downton Abbey The Movie, but it's nice to see it's there and be able to partake of it, rather like observing the hoity-toityness of the British upper-class. Nice to see SOME-body's doing it, even if we don't have to participate. Sounds like a lot of work. As Lady Edith (Laura Carmichael) laments: "If I know one thing about Royal visits, we will never stop changing clothes!"

What all the fuss is about...

And that is the hub of Downton Abbey the Movie: King George V and Queen Mary are visiting Downton Abbey and everyone is atwitter. It is 1927,and the King and Queen are visiting folk, and it throws the family into a position where they must serve someone, just as their staff must serve them. It is an honor, of course, but a grave responsibility and nobody is immune to the pressure. Thank goodness, the Crawley daughters, Mary (Michelle Dockery) and Edith are finally married off, so they can focus on the disruptions without dithering about their suitors.

Sure, the visit just entails a lunch and dinner (with a parade and a crowning ball), but it still throws things into a lather: everything must be cleaned and polished, the kitchen staff must be at the top of their game, despite being Royal-struck and time is short. So, of course, there must be complications. Lady Mary Crawley Talbot thinks things aren't as ship-shape as they could be, and so she recruits retired butler, Mr. Carson (the incomparable Jim Carter) to return, which puts new butler Thomas Barrows (Robert James-Collier) into a passive-aggressive snit; the cooking staff learns that meals will be prepared by the King's chef (Phillipe Spall), which turns them rebellious; the matriarch Violet Crawley is miffed that her son, Robert, the Earl of Grantham (Hugh Bonneville) is being left out of the will of her sister, Maud Bagshaw (Imelda Staunton), the Queen's lady-in-waiting, and is intending to have it out with her, which puts her—again—in conflict with distant cousin Isobel Crawley Merton (Penelope Wilton) who urges peace.

Then, there's the little business of an assassination attempt on the King by Irish Republicans, that involves Crawley son-in-law and former footman Tom Branson (Allen Leech), a little bother of missing pieces of finery, a conspiracy formed by the husband-wife team of Bates and Anna (Brendan Coyle and Joanne Froggatt), a potential scandal involving Barrows; and some personal problems involving specific members that does and does not threaten the future of Downton Abbey. 

And chairs. Are there going to be enough chairs?

Now, I managed to miss the entire of the final Season 6 of the series, but, as with any good soap opera, things don't move so fast that you don't pick up on the missing transitions between visits. One is merely comforted that the characters are acting just the way you left them; no matter what's happened since, they have not matured past their failings or been corrupted out of their better natures. They are constants in their tendencies and the small little bumps in the road have not altered them too much.

The presentation has changed, and changed quite a bit. The widescreen format of the film allows for more cast-members to crowd into the frame, which is always nice in an ensemble piece. The movie run-time of slightly over two hours allows for such luxuries as held reaction shots after frame-exits, and a slightly more leisurely pace. This, however, is compensated for by something that was somewhat implied in the series, but a bit limited by its format. That is something called "sweep." 

One notices this early on, as a gentler version of the series theme plays over the theater credits and one is given to rather amazing aerial shots of "the" Abbey, accomplished (if one judges by the credits) not by helicopter and not by drone, but by aerial balloon. How thoroughly precious is that? They're not even betraying the time-frame behind the scenes. And it gives those shots a serenely bold feeling as hover over the estate, presaging a camera that is constantly in motion, constantly wheeling for fear that if it stopped the whole thing might fall apart.

It gives the movie a marvelous rondeau-esque quality, reminding one that it is in the grand movie tradition of manner dramas that show the clash or new and old and the sacrifices those clashes demand. In this, we're dealing with three tiers of Class structure and the demands that each set upon the other, and how, if we all mind our manners, each supported by the other, lest the whole things collapse. And, if weakness or temerity is shown, well...there is always some one out of frame who might see things from another angle off-stage to lend assistance.

The conspiracy of support extends even farther it seems. At one point after a torrential rain soaks the Abbey at an inopportune time—the chairs!—on the eve of the grand parade, the clear skies evoke the comment "The day has dawned and the weather proves conclusively that God is a monarchist." Make that four tiers of support. God save the King, indeed.

Precious it is. But, in a world where one looks at History and one can see the inevitable march to reality where everything that can go wrong does so, the world of Downton Abbey—where everything goes right—is a comfort, a fine re-past where everything is just so...and everything is just so right. Where people of good intention have their intentions fulfilled. 

It is a fine soufflé that does not fall, a tea that is not bitter, comfort food that warms the soul and raises the spirit.

And more importantly, it isn't followed by someone asking for your support for your local PBS station.

Thank you.

Taking Woodstock

50 years ago today, the Woodstock Festival began...

Written at the time of the film's release.

"I Haven't Slept in Three Days, My Hip is Acting Up, and the Beer is Warm."
"So...You're Good."

Ang Lee has spent almost his entire career showing the common humanity in the disenfranchised, whether they be the lower rungs of Class Society, gay cowboys, set-apart and -upon martial artists, political spies, and Incredible Hulks—the commonality of the different. Even with the slightly lighter touch he employs here, he does the same for Catskill Jews and Hippie culture in Taking Woodstock. Both groups are isolated and flung apart, but come together—initially uneasily, but soon in mutual satisfaction, to produce something intangible and real, that would change everything. For a little while. Elliott Tiber, nee Tieschberg, (Demetri Martin) is a repressed jangle of contradictions, a cosmopolitan boy lost in the woods. He's hasn't quite left the nest of his parents (Henry Goodman, Imelda Staunton) who own—barely—the El Monaco Hotel in the Catskills town of White Lake. He hasn't quite left the closet, either. A painter, he hasn't met with success in The Big Apple. He deals with the banks about the Hotel's financing, but has nothing to say about how it's run, despite trying to stir up business. He's the President of the White Lake Chamber of Commerce...which is basically just a Chamber, but in a Church basement, and little Commerce.

The one thing he has going for the Hotel is a low-key Arts Festival he puts on every year, featuring a couple folk-singers and the gonzo theater-troupe who inhabit the barn on their property. Until...the planned "Woodstock" festival with a few choice acts is driven out of their original venue by the locals, and Tiber makes it known to the organizers that he has a permit for an arts festival, a rare thing with the reluctant townspeople, who are content with the "regular crowd" and don't want much disruption. Pretty soon, the Tieschberg's and local dairy farmer Max Yasgur (a genially subdued Eugene Levy, making more of less) are persona non grata around town as the area is crowded with a motley crew of organizers, "suits," crew-men, helicopters, expectant hippies, and, as the concert grows closer, one of the largest traffic jams in the Nation's history.

By that time, the Tieschberg's are in constant motion as their hotel is over-crowded, water-shortaged, beer-deficient and out of control, if not for the efforts of Mr. Tieschberg and self-appointed head-buster Vilma, a tranny ex-Ranger with a baseball bat (Liev Schreiber, in a bad blonde wig and a Southern Belle's wardrobe, looking just like you'd expect him to, and bringing a rueful dignity to the enterprise).

As long as Lee focuses on the chaos, the film is a raucously good-natured train-wreck. Once he leaves the side-show for Elliott's Odyssey to "The Festival," the film becomes one of those earnest little movies that tells you its important but can't show you, just as it can't show the concert going on. Oh, you hear snippets of song-track that was featured at Woodstock, but not the actual performances (as they're owned by somebody else, I guess) reverberating in the background. There's a couple of FX shots that suggest the scope of the thing (one an LSD-influenced version that shows the crowd turning into an undulating sea-scape that would be more effective...oh, if you really were on acid, say), but the whole sequence is not only uninvolving, it diminishes the event...far-off, rather than far-out.

Woodstock has been romanticized so much over the last 40 years that it might better be called "Three Days of Peace, Love and Understanding and All the Crappy Parts You've Forgotten." But, Lee doesn't shy from the problems (segmented into easily focused nuggets of information through a split-screen technique which was the vogue at the time), although nothing is dwelled upon: the famous "brown acid" is mentioned, the muddy conditions, the interminable traffic jams, the inconsistent weather and jerry-rigged wiring that combined to cause so much metal on the grounds to shock when touched, the unsanitary conditions, the constant air-lifting of accidents and overdoses. and the fact that damned few people heard much music. It was enough to "be there," and that entailed a super-human ability to "go with the flow," of which, with the rain, there seemed to be plenty. It's all cataloged, but briefly, because like a lot of movies about "big events," it boils down to who's telling the story and how much they really played a part in it.

For the sub-title of the movie should be "Elliott Tiber and what he did at Woodstock." Tiber's account has been questioned by organizer Michael Lang* who claims that he may have had the permit, but he wasn't present at all the places he claims he was. And so the movie is reduced to the old conundrum of who gets to re-write history as Tiber shows "how Woodstock was important to him," as well as how "he was important to Woodstock." This might have been a bit more convincing if Tiber weren't portrayed by Demetri Martin. Martin is a gifted comedian as his stints on "The Daily Show," and his own "Comedy Central" series have amply displayed. But, Taking Woodstock shows none of the puppyish energy that makes his observations so hilarious. Instead, his Tiber is slackly reminiscent of Chance the Gardener in Being There, wandering like a ping-pong ball through the movie, with just as much dramatic weight. He is handily eclipsed by Goodman and Staunton, Schrieber and Emile Hirsch's "Charlie"-obsessed Viet-vet.

In the end, it's a let-down—like being stuck in the traffic jam and missing the concert, although Lee does manage to show us a lot of entertaining portraits while missing the big picture.

In the final irony, the cost of a ticket to the "real" Woodstock was $8.00. An evening ticket to Taking Woodstock costs upwards of 10.

* Lang is played by Jonathan Groff as an intensely smooth corporate hippie, who never seems to sweat the small stuff...or the big stuff, for that matter. In fact, he rarely seems engaged in any of the complexities of the festival, concentrating on "The Big Picture."