Outer Banks Thanks: Sparky Spark and the Funny Bunch

The husband and I don't take many vacations.  Partly because most of our disposable income goes toward ice cream and stickers.  Partly because it's a hassle.  Whoever said, "You know what would be relaxing?  Packing up all your stuff, driving to another state, and then unpacking it and setting it up again in a tiny room with a bed that may or may not make it impossible for you to move your neck the next morning," clearly did not think things through.  Add the beach element and you've got a whole new mess of stress in relaxation's clothing.

"Hang on there, Tote Trove Lady," you may be thinking.  "Are you saying that you don't like the beach?"  Not exactly.  Sure, it's lovely and tranquil and sometimes enchanted.  But still, it requires vigilance.  You know those pictures of people napping on the surf that are supposed to be restful?  When I see them, all I can think is, OMG, wake up, the sun is roasting your flesh like a rotisserie chicken!  Look alive and reapply your SPF 80!  This is also, by the way, how I feel about those pictures of babies all curled up with dogs.  Not that the babies need sunscreen.  But that their mamas better scoop them up before they become Lassie's dinner.  Never underestimate the power of vigilance.  Or vigilantes. 

But I digress.  

Despite my misgivings, when my parents invited the husband and me to join them and my sister, brother-in-law, and adorable two-year-old nephew (because I'm one of those aunties who thinks he hung the moon) in the Outer Banks for a week, we packed our arsenal of UV protection.  The husband had been there once to go fishing and warned me, "It's different, not like our beaches."  On our first day there, I knew he was right.  The coast was covered with coarse, orange sand, whereas Jersey sand is sugary fine.  Also, the air didn't smell like salt, and there wasn't a seagull in sight.  Yet even more of a culture shock was that the shops -- because yes, the appeal of any place to me and mine ultimately comes down to the availability of retail outlets -- were few and far between.  There were no neon-lit boardwalks or quaint downtown streets like at home, and you had to drive to get anywhere.  Still, we were excited.  We had the sun and each other.  And all the shrimp we could eat.

And I, of course, had my outfits.

Remember when your grandparents would make you look at their vacation slides on a projector?  Well, the rest of this is like that minus the popcorn.  Unless you want to make it yourself; far be it from me to get between you and your Orville Redenbacher.  Or, for that matter, you and your Orville Wright.

Kitty Hawk may be the birthplace of aviation, but New Bern is the birthplace of Allie and Noah.  No, I didn't go to New Bern, North Carolina, the setting of The Notebook and many other beloved Nicholas Sparks novels.  But I did go to Kill Devil Hills, which just happened to have a street named New Bern.

What's more, on the way to the Hatteras lighthouse, the husband stopped by this structure.  If it looks familiar, then that's because it's the house from the movie version of Nights in Rodanthe.  If it doesn't look familiar, then that's because it's been cleaned up and moved from its original, super-remote location.  Talk about a labor of love.  Who says that romance is dead?  

Certainly not me and my hat.  

Speaking of hats . . . this is the Hatteras lighthouse.  The guide made it sound like it would be impossible to climb, and for a millisecond I worried that my exercise-averse self might have a heart attack if I tried.  But then I remembered that the guide was just a public servant on a power trip and that he had to make it sound scary as a disclaimer in case of lawsuits.  So up I went, and it was fine.  A couple of other people freaked out once we got inside, though.  I think they were afraid of heights.

The husband suggested that one day we get up to see the sun rise.  Now, like Mindy Kaling (as she says in one of her books), I was pretty sure that I could live my entire life without ever seeing such a phenomenon.  I worship sleep; on weekends, I don't stir until noon.  Still . . . I was curious.  And I figured it was the least I could do for the husband after making him take all these pictures.  So I set an alarm, then set out for the docks.  And I have to admit that the sun bursting through the darkness was nothing short of amazing, all orange and purple and like a Disney cartoon, only better (I was wearing a Little Mermaid tee at the time).  And it was all the more awesome because I got to go back to bed once it was over.

 A lot of the shops and restaurants in the Outer Banks have horse sculptures out front.  This picture was taken outside an art gallery.

When we went inside, the woman behind the counter saw my shirt and exclaimed, "Who doesn't love the Jetsons?"  I guess I wasn't responsive enough because she went on to say, "If you come to North Carolina, you have to talk to people."  I nodded and said that the husband had shown me a YouTube video about introverting in the South.  There was some poor woman trying to read on a park bench, and total strangers kept plunking themselves down next to her to talk about the weather.  I'm always that woman, even on my own turf in New Jersey.  But I didn't say this to the gallery lady.  When she asked where we were from, the husband gave his stock reply: outside Atlantic City.  This inspired her to launch into a story about how she once helped her daughter move to New York and how she could never live there.  You heard it here first; in the South, New Jerseyans = New Yorkers.  Even Southern New Jerseyans.  (Somehow, I don't think New Yorkers would agree.)  Not that it's news that people in different parts of the country have ideas about each other.  Myself included.  For all I know, the gallery lady's loquaciousness might have not been a southern thing; she might have been just as chatty had she hailed from Wisconsin.  But in the end it didn't matter.  Because either way she was nice and, like the rest of us, just doing her best.  That said, I ended up buying this framed fabric flamingo:

And admiring (but not buying) this house:

Meanwhile, back at the ranch . . . this horse was parked outside a breakfast joint called Stack 'Em High Pancakes.  I didn't see it at first, but he's holding down a pile of flapjacks!

And these fish were swimming upstream while we enjoyed breakfast.

It was fins, fins, and more fins during our rainy day at the aquarium.  Even if this pic is just plants, plants, and more plants.

This room was like an underwater disco.  How cool are these black-lit jellyfish?

Once the rain cleared, it was back into the oven to surf a wave,

sit on a tree,

 and zoom in on my zany barrettes.  Because, like cheddar, they make everything better!

   

But wait.  There's more.  Highlights, that is:

- My nephew 1) singing "People are Strange" (by The Doors, Aunt Tracy!), "Zombie," and his ABCs and 2) saying that my watermelon sandals were "so juicy" and that his new Mrs. Potato Head was "so cute."

- Going to The Bird Store with the husband.  He picked out a duck decoy and I got this tile:

- Browsing Belk department store.  At the height of "Sex and the City" mania, they had a Kristin Davis line because she's from North Carolina.

- I said it before, but I'll say it again: the shrimp!

Surprise, surprise, the beach didn't make the cut-off.  I spent most of my time there under a canopy, wearing a hat, swaddled in a towel, and dousing myself hourly with Neutrogena dry-touch sun block.  I couldn't help but feel like Mary Anne in Baby Sitters Club book #8, Boy-Crazy Stacey, except I didn't wear zinc oxide on my nose.  (Stacey, of course, had no such anxieties and got as tan as a turkey.)  The few times I ventured out, my sister quipped, "You're out of your tent, and you don't look happy about it."

Word.  We're not the funny bunch for nothing.  

Which leads me to the number one best thing about this trip: family togetherness.  Because beneath my aloof exterior beats a heart that loves to be with my loved ones. They're my favorite people, my only people, and I couldn't imagine being without them.  So thanks to them all for such a good time.  

There's no one I'd rather roast with.  

Lars and Stripes Forever

Sure, it's a little weird that I'm trotting out a Canadian for a semi-patriotic post.  But Ryan Gosling is so much more than an overly polite, maple syrup-guzzling, hockey-worshiper.  After all, he did save that journalist that time.  And it doesn't get much more American -- or, for that matter, thespian -- than risking it all for free speech.   

We've seen Gosling in courtrooms and race cars, behind the piano and on the other side of the law.  But of all of his movies, I like him best in Lars and the Real Girl.  To me, it's there that he's at his most vulnerable and endearing.  And yes, I'm counting that one where he rows a boat in the rain.

Lars is a near-recluse who lives in his brother's garage in a small, snowy town.  His brother Gus (Paul Schneider) and sister-in-law Karin (Emily Mortimer) have an ongoing bet as to whether he'll show up for dinner (spoiler alert, he doesn't), and he cringes whenever someone tries to touch him.  Some of these anxieties seem to stem from his mom dying in childbirth, others from an innate inability to deal with change.  Still, Lars manages to hold down a job.  And it's in their shared cubicle that his degenerate coworker introduces him to the world of online sex dolls.  Before we know it, Lars is telling Gus and Karin that he's met someone.  They're overjoyed, relieved, and willing to do whatever it takes to make Lars's relationship work.

And then Lars wheels in Bianca. 

Even after one of those hurried, honey-help-me-with-dinner kitchen conferences, Gus and Karin remain flabbergasted.  But Karin, who happens to be pregnant, insists that they be supportive.  And so they solider on with the meal and everything that follows.  Lars has crafted an elaborate backstory for Bianca, which he relays with confidence.  He knows her likes and dislikes, her hopes and dreams and fears.  It's funny.  It's sad.  And because of Lars and his childlike ways, it's also kind of sweet.

Before long, everyone in town pitches in to help with Bianca.  They invite her to potlucks and sewing circles, to volunteer at the hospital and sit on the school board.  And slowly, something happens.  As the community begins to accept Bianca, Lars begins to accept himself.  It turns out that Bianca is how he works through his issues, navigates social situations, and prepares for his first "real" girlfriend.  Because bringing all of his fears to the surface is the only way he can put them behind him.  When we first meet Lars, he's so anxious and self-contained that he can't even bring himself to hug Karin.  And yet, when things take a turn with Bianca, the whole town turns out for him.  Making him realize that he's not so alone after all.

Lars and the Real Girl blurs the lines between what's real and what's not.  Bittersweet and sensitive, it brings new meaning to embracing the bizarre.  Because sometimes going crazy is the only way to get back to normal.

 Both shirts from TJ Maxx.

Both bags Liz Claiborne from J. C. Penney's.

So . . . stripes.  This bold top twosome is somewhere between the spangly sex worker garb that Bianca arrives in and the down-home sweaters in which Lars swathes her.  As for the bags, they're more Good Ship Lollipop than trollop.

Which is just about as sweet as it gets for this more Liz Claiborne than Dolls Kill kind of girl.

Bittersweet Stuff: Sparks and Citrus

 Pineapple Paradise Brooch

Top: (a dress!) LC Lauren Conrad, Kohl's

Skirt: (also a dress!) XOXO

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Nine West, Boscov's

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: JCPenney

 Sea and Sky Necklace

Cardigan: So, Kohl's

Tank: Boscov's

Skirt: H&M

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Loop, Marshalls

Belt: Marshalls

Sunglasses: JCPenney

Green and Yellow Stellar Speller Necklace

Dress: Macy's

Sweater: Sweater Project, Macy's

Shoes: Ami Clubwear

Bag: Apt. 9, Kohl's

Sunglasses: Rampage, Boscov's

When I saw Nicholas Sparks's The Best of Me last week, I knew that I would blog about it.  After all, I'd read and blogged about the book, and I never pass up the opportunity for a good Sparks novel-and-movie-adaptation rap sesh.  I could only hope that whatever projects I'd completed by then would coincide with some shard of the story.  For example, I had a pair of ribbon rose-bedecked barrettes in the back of my mind that all but screamed romance (the fact that they were to be repurposed from my wedding decorations was just a bonus.)  But now it's blog post time, and those buds have yet to blossom.  Instead I'm stuck with a near-flagrant mix of green, yellow, and orange ornaments, an orchard of over-the-topness too showy to herald the highlights of a sweetly old-fashioned Sparks saga.

Or is it?  Does it not reflect the same tart-yet-treacly -- dare I say bittersweet -- quality of a Sparks tearjerker?  (Never mind that the tears brought on by lemons and limes are more likely the result of brushing one's eye with a juice-tainted finger as opposed to watching an unrequited love story.)  For this blogger, the answer to that rhetorical question is an unequivocal yes.  And so it's from such a suspect springboard that I dive into the heart of this post's dissertation.  (Somewhere out there an English professor is rolling his or her eyes at my use of the D word.  Also that I'm associating it with Nicholas Sparks.) 

To begin, I'll just come out and say it: this is one of those rare times when the movie is better than the book, a judgment I can soundly make having read the book first.  (Not that that stopped me from re-reading it after the credits rolled.  A stickler for details, I always like to see what was changed.)  Sure, the big screen version makes use of all the usual tricks, which is to say that its plot is more streamlined and dramatic than the book's.  Although such liberties are often necessary to make the written word pop, they sometimes come at the expense of quality, resulting in something that is -- for lack of a better word -- cheesy.  Not so in this case.  If anything, the plot tweaks only heighten the effect of the story.  Yet it is the medium of the movie itself that most convincingly places us in Dawson and Amanda's shoes (I forgot to mention that they're the star-crossed lovers this time, what with all the hoopla about adaptation and orchards), and that's because it invokes that emotional powerhouse known as the flashback.  

Indeed, the first blast from the past opens with Dawson at the local teen hangout, Toad the Wet Sprocket's "All I Want" swelling in the background when Amanda speeds by in a car full of jocks blaring "Whoot There it Is," changing his life forever.  It's amazing how quickly music can tell you what's up.  That is, troubled outcasts tune in to Toad, whereas A-listers listen to stuff that sounds best on a basketball court.  The movie's focus on Dawson and Amanda's teen romance draws from that classically heady everyone's-against-us, young-love elixir, giving it a very Notebook-y vibe.  And why not?  The past is an aphrodisiac.  In The Notebook, it was the early 1940s, and in The Best of Me, it's the early 1990s.  The pull of memories in both is magnetic, bringing a sense of urgency to the present day.  What's more, I can't help but feel that the 1990s were made for Sparks stories, that era's flowered dresses and moody alt rock an ideal soundtrack to fall in love to.  So much more spot on than the 1980s, which was when the book took place.  Not that kids didn't crush hard to hair bands and hairspray.  But those trappings are more rom com than drama, and as such somehow less compelling.

I could go on about the subtle discrepancies in the print and screen versions.  But the most pointed difference is the way that those crazy kids broke up.  Now, I've (for the most part) left my spoiler days behind, but this post means nothing if I don't say this.  In both renditions, Dawson ends up in jail (different circumstances for each, although neither are directly his fault).  In the book, Sparks tells us that "in four years, he [Dawson] never had a single visitor" (39).  Yet in the movie, Amanda shows up every single day for a year.  Dawson never agrees to see her (per the usual baloney of being cruel to be kind for her own good), but she makes the trips anyway with Notebook-worthy I-wrote-you-every-day-for-a-year kind of grand gesture devotion.  To me, this makes all the difference, drawing a line between a borderline fling and the real deal.  In the movie, Amanda goes to great lengths to challenge Dawson's loner status, even though doing so isolates her from her family and friends.  In the book she just goes off to college.  Which is, of course, more realistic.  But who in her right mind wants realistic? 

No one, that's who.  Except for maybe some scurvy-struck cynic who doesn't like citrus.

Etsy Favorites: Movie Magic

 Candy and Popcorn Necklace, Pretty Thingz

 The Notebook Charm Necklace, Holy Sheep

 Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind Necklace, Sarah Crumpler's CH Gallery

 Dear Vincent Brooch, Tramps and Glams

 35 mm Film Earrings, Happy Factory

 Pirates of the Caribbean Decoupage Bangle, Ericosmicgirl

 Movie Time Resin Necklace, Girlybe

 Marilyn Brooch, Chaachi and Chaachi

 Mean Girls Regina George Earrings, Blue Velvet Heart

Vintage Movie Poster Bangle, Gorgeous Georgia

With the Oscars airing tomorrow night, I thought, why not center this week's Etsy Favorites around the silver screen?  I love watching the Oscars, although I seldom see most of the nominated movies, which tend to be of a dark and serious bent and therefore not on my radar.  But the drama and the dresses more than make up for that, and it was in their spirit that I unearthed these ten light-hearted (yes, even you, villainous Vincent), camera-ready pieces of jewelry.  Whether they celebrate concession stand favorites or iconic characters, they're sure to sprinkle a little star power your way.   

Movie Moment: What's Your Number?

Although my expectations for What's Your Number? were pretty low, I still managed to be disappointed when the bf and I rented it last weekend.  The bf, on the other hand, had even lower expectations but said that it was better than he'd thought it'd be, generously adding that it "had its moments."

Maybe I'm just getting jaded.

Early in the movie Ally Darling (Anna Faris) gets fired from her marketing job, a gig about which, as we later discover, she was lukewarm, only to be confronted by a Marie Claire article on the bus ride home that proclaims she's slept with too many men (19) to land Mr. Right.  (I could digress into a diatribe about my love-hate relationship with women's magazines but will respectfully refrain, as this post already teeters on the precipice of sour).  Things go from the proverbial bad to worse as Ally is catapulted into her sister's bachelorette party, where she learns that she has indeed slept with more men than any of the other bridesmaids.  Thus disheartened, she jumps on the bar and vows that the next guy she sleeps with will be her future husband.  Fast forward to the next morning, which finds her in bed with her former boss, who's played by that ever-so-snarky antithesis of Mr. Right, Joel McHale.   

With nothing but time on her hands, unemployed Ally launches what can only be referred to as a full-fledged stalking mission in which she tries to track down each and every one of her ex-boyfriends to determine if there's one she may possibly have overlooked.  This in and of itself seemed bizarre to me, as I'm sure it did to the legions of women out there who want nothing more than to forever disappear from the purview of past loves.  Nevertheless, I willed myself to suspend disbelief so that I may better enjoy Ally and company's antics.  And by company I mean Colin (Chris Evans), Ally's hunky and often shirtless across-the-hall neighbor.  Even more promiscuous than Ally, Colin strikes the all-important balance between recklessness and safety.  He is, after all, the only person in Ally's life who thinks that she can turn her passion for sculpting quirky characters into a career.  (Yes, folks, this is yet another movie in which the heroine is a frustrated, unappreciated artist whose spirit is cruelly crushed beneath the thumb of corporate America.  Or whatever the much less serious version of that is in the flawed, albeit highly addictive rom com genre.)  Yet even Colin's understanding ways do little to mask the lack of chemistry between him and Ally.  Sure, I wasn't expecting Notebook-caliber fireworks.  But I needed something to convince me that these two crazy kids would make it past the one-month mark.    

All criticism aside, What's Your Number? is nuanced by some highlights (as so wisely credenced by the bf).  Andy Samberg is hilarious as Ally's first lover, professional puppeteer Gerry Perry, and Faris's real-life husband Chris Pratt enjoys what may be the movie's funniest moment as the fat-suit-wearing Disgusting Donald.  Finally, David Annable of "Brothers and Sisters" fame makes an appearance as the one that got away (cue Katy Perry).  His character is one-dimensional and wooden, but I like David Annable, so I was willing to let that slide.  Just as my love for romantic comedies allowed the rest of this stuff to slide so I could enjoy a side of bubblegum with my chicken Caesar salad.   

Book Report: The Best of Me by Nicholas Sparks

The Best of Me, by Nicholas Sparks, reaches in and rips your heart out.  Which is to say that it's like every other Nicholas Sparks novel.  This particular story was one part The Notebook and one part Dear John, with a heavy dose of The Guardian's darkness tossed in.  Actually, the last three or four Sparks books I read seemed uncharacteristically vengeful and violent.  What's more, there seems to be a thread of spying at large in a growing number of titles.  Not, of course, in a creepy way, but in a do-gooder-just-watching-over-you kind of way.  Which, come to think of it, is a little bit creepy.  In Dear John, John skulks around Savannah's house for years even after they part.  Then there's The Lucky One, in which the entire plot hinges upon ex-soldier Logan pursuing a woman he knows from only a photograph. 

Easy-target jokes aside, no bestselling author spins a tale of unrequited love more poignantly than Sparks.  He drops characters into situations that force them to come to terms with their purpose in life.  That's the theme at the core of each of his stories, with the romance serving as the conduit through which these revelations are made possible.

So, The Best of Me.  Dawson and Amanda are two small-town North Carolina high school kids who fall in love.  He's poor, and she's rich, and her parents tear them apart by packing her off to a prestigious college.  This, of course, is The Notebook-y part.  But unlike in The Notebook, they don't meet again just seven or eight years later.  Instead, fate wedges twenty-five years between them, reacquainting them at, of all places, a funeral.  It's after this part that things get especially dark and dicey.  Then there's a bit of medical drama that seems heavily borrowed from Dear John.  At times it was all a bit too much, and I can see why a lot of readers may write it off as unbelievable, or even worse, cheesy.  But here's the thing.  It's this crazy course of events that clarifies exactly what it is that Dawson and Amanda are meant to be doing.  Because try as they might, they're too indecisive and influenced by worldly concerns to figure it out on their own.  Whether they end happily or tragically, Sparks's novels always give readers (or at least this reader) the sense that things are as they should be and that everything has gone according to plan.

If that sounded vague in terms of plot, then I've done my job.  The Best of Me is one of those books that would be spoiled by discussing too many details.  That having been said, I'll leave you with a quote that struck me:

"Too many people glorified small-town America, making it seem like a Norman Rockwell painting, but the reality was something else entirely.  With the exception of doctors and lawyers or people who owned their own businesses, there were no high-paying jobs in Oriental, or in any other small town for that matter.  And while it was in many ways an ideal place to raise young children, there was little for young adults to aspire to." (82)

There's a lot of truth in what Sparks says here.  I found this interesting, especially given that most of Sparks's books take place in small towns.  It made me wonder if, on some level, the deaths of his romances are symbolic of the death of small-town America.  Or, at the very least, that the romances are plagued by the same limitations.            

Movie Moment and Book Report: (Some Last Words on) The Last Song by Nicholas Sparks

Last Christmas, the bf bought me a copy of Nicholas Sparks's latest, The Last Song. Having read and enjoyed all of Nicholas Sparks's other novels, I devoured it immediately. And it was pretty good. Not as good as Dear John or Nights in Rodanthe, but nonetheless entertaining. I missed seeing the movie version when it came out in March, so I rented it last weekend (once again Hot Tub Time Machine was shafted. But its day will come.) Although the movie version of The Last Song was very close to the book, it was strangely disappointing. I find myself having this reaction to lots of movies based on books. (Ironically, I felt the opposite way about The Notebook. I loved the movie but was lukewarm about the book. Maybe that's because I saw the movie first.) I think it's because movies don't allow enough time to build upon all the details that make characters and relationships seem real. For example, in the book The Last Song, readers observe the main character, Ronnie, fall in love with Will as well as reconnect with her father in stages. But in the movie it all happens so fast that you're kind of left not quite believing it (at least I was). Also, Ronnie was a lot edgier in the book, with purple hair and an attitude to match. Although still a surly borderline tough girl, movie Ronnie (Miley Cyrus) is softer, with normal hair and only a discrete nose stud to advertise her rebelliousness. Finally, the theme of fire is more prominent (and therefore scarier) in the book. The villain, Marcus, is always juggling fireballs in view of Ronnie's house (he wields both a creepy romantic interest in her and a secret about Will), and Marcus's girlfriend, the aptly-named Blaze, is badly burned by one of Marcus's fireballs and ends up in the hospital. Also, Marcus causes the proverbial "trouble" at Will's sister's wedding, destroying an entire tent. When I read this scene in the book, it struck me as a made-for-the-movies-moment. But in the movie it's very pared down; although Marcus and Will fight, I don't recall a collapsed tent. All this was topped off by an ending that seemed to occur rather abruptly.

But despite all these shortcomings, the movie was still fun to watch. Although I enjoy writing these movie and book reviews, I sometimes fear that I sound a bit uppity. I mean, what do I know? I'm just a nobody consumer with too much time on her hands. Suppose I were ever to publish my book and people wrote less-than-stellar reactions to it? Knowing my soft-hearted ways, I suspect I'd be sorely hurt. That's how poor Lily felt in Marian Keyes's The Other Side of the Story when reviewers savaged her debut novel. But then again, I enjoy most books and movies to one degree or another. Even the ones I seem hard on. After all, even material I don't 100% love opens up a sort of commentary off of which I can bounce thoughts and ideas.

I think I'm getting a bit punchy. It's time to pack it in.

Movie Moment: A Few Words About Death at a Funeral

Last Friday night I suggested renting a movie. Bent over my Carnival Princess Necklace with the bf's beloved Discovery Channel droning on in the background, I was in need of some comedy. If you've been following this blog, then you probably already know that nonfiction television (the news included) depresses me beyond measure. To me, it's the equivalent of spending a sunny Sunday in a musty old museum. Or maybe even the equivalent of Sunday afternoons themselves, as I don't much like those either. But I digress.

We narrowed down our movie choices to The Bounty Hunter, Hot Tub Time Machine, Date Night, and Death at a Funeral. Well, I narrowed it down. If I'd left the bf to it, then we'd be dealing with secret missions and gratuitous bleeding. As it were, Death at a Funeral was the only option he could stomach at the time, so we went with that. Based on a (reportedly stodgy) British film of the same name, Death featured an all-star cast including Chris Rock, Martin Lawrence, Tracy Morgan, Danny Glover, Loretta Devine, James Marsden, and Luke Wilson, among others. The trailer had been hilarious, so I expected to be choking on hiccup-induced laughter. But it didn't happen. I think it was one of those cases of too many big stars in one movie. Also, all of the best jokes were revealed in the commercials. (Don't you hate when that happens?) What was left was a lukewarm jumble of confusing plot twists. That having been said, Tracy Morgan was the one standout. He just has that comic gift of getting all upset about the pettiest, most ridiculous of situations to the point where everything coming out of his mouth is hysterical. James Marsden was another high point, as I'm never one to knock him going shirtless. Even if he was the (sort of) bad guy in The Notebook.