Close plays Albert Nobbs, a shy waiter at a once high-tone 19th-century Dublin hotel. The gender-bending role itself is usually a good Academy Award bet ( think Hillary Swank’s “Boys Don’t Cry” or Felicity Huffman in “TransAmerica“). But neither the performance nor the film feels gimmicky. The earnest character portrait is infused with such quiet. but potent emotion. Close–with cropped orange hair–doesn’t exactly look like a man. But she doesn’t look like a woman either. She looks, as one of the hotel patrons says, “Like the strangest little man.” If they only knew.

Indeed, it’s that strangeness that draws you in. Why is Albert, who was born a woman, living her life as a man? The answer isn’t as simple as the cruel economics of the era. While it’s true unmarried women had few options, that’s not the whole story. There’s a tragic story–one I’ll let you discover as the film unfolds–that underscores Albert’s furtive little life, one always shrouded in fear of exposure.

Still, Albert seems content to all but fade into the Victorian wallpaper. That is until he meets a brash house painter Hubert Page, played by the magnificent Janet McTeer ( also Oscar nominated as Best Supporting Actress) Hubert, too, was born a woman, but left her husband and made a similar choice to live as a man. The only difference: Hubert lives in domestic bliss with his “wife,” a sweet dressmaker.

This revelation opens dormant desires in Albert. The savings he’s squirreled
away might be used to purchase a tobacco shop; a wild-eyed maid might make a nice wife. We watch Albert tentatively venture into the world with new hope.

Close has kept this project, based on a short story by George Moore, published in 1918, close to her heart for decades. She starred in an off-Broadway production in 1982 and has been trying to get a version up on the screen for years ( she also co-wrote the screenplay and song). And that intimacy and obvious affection for Albert is evident. In other hands, the character could come off mawkish, a sentimental wax work. But director Rodrigo Garcia guides his star in a deeply felt inner journey.

The film is fascinating, the supporting players including McTeer, Brendan Fraser, Mia Wasikowska and Brenda Fricker all add color to what could be seen as a drab little story. But it is ultimately Close’s performance that makes the film so captivating. A performance like this is so rare in its power and raw, emotional beauty, it almost defies description. You simply have to watch Close’s eyes and you’ll see Albert’s misery, longing, kindness all wrapped up in a single glance.

There’s a grander takeaway, too. “Albert Nobbs,” isn’t just a sad and complicated story about one person searching for acceptance and normalcy. It’s also a study in human nature and humanity. Most of the characters–the rich patrons and the servants–are all pretending to be something they’re not. Sound like someone you know? We all hide behind social masks sometimes. To get past the mask, to dig deeper, taking in the real person, gifts, warts, and all, therein lies the true thrill and honor of knowing another human being.

Speaking of honors, I hope Glenn Close is proud of that Oscar nomination. And award yourself the honor of watching “Albert Nobbs.”

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That devastating news will fuel Deborah’s undoing and ultimately prove her salvation. “Even Tough Girls Wear Tutus” chronicles her emotional downward spiral from angry adolescent to volatile drug addicted young criminal, and her triumphant recovery and reinvention as an advocate, speaker and writer.

During a chat last week, Deborah discussed the arduous, but cathartic writing process as well as her future hopes for her Non Profit, The UnPrison Project, that sends her all over the country speaking at women’s prisons and conferences.

Ironically, Deborah first fictionalized her story and shopped it as a novel. Remember this was some years back when all those phony memoirs fell off the shelves in the wake of the big James Frey fake memoir Oprah betrayal brouhaha. “Once they ( editors and agents) heard it was a true story, they kept saying it should be a memoir, but I didn’t want any part of that.”

So she put it away for a while. But our stories have a way of nagging at us, until they just spill out, no matter the anguish. ” It’s not like my story is ever far behind. I can relive the whole thing in a minute. But I wrote through a lot of wet pages,” she concedes. “I had to peel the real story out of the novel.”

And the real story is one of the most raw and riveting books I’ve read in recent memory. As a writer and a teacher and creativity coach who works with writers, I am blown away by Stein’s authentic voice; there’s nothing sentimental or apologetic about it. Here, give a listen to an excerpt from one of her presentations, and you’ll hear what I’m talking about.

It’s that unconditional love of her parents, as well as the education and opportunity to develop her creativity that save her. In case you were wondering, this is where the tutus in the title come in. As a young girl, Deborah is introduced to dance and loves it, but thinks a girl born in prison is unworthy of the elegant art. That’s one of the many heartbreaking revelations. Another is when, as an adult, she finally returns to tour Alderson and is ushered into the very cell where she spent her first year of life. Her visceral reaction stirs an emotional tsunami that took me by surprise in the middle of Starbucks ( that’s okay; it gave me a chance to share the book’s potency with a few fellow patrons). There’s also a beautiful reconciliation scene with her mother, so long in the coming, it will likely pull at your heart.

“Most of the women–whether they have any real education or not–are thirsty for change. They know they need it. They want to believe it’s possible,” Deborah says. “And I know having an education helped me change. It gave me a way to get out of my head, a new way to look at the world. I know it can do the same for so many others.”

And there are certainly many to help. The facts about women in prison are staggering. Women are the fastest growing population in U.S. prisons, with over 1 million serving time; that’s 1 % of the female population. 75% of these women are mothers, most with kids under 18. 2.3 million minor children, most under 10, have a parent behind bars. Between 4 and 7 % of women entering prison are pregnant. The majority of incarcerated women are sentenced for nonviolent drug offenses and over 85% are in drug and alcohol abuse programs.

I’m not passing out Get Out of Jail Free cards; so the hardliners who usually toss cyber tomatoes at me about now, can hold their fire. But there’s got to be a better way, folks. So many people languish in prison for excruciatingly long sentences, often for crimes largely against themselves. As a society we have to change this,. Somehow, some way. Even some red meat Republicans are starting to see the wisdom of sentencing and prison reform, even if that change of heart is propelled by the fiscal bottom line, it’s a start.

Speaking of starts, as part of the UnPrison Project, Deborah Jiang Stein would like to fund college scholarships for the daughters of prisoners at Alderson and eventually other prisons. “I want to give them and their children a way of reframing their world. the way I’ve reframed mine.”

Of course, you don’t have to have a prison story to be affected by this book. I think everyone can relate to the powerful grasp secrets can have on a person, the emotional lockdown they can slam on a vulnerable psyche. It’s the sharing of those secrets, whether to the world or just yourself, that is so liberating and transformative. That’s why writing can be therapeutic. And reading a book that gushes rage and regret in equal measure with reconciliation and hope can illuminate the strength and grace of the human spirit. “Even Tough Girls Wear Tutus” is one of those books.

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It’s been thirty years, but Meryl Streep may have to make room for that elusive third Oscar. With Tuesday’s announcement of the Academy Award nominations, the heralded actress’ brilliant portrayal of former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in “The Iron Lady” (already a Golden Globe and Critics’ Choice winner) is the front runner for the coveted statuette. But with the most impressive roster of Best Actress nominees in recent years, her win is not a slam dunk. Streep’s stiffest rival will likely be her “Doubt” co-star Viola Davis who delivered a heartachingly beautiful performance in the far more popular film “The Help.” And Davis–who was nominated as Supporting Actress for her role in “Doubt” ( and received a Golden Globe shout-out from Streep) has yet to score Oscar gold, something the Academy likes to spread around. An unlikely groundswell of support could also garner Glenn Close her first Oscar for the poignant, but little seen “Albert Nobbs,” a film the actress has been trying to get made for over fifteen years.

Check out the Oscar site for a complete list of nominations. I’ll have more on surprises and snubs in all the categories, as well as predictions, later.

But for now, let’s delve into “The Iron Lady,” and the case for Streep. Phyllida Lloyd’s film is more a character study ( and a complex and compassionate one) than a history lesson. Lloyd aims for the personal over the political. And she’s received some flack for that, mostly from British critics and historians.

Some are perturbed by the release itself. Unlike many biopics, the subject is still alive. At 86, Baroness Thatcher, the woman once simultaneously reviled and revered, for her decades’ long steely leadership, has become a recluse, isolated by growing dementia. The current British Prime Minister David Cameron recently denounced the timing of the film, saying it was “insensitive” and could have waited “for another day.”

But for those of us interested in a powerful and elegant character portrait, there is little to disappoint. And the British film community is certainly forgiving; she just won the British Academy Award. And for good reason. Streep conquers the role of Thatcher, capturing her nuances with the actress’s uncanny, signature perfection. She doesn’t engage in a mere impersonation, but embodies Thatcher’s very essence. It’s not just the coiffed hair, the carriage and the characteristic tone of voice. It’s the the agility Streep demonstrates as she seamlessly dips in and out Thatcher’s razor-sharp persona to an ailing, aged woman recounting her hey day that is so astounding and mesmerizing.

The film opens with Thatcher as an octogenarian, her once “blotting paper memory,” evaporating in the wake of of a series of strokes. She’s seen cracking an egg for her husband, Denis who has died, but still appears, engaging in very lively discussions.

Streep’s Thatcher slips in and out of consequential scenes, hinting at her remarkable rise to glory, but not dwelling on it.Still, there is enough politics to put Thatcher’s life in context and give viewers unfamiliar with her impressive tenure ( 1979-1990; the longest in modern history) more than enough political substance to hold onto. The war over the Falkland Islands forms the crux of her rise to success, as Thatcher fiercely stands up to Parliament’s “Old Boy’s Club.” We also see her political kinship with President Reagan and witness her downfall as the bitter battle with the unions propels her anguished exit from No. 10 Downing Street.

At heart, though, Lloyd’s “The Iron Lady” strives to unveil the woman behind the steely iron facade.

As dementia begins to set in, we are given glimpses into Thatcher’s relationship with her husband, played by the wonderful Jim Broadbent ( who handled similar duty opposite Judi Dench in the lovely Iris Murdoch bio-pic “Iris“)and her children, Carol (Olivia Colman), who helps care for her, and Mark, who lives in South Africa and whom the audience never sees.

As she goes about packing up Denis’ belongings for charity, the elderly former Tory leader is swept back to the time when she was a young woman – the daughter of a grocer, and an ambitious Oxford grad with evolving political aspirations. We also get charming peaks at her courtship with young Denis Thatcher and their marriage during tumultuous times.

I know purists have quibbles with the timing, accuracy, even the style. But, Lloyd has turned out an artful and entertaining movie, one that offers great personal insight into a fascinating woman. And while I can’t guarantee Streep will take home her first Oscar since the “Sophie’s Choice” win in 1982, her fierce and nuanced performance is bound to get your vote.

The 84 annual Academy Awards will air live on ABC on Sunday, February 26.

Please follow Amy Beth Arkawy on Twitter.
 

Sunday’s Golden Globe hat trick should send more folks to see “The Artist.” It’s not just the accolades–for Best Picture, Actor and score– but the exuberance the winners exuded. That very quality is at the heart of this unlikely commercial success.

Okay, it is mostly silent, in black and white and foreign, But Michel Hazanavicius’ “The Artist” is an elegant fanciful valentine to the movies. And while I can’t guarantee anything, I’m guessing, like mine, your heart will dance.

Set in Hollywood’s tender age,between 1927-1933, “The Artist” is about Hollywood’s transition from silent movies to talkies. It focuses on the relationship between the handsome, narcissistic George Valentin (the charming and oh, so expressive Jean Dujardin), a beloved movie star, and Peppy Miller (the lovely Bérénice Bejo),a young actress on a quest for stardom. The opening sequence takes place at the premiere of George’s latest adventure film, in which he appears with his scene stealing Jack Russell terrier and outrages his co-star as he takes a self-centered bow before greeting a gaggle of adoring fans on the sidewalk outside the theatre.

George and Peppy have a fleeting meet cute scene that will become significant later. She lands a small role in one of his films. They dance, fall in love and part before uttering their love. Just like in an old romantic movie.

Then sound crashes Hollywood’s party and the movie business is transformed. George confronts the crisis in a surrealistic comic sequence that follows him as he hears objects around him making noises. Passing girls chatter, a feather falls with a mighty explosion, but George remains silent, and, as he perceives himself, unspeakable. Like Chaplin he decides to buck the trend and continue making silent films, writing, directing and even financing his own work.

Hazanavicius borrows unapologetically from “A Star is Born,” showing George’s career in free fall and Peppy’s glamorous ascent. Vintage movie buffs will recognize glimpses of the ill-fated romance between silent film god John Gilbert and Greta Garbo, as well as homages to Douglas Fairbanks, Gene Kelly, and scenes from “Citizen Kane, ” “Singin’ in the Rain,” “ and Vertigo.”

Dujardin and Bejo deliver witty and wonderful performances, evocative of classic Hollywood romances. And James Cromwell, as George’s devoted chauffeur, and John Goodman as a gruff studio boss, add delightful support. Uggy, who plays George’s Jack Russell, and almost walked off with a Golden Globe himself, joins the ranks of Rin Tin Tin and Asta as classic canine companions.

An instant classic, “The Artist” will certainly make noise at the Oscars, too. But by then, you’ll know what the commotion is all about. Really, go see it. It’s apt to delight you more than any other movie in recent memory.

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But should the Mayor of Stepford wrap up the nomination, don’t expect to see a lot of elephants dancing in the streets. Watch Romney’s performance at the debates, on the stump or TV and its easy to see why there’s an enthusiasm deficit among Republican voters. To borrow Gertrude Stein’s assessment of Oakland, California: there is no ‘there’ there.

But Romney’s formidable lack of conviction and his stiff, occasionally scolding game show host demeanor are nothing compared to all the unanswered questions about his personal wealth, corporate raider pedigree and that prickly matter of elusive tax returns.

What exactly is Mitt Romney hiding? And how long can he hide it? I was struck by his facile audacity when MSNBC’s Andrea Mitchell asked him about publicizing his tax returns last week. He swatted the suggestion away like a pesky fly in his campaign ointment. “It’s not required,” he said. Then, when pressed again, said if elected, “I’ll consider releasing them.” Really? We all know such an aristocratic whiff wouldn’t be ignored for long.

And now we’re starting to learn– what many of us have long suspected– Romney’s not paying his fair share.

Hiding assets and dodging the tax burden may be emblematic of Romney’s corrupt hypocrisy. Check out the trailer of the short Romney doc produced by Winning Our Future, a Super Pac supporting Newt Gingrich.

Gingrich who bitterly promised to fight on after a disappointing fourth place Iowa finish ( fueled largely by the Romney Super PAC ad campaign against him), has softened his direct approach. A little. He served nary a solid hard ball against Romney in Saturday night’s debate (taking heavier jabs at Santorum and Ron Paul), but came out with a stronger swing on Sunday. Newt called Romney out on both his “weak moderation” and “pious baloney,” the latter referring to Romney’s insistence that he is the only non-politician running.

Whether the nasty Newt plays hardball in South Carolina and beyond or not may not matter. The damage has been done. And he ( or his surrogates; always fun to watch them dodge and weave around any actual responsibility) just handed the Dems great campaign ammo.

Of course, I hope Gingrich, Santorum and Paul stick it out for the long haul. Keep Willard spending his Monopoly money, wear down what reputation he has left, and keep the political junkies amused. Hey, Kim Kardashian can get re-married and divorced again before this one is all over. It’s the best Reality TV show going.

Please follow Amy Beth Arkawy on Twitter.

But in the meantime,the News Junkie Post staff sends you our warmest wishes for a happy, healthy New Year!

You can’t run away from your problems. But in Alexander Payne’s world you can take them on a road trip. Actually, it’s sort of a requirement. The director’s signature cinematic contrivance, a hallmark in “About Schmidt” and “Sideways” (which garnered him a Best Original Screenplay Oscar) is at play again in his latest, “The Descendants.” This is Payne’s most emotionally authentic film to date. George Clooney, who already nabbed Best Actor honors from the National Board of Review, is also at the top of his emotionally wrought game as a Matt King, a man hit by the thunderbolt of sudden tragedy. Clooney is so unhinged, he even manages to convince us that he’s not as gorgeous as he is ( and he is, even unshaven and clad in an array of bad Hawaiian shirts). That alone could score him Oscar gold.

The story–based in a novel by Kaui Hart Hemmings– opens with Matt making promises to his unfaithful and comatose wife ( lingering in limbo following a boating accident). A wealthy, extremely well-landed Hawaiian lawyer, Matt, the self-described “back up parent, the understudy.” must now step up to the parenting plate. And the guy’s got his work cut out for him. Alexandra,the older girl (Shailene Woodley) is 17 and full of teenage rage; she’s the one who fills Dad in on Mom’s infidelity. And let’s just say: she’s not exactly in a forgiving mood. Woodley–who stars in the ABC Family channel’s “The Secret Life of the American Teenager” delivers a fiercely authentic performance.

The entire supporting cast is, in fact, stellar. Robert Forster is particularly powerful as Elizabeth’s angry, frustrated (and frustrating) father. Amara Miller, as the younger daughter Scottie, acts out with the appropriate amused confusion of a precocious 10 year old. And Beau Bridges as Matt’s shrewd hippie cousin has a beautiful turn in a hideous Hawaiian shirt. But would it have killed Payne to give poor Michael Ontkean ( “Making Love,” “Twin Peaks“) one lousy line?

Matt may be on the precipice of grief, but he’s also in the midst of another family saga. Descended from Hawaiian royalty, Matt seems to be the only one among his clan with a working work ethic; most of the cousins have devolved into a group of layabouts and fortune-hunters. Good thing, then, that he’s the one controlling a family trust that owns 25,000 valuable acres on Kauai, and it’s up to him whether it’s preserved or sold to developers. And–just like in real life–crisis or no, Matt must deal with responsibilities.

And so, Matt and his girls meander along the luscious Hawaiian landscapes, handling both family crisis and pressing family business. They track down his wife’s elusive lover ( the annoyingly affable Matthew Lillard.) They get some unlikely help from Alexandra’s boyfriend Sid (Nick Krause). I wanted to stop and kick the grating stoner out of the car a few times. But Sid turns out to be wiser than he looks. And therein lies the beauty of “The Descendants.” Much of life is awkward and uncomfortable. And we all must face tragedy and crisis. No matter the beauty of the back drop or the people wearing the bad clothes. And we often get through the tough times with the people on hand; and they’re often the most unexpected.

The film’s not perfect. Payne takes his time getting us to fairly predictable destination. But he takes us on charming and heart-wrenching detours. Watch for an awkward scene near the film’s end featuring Judy Greer– as the wife of Matt’s wife’s lover– punctuated with vexatious compassion.

It’s the wayward malaise that makes “The Descendants” so moving. Like life, it is a messy tapestry woven together with the imperfections of humanity. No wonder, along with Clooney’s NBR Award, the film has racked up a slew of nominations from the Golden Globes,Screen Actors Guild and Critics Choice, among others. Trust me: Oscar won’t be far behind.

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Anyway, while the embers of that Merry debate may continue to burn, it’s a little 2008. The latest warrior– Sarah Palin– chimed in with her chorus of “Jingo All the Way,” whinin’ on Fox News about the lack of “foundational American values” displayed in the Obamas’ Holiday card. The facts that most presidents have adorned their cards with secular pictures of the White House while the White House itself is always filled with several Christmas trees seem to have eluded the former half term Governor/VP candidate turned Facebook celebrity.

I’m not an atheist, but I have compassion for true non-believers deluged with religious messages and the not so subtle merry mandate ( which takes its toll on the morose and clinically depressed, too). Everywhere they turn they are bombarded with seasonal symbols and songs. And they have none of their own.

Until now. Maybe this Steve Martin song will cheer on our abandoned Atheist brethren. It’s witty and catchy enough to become an instant classic.

So I offer Secular Season’s Greetings to one and all. While our beliefs will, no doubt, continue to diverge, there is one thing all Atheists and believers can agree on: fruitcakes are to be used sparingly and only for strictly nostalgic and decorative purposes.

Happy Nothing. Merry Everything.

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