A PRAIRIE HOME COMPANION
New Line Cinema
Rated PG-13
STARRING: Woody Harrelson, Tommy Lee Jones, Garrison Keillor, Kevin Kline, Lindsay Lohan, Virginia Madsen, John C. Reilley, Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin
THE VERDICT: An all-star cast and light approach make this film a great “Companion.”
Feature: 3.5/4 stars
Extras: 2.5/4 stars
Garrison Keillor’s radio program “A Prairie Home Companion” is a type of show “they just don’t make anymore.” Long a Saturday night staple on National Public Radio, it’s a live comedy and music variety show, a format that Keillor says “had died a long time ago” before his program hit the airwaves.
It’s an offbeat mix of folk, bluegrass, gospel, stories, corny jokes and all-around nostalgic Americana. It’s live onstage in front of an audience. It’s simple, innocent and fun, and people of all ages tune in weekly to hear the latest tales of sleepy town Lake Wobegon and private detective Guy Noir.
What have always elevated the program, however, are Keillor’s poetic spirit and his uncanny sense of telling details. “Writing is always a search for the particular,” says Keillor. “Happiness lies in the details.”
Lucky for Keillor that, when it came time for “Prairie Home Companion” to be adapted for the big screen, Robert Altman, a legendary director known for attention to detail and his own idiosyncratic style, took the job. Lucky for everyone that the film version retains all the affection, charm and uniqueness of its source material, while adding depth and resonance with a plotline that finds the show facing extinction at the hands of a corporation, embodied by frowning axe man Tommy Lee Jones.
Keillor plays himself, the impresario of the show on its last night, while supporting roles are filled by an all-star cast. Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin are an aging sister act of gospel singers, Lindsay Lohan is Streep’s death-obsessed daughter, John C. Reilly and Woody Harrelson are singing cowboys Lefty and Dusty and Maya Rudolph is a very pregnant backstage worker. Also bumbling through the wings is Kevin Kline as Guy Noir, a would-be Sam Spade clumsily attending to theater security.
And, last but not least, there’s Virginia Madsen coolly surveying the scene in a white trench-coat, an angel of death that only a few characters can see. She’s come to claim one old cast member’s life, but is she there for more than one body? Or is she there for the death of the show itself?
Though the film is light as a feather and a joy to watch, it deals with defeat more honestly and with more dignity than most somber dramas on the subject. Not that it loses its sense of humor about it. “Everything is a step along the way,” says Streep’s character, “and it all leads to something else.” Keillor takes this mantra even further: “We don’t look back in radio. Nobody gets old. Nobody dies. We just keep going.”
If you gotta go, the film argues, go with a smile. There’s a wonderful moment when Kline plays the piano and croons to “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” as the show’s set is being torn down around him. As Reilly’s cowpoke muses, “Lotta good songs about death.”
The cast is wonderful, from Streep’s patented emotional complexity to Tomlin’s steely warmth to Kline’s elegant physical comedy. As good as everyone else is, Reilly and Harrelson get the most laughs, singing dirty songs like “I’ll Give You My Moonshine If You Show Me Your Jugs” and telling knowingly horrible jokes. For example, Dusty has found he can teach his horse any manner of complex subjects, except for philosophy. Why? Because “you can’t put Descartes before the horse.”
On a DVD featurette, Keillor says of his own performance: “I’m sort of a piece of furniture, which I can play pretty well.”
Forty-five minutes of “making-of” material talks about the radio show’s genesis and its journey to film, as well as offering a peek into Altman’s directorial mindset. It’s nice to hear how Altman took the job to please his wife, an avid Keillor fan. It’s fun to see Harrelson and Reilly giving interviews in character. And it’s downright odd to watch Keillor give acting tips to Lindsay Lohan.
The meatiest extra is the feature commentary by Altman and Kline, in which the director outlines his belief that actors are more important to a final product than a script. Kline helps keep things light, telling an anecdote about John Barrymore’s drunken Hamlet and engaging Altman in a discussion on the origins of comedic flatulence, but Altman’s more soulful side keeps shining through.
When Kline asks if he believes that no one sees the same movie, Altman responds, “I do believe that no one sees the same anything.” He even begins to rebel against the very idea of audio commentary: “We’re trying to get into the rhythm of something we’ve already faked.” And he gets momentarily lost in one of the film’s musical numbers. “I got carried away by that song,” he says. “I don’t know where I was carried to…”
“A Prairie Home Companion” has the same effect. It’s so entertaining that you don’t realize until it’s over what a lasting impression it’s made on you. Its emotional undercurrent sneaks up on you and lingers in your memory like a smiling, friendly ghost.