Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves

Directed by Kevin Reynolds


Many years from now, when my children’s children ask me what movie I last saw Alan Rickman act in before he died, I’m gonna have to say this one.

Rickman was always great at playing the villain, but even a bad guy’s gotta have fun once in a while. His portrayal of the Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves borders on the absurd, a quality shared by many of the characters in this film. The cheerful tone and groan-inducing jokes make it easy to role your eyes at this movie, but overall I’d say it’s held up pretty well over the last quarter of a century.

Robin Hood starts out with Robin of Locksley (Kevin Costner) and Azeem (Morgan Freeman) fighting baddies in Jerusalem and returning to England from the crusades. Azeem is a Moor who owes Robin a debt because Robin saved his life, which means now he gets to put up with xenophobia from a bunch of drunk white people. Azeem accompanies Robin back to his home, which has been burned to the ground. His father was hanged for practicing witchcraft or summat. Out of the shambles stumbles Duncan, who’s had his eyes gouged out for his loyalty. Robin spends the rest of the movie supplying Duncan with meaningless tasks so that he can feel useful.

The proprietor of this blog compared the acting in the beginning of this movie to a screen test: the characters come off as experimental, containing too much of the actors themselves. It gets better as it goes along, although Kevin Costner tried about as hard at his British accent as I tried on my statistics final in college. It seems he remembered only sporadically what was being asked of him.

(By the way, Morgan Freeman’s freckles are on fleek in this movie. I heard rumblings that he shared a makeup artist with Pippi Longstocking.)

morgan freeman

Next we meet Marian. I was impressed by the director’s progressive choice to cast a typically unattractive woman in such a prominent role… until this woman is revealed to be Sarah, Marian’s handmaiden, who is impersonating her mistress so that the real, hot Marian can sneak up behind Robin and attack him. You may remember that women are not as physically strong as men, so a little subterfuge was necessary to level the playing field. Moving on.

Essentially, it is revealed that the Sheriff has been abusing his power since King Richard left for the crusades; the Sheriff has the hots for Marian; and the Sheriff doesn’t know what ‘no’ means. The whole movie he’s commanding women—saying things like, “My room, 10:45, bring a friend!”—and it’s very unclear how much consent is involved.

While the Sheriff is busy molesting ladies-in-waiting, Robin meets up with the Lost Boys. Initially they tease him for being rich, but eventually Robin proves he can chill, so they accept him and let his Muslim friend come, too. By uniting against a common enemy, taxes, Robin and his new friends set out to make Nottingham great again. They build an Ewok village to help train and defend themselves against the Sheriff’s forces. Robin and Marian share a romantic evening. There’s a birth scene. Unfortunately, all that comes crashing down when Duncan inadvertently leads the enemy to their secret fort, resulting in flames.

Many of the gang are kidnapped, including Marian. Things get very tense because a bunch of people are on the gallows waiting to be hanged. I was really hoping that everyone would break out into “Always Look on the Bright Side of Life” here, but that never happened. Maybe reading this before you watch the movie can help save you from some disappointment.

A battle ensues, and it is revealed that all of that archery training has come in handy. Robin and Azeem make it into the castle where Marian is being held. Rickman’s status of rapist versus demanding polyamor is ultimately clarified in the final fight scene, wherein he tries to force himself on Marian while a priest standing ten feet away reads out wedding vows. I think we all can agree that the 12th century in England was a weird time.

Ultimately, Azeem fulfills his obligation to Robin by helping him defeat the Sheriff, and Marian escapes without forfeiting her value as a woman. Robin and Marian are married. “(Everything I Do) I Do It for You” by Bryan Adams, which has been playing subtly on pan flute throughout the latter half of the movie, becomes impossible to ignore.

And then… Guess who shows up! JUST. FUCKING. GUESS.


 Although this movie is silly and at times feels dated, I thoroughly enjoyed it. There’s a wealth of quotable dialogue, and the actors are clearly having a good time. Rickman’s Sheriff is vain, ridiculous, and a lot of fun to watch. If for no other reason, watch it to enjoy an off-beat performance from a phenomenal actor who was taken from us far too soon.

 This review is dedicated to the late, great Alan Rickman. Minimal thanks to the DC Public Library for providing a locked copy of the DVD.

A Crown of Swords

by Robert Jordan


“I think I can, I think I can…”
– My mantra as I slowly plow through Wheel of Time

I’ve had to take Wheel of Time slowly, or else I’d have burned out after just three or four books. But I think I’ve finally gotten to know the limits of my memory for the details in these dense tomes. So unless I want to start again, I pretty much can’t do any more six month breaks.

Lord of Chaos ended on a pretty strong note: Rand is captured and then freed in a huge battle that involved pretty much every military force we’ve seen so far. He uses this victory to cement his position in power, even forcing Aes Sedai to swear loyalty to him in a signal to the world that no longer is he to be fucked with.

So because Lord of Chaos ends with a huge, exciting event, Crown of Swords has to start off pretty slow. There’s the aftermath of the battle and some politics stuff, but really, when Rand isn’t kicking ass, he’s pretty damn boring. He mostly just hangs around until the plot needs him to be other places, at which point he gets his ass in gear. Meanwhile, the B squad is hanging out in Ebou Dar, doing other plot things.

The good: I mean, nothing’s really changed, there’s a new locale, which is always good. Jordan loves his local cultures, and it shows.

The bad: The sheer number of characters grows tedious. Every book it’s like, Rand is travelling with 15 new characters, all of which are relatively unimportant, until one of them does something super-important, and the reader is like, huh? If you’re going to have a solid group of main characters, let them drive the plot, and don’t take minor characters along on a three thousand page story arc if they really aren’t necessary to the proceedings. This is the kind of stuff that turns a trilogy into a fifteen-ilogy.

Also, what’s up with Mat getting raped at knife point? Then it’s played for laughs? C’mon RJ.

It was decent.

Star Wars: The Force Awakens

Directed by J.J. Abrams


The end of the academic semester always reminds me of Lando’s escape from the second Death Star; the overtaking flames, the growing heat, the awareness in the back of the mind that this time, you might not make it. My semester ended last Tuesday night, followed in rapid succession by my last work day of 2015 and, of course, my late night viewing of Star Wars. Without further ado, let’s talk about that last one. Spoilizzles below.

Star Wars: The Force AwakensThe story starts off following a single, unnamed stormtrooper serving the First Order, the heir to the Empire’s legacy, decades after the Battle of Endor. This stormtrooper, seeing his comrade die and becoming disillusioned with his job (perhaps after a few “Are we the baddies?” conversations), frees a captured Resistance pilot, Poe Dameron, and helps Poe hijack a TIE fighter. Before their escape abruptly ends with a crash landing on Jakku, Poe asks the stormtroooper his name. After getting only a serial number beginning with FN in reply, Poe says, “Fuck that, I’m gonna call you Finn.”* The stormtrooper now known as Finn seems pleased with this, but he becomes separated from Poe during the crash, and he’s forced to search for water by walking to the nearest town, where he promptly finds our other new hero, Rey.

Rey is a scavenger barely scraping out a living on Jakku while waiting for her life to turn around. By the looks of things, she’s been waiting a long time, and will be waiting a while longer. Finn, aware that Poe had been searching for a small orange droid, spots just such a droid (BB-8) with Rey, and convinces the two of them that he’s a member of the Resistance. In reality, he needs help escaping from the First Order, which apparently didn’t take kindly to his Bowe Bergdahl-ing. The three of them just manage to escape in the most famous, most improbable hunk of junk in the galaxy: the Millennium Falcon. From there, they meet up with Han Solo and Chewbacca, visit a dive bar in a scene meant to be reminiscent of Mos Eisley, discover that there’s a new Death Star, and confront the First Order’s wannabe heir to Darth Vader, Kylo Ren.

Along the way, Rey discovers that she has exceptional piloting and combat abilities, but she can’t let go of her desire to run back to Jakku and await the return of her long-lost parents. She rejects an ancient artifact, a lightsaber, that calls to her, but eventually embraces her Force-sensitivity: she begins to explore her powers, first experimenting with Jedi mind tricks, and finally taking up her weapon to defend herself and Finn against Kylo Ren.

Finn and Rey. These are the new protagonists that The Force Awakens introduces. Whether it was the way the characters were written or the actors’ portrayals, I’m not sure, but I was much more impressed with Finn than Rey. Finn probably has the most charisma of any Star Wars character, ever, including Han Solo. Speaking of whom, while I mentioned Han Solo’s appearance about midway through the movie, I neglected to mention just how much the second half of the movie becomes the Han Solo Show, to the detriment of the picture. I know everyone loves Han, and I do too, but Harrison just isn’t into it anymore. John Boyega, as Finn, was carrying the first half of the movie, and Rey had the potential to blossom into a very interesting protagonist, but Han Solo just swoops in to take up all the oxygen in the second half. He now pilots the Falcon, he brings them to the cantina-world, he leads them to the Resistance, he takes charge of the assault on the new superweapon. Oh, and Kylo Ren turns out to be Han and Leia’s son, a fact that is not really treated as a twist in the movie, but just sort of gets talked about until the audience is tired of hearing it.

Kylo Ren is actually a great villain. He’s introduced very similarly to Darth Vader: black armor, no face, all ruthlessness. As the movie progresses, though, we get the sense that beneath all his bluster, he’s really a pretty immature person with insecurity and a lingering doubt that he will ever live up to his grandfather’s legacy. As the movie goes along, he becomes almost the anti-Vader. He takes his helmet off frequently, revealing a handsome young man below, without the wounds that necessitated Vader’s helmet and armor. He’s powerful, of course, but he for some reason seems unable to access his full potential when it counts. And, most importantly, he’s tempted by the light side of the Force. That’s something we really haven’t seen before. We’ve seen good Jedi, and evil Sith, and good characters tempted by the dark side, and good characters gone bad, but we haven’t seen a truly evil character tempted by the light side. Vader wasn’t tempted by the light side; he embraced passion in all of its forms, and this led him to the dark side, but also led him back to the light. Ren, on the other hand, is an evil character, as demonstrated by his patricide at the climax. There’s no redemption for that character. Yet he’s still fighting off his temptation to embrace the light. That’s new.

I think this is metaphorical or something

I think this is metaphorical or something

I really liked this movie, honestly. There were, however, many decisions the filmmakers made that left me scratching my head. First and foremost, Finn’s search for identity is just abandoned when Solo shows up. The movie basically starts with a nameless, faceless, history-less ex-stormtrooper who’s trying to discover what kind of a man he is in the real world. This is an exciting new premise for a Star Wars movie, and I don’t think they could have found someone better than Boyega for the part. The guy’s personality shines through the screen, and it makes sense for a character who’s never been able to express emotion and individuality before to go wild with his new-found freedom to be himself. His offbeat way of speaking and genuine charm are far and away the best part of the movie. He’s also the source of much of the movie’s humor. But when Solo shows up, the movie just gradually forgets about Finn. Oh, he’s still there, and he’s still great, but his character arc is pretty much over before the climax. The plot turns to Solo’s attempt to reconcile with his son, and Rey’s choice between living in the past and embracing her destiny, a choice made more urgent with her capture by Kylo Ren and his goons.

There were other things too, little things that didn’t quite add up in my mind. What was the point of the faux-Mos Eisley scene, other than to evoke the feeling of A New Hope? The lightsaber discovery could have happened any number of ways, but the movie introduced a new planet, a new environment, and a new character, and doesn’t give them enough screen time to feel like a piece of a coherent movie. Ditto for Han’s confrontation with the gangs after recapturing the Falcon. What was the point? I think it was supposed to remind us, again, of Han’s first appearance in A New Hope, in which he’s almost immediately confronted by a bounty hunter who’s more interested in taking Han dead than alive. It felt instead like something out of Firefly, which wouldn’t on its own be a bad thing, except that Firefly is pretty much based on Star Wars, with Serenity in place of the Falcon and Captain Mal Reynolds in place of Captain Han Solo. I love Firefly, but that show is pretty open about being a Star Wars knock-off, and it’s not good when the real thing feels more like its much younger TV cousin.

Then there are the ideas that felt completely rushed. They introduced the new Death Star (okay, I know they make it very clear that it’s not a Death Star, but I don’t remember what they called it and, come on, it’s a Death Star), only to attack it and blow it up in the same way that the two previous Death Stars were blown up. Hell, it’s actually easier; at least Death Stars I and II had a whole movie of build-up before the final battle. In The Force Awakens, the dialogue was pretty much: “Hey, there’s this superweapon.” “A Death Star?” “No, definitely not a Death Star.” “What should we do?” “Well, let’s say it was a Death Star. It would have a trench and an exhaust port leading to the core. Torpedoing that hole could blow the whole station apart. I think we should just do that. Why mess with a good thing?” “Damn, good call. I would never have thought of that. That’s why I’m not a General, I guess.” “Damn right.”*

I’m not even opposed to the idea of a new Death Star, I just don’t know why the movie thought it could get away with only giving the superweapon about twenty minutes of build-up before its destruction. The ability to destroy multiple planets at once doesn’t make up for its lack of screen time.

Similarly, the movie builds up Captain Phasma as a bad-ass giant silver stormtroooper leading Finn’s unit, only to discard her toward the end. She’s a menacing presence, but when Han and Finn land on the new Death Star, they capture her without a fight, and she promptly lowers the station’s shields so that the attack can commence. I’m not saying that’s not a reasonable reaction in the face of death, but it kind of undermines the bad-ass image they’d been going for. Then, after a poorly-delivered one-liner from Han, they dispose of Phasma off-screen, and she’s never spoken of again. If that was going to happen, why did they need to make a special character? Any low-level grunt would’ve done the trick, and the movie already has three other major villains to keep track of.

Then there’s Rey. Rey wasn’t the worst thing about this movie, and like I said, I really think she would have been a great character if the movie hadn’t embraced Han Solo as its driving force. But her perfection and invincibility, gradually revealed over the course of a single picture, make me wonder where the character can go from here. With the possible exception of Luke, she’s clearly the most powerful being in the movie. She learns how to perform a Jedi mind trick without having been taught, or even having seen it done. She bests Kylo Ren with no lightsaber training whatsoever. I mean, Luke never beat Vader, at least not without embracing the dark side. How can Rey beat Kylo Ren already? If she’s already the most powerful, the only thing they can do is make her a potential villain, and I don’t want them to set up a new protagonist who’s tempted by the dark side. We’ve seen that series. Twice. Anakin was tempted by the dark side, and gave in. Luke was tempted by the dark side, and rejected it, redeeming Anakin in the process. There’s no third option. There’s nothing else to do with that plot line.

Here’s how my Force Awakens would’ve gone. I think the first part would be much the same. Finn and Poe land on Jakku, get separated, and Finn finds Rey. Instead of immediately getting attacked by the First Order, they take 10-15 minutes to talk and get to know each other a little bit. The problem with Rey essentially comes from her lack of characterization. While I think the filmmakers intentionally tried to create an air of mystery about her, she ended up feeling pretty hollow to me. Leaving her history blank was a good move, but some time with Finn could’ve built up the aspects of her personality that aren’t, “I’m good at everything.” Plus, it would’ve built a more solid foundation for the strong relationship that’s so necessary in a movie like this.

Anyways, the First Order comes, then Finn and Rey board the Falcon and flee on their own to fake-Mos Eisley. They spend more time with that seemingly omnipotent alien lady, who then becomes a real character rather than a plot device. The climax of this movie would involve three plot elements coming together: Rey’s discovery of the lightsaber, a symbol of her destiny and latent power; the appearance of Han Solo, who can lead the protagonists to the Resistance and possibly even the disappeared Luke Skywalker; and Kylo Ren’s attempt to capture BB-8 and capture or kill Finn and Rey. The two protagonists come clean, set aside the deceit, and open up to one another for the first time, making them both stronger and able to face Kylo Ren. As the protagonists escape the New Order, Han has a brief moment with Kylo Ren, in which it’s revealed that the two are father and son. Rey, seeing Han’s danger, finally takes up the lightsaber, helps Han and Finn escape aboard the Falcon, and decides to seek out Luke, now that BB-8 and R2-D2 have given her his location. The film ends with the reveal of a First Order superweapon, many times more powerful than the Death Star, destroying a series of planets and threatening the destruction of the Republic.

Ideally, the next movie would end the way this one did, with the Pyrrhic victory of the Death Star’s destruction at the cost of Han’s life. Kylo RenLet’s face it, we have to get rid of Harrison Ford, who isn’t exactly doing the film any favors with his “acting.” I think that would allow for another movie of the audience wondering what kind of a person Kylo Ren is, because once he kills Han, that’s it, he’s evil. Rey could spend time with Luke, growing more powerful, leading to her first real confrontation with Ren, which she wins. But then the problem still remains; if she can beat Kylo Ren, what’s the conflict of the next one going to be? Ren can’t be redeemed, but maybe he can be used as a tool by Luke, and the third movie’s conflict could revolve around Rey’s reluctant involvement in a plan to use Kylo Ren as a weapon against the First Order, a situation made all the more difficult by the reveal that her parents were Jedi that were murdered when Ren abandoned Luke’s training, leaving Rey stranded on Jakka.

But hey, what do I know. Some of what the filmmakers did, I’m sure, was done this way for a very specific purpose: they need to set the next two movies up. Assuming they know what they want to do over the arc of a trilogy, they probably had a lot of stuff that they had to get through in this one so that they could hit everything they wanted in episodes VIII and IX. I get that. But I’m not reviewing episodes VIII and IX, however good they might turn out to be. I’m reviewing The Force Awakens, and The Force Awakens has problems with awkward pacing, lack of a central idea, too many characters, and a plot that keeps shifting focus.

This doesn’t mean The Force Awakens wasn’t an awesome movie. It was, and it was one of the most fun movies I’ve seen in a while, funny and exciting throughout. But I can’t ignore its faults just because I love Star Wars. There are many things it could’ve done better, things that could’ve taken it from a B to an A+. As it is, we’ll have to content ourselves with a good movie that didn’t quite live up to its potential.

*Might not be actual dialogue. I haven’t memorized this movie yet.

Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates

by Tom Robbins


“Physical intimacy is only a device for opening the floodgates of what really matters: words.” – Andrei Codrescu

I got into Fierce Invalids because a friend of the family lent it to me last spring. I’m not sure what it is about this strange book that made Cody think I had to read it, but I’m glad he did nonetheless. I think I was too young to “get” Tom Robbins when I first read his work back in high school. It took me a long time to appreciate a simply beautiful phrase… and Fierce Invalids is full of them. I don’t think I’ve ever dog-eared, underlined, or read aloud more sentences in any novel than I did this one. Sorry Cody, I promise I’ll erase all my markings before I return it! I just had to keep track of some of the wonderfully worded witticisms and criticisms so that I could attempt to do them justice in my review.

Fierce Invalids follows a CIA former-operative, Switters, who has a great appreciation for words and speaks many languages. Fierce Invalids Home From Hot ClimatesHe is an independent, self-proclaimed “angel” who listens to none but his grandmother, Maestra. Our first adventure with Mr. Switters begins when he agrees to accompany Maestra’s pet parrot down to Boquichicos, Peru to be released into the wild. The trip goes awry when he meets a peculiar Shaman who places a taboo on Switters, confining him to a wheelchair.

When he returns to Seattle, his work with the CIA is put on hold, permanently. After several failed attempts to court is 16 year-old stepsister, he grows restless and bored, and 100 pages later ends up in Syria at a convent full of excommunicated French nuns. This is the most interesting part of the story, in my opinion. As a bond is formed between Switters and the “nuns”, there is a complexity revealed in the relationship between religion, sex, belief, and freedom. These nuns are chalk full of contradictions – almost as much so as Switters himself.

While the plot of Fierce Invalids is frivolous and absurd, it is the prose that sets Tom Robbins apart. Every sentence is strung together with such wonderful intention that I could (and did on several occasions) open the book up to any page, give 10 seconds of context and then dive in with a friend, reading out loud and basking together in the beauty of the English language. Each line is poetry, and I recommend reading Robbins for that fact alone. The quote that I chose to begin this post is one that Robbins quotes within the novel, and I think it sums up both the character of Switters and the writing of Robbins nicely. In the end, the action-packed plot is irrelevant when it is but a gateway to what lies underneath: the most beautiful verbiage.

The Invisible Bridge

by Rick Perlstein


This chapter in Rick Perlstein’s chronicle of the modern conservative movement picks up where Nixonland left off, after the infamous Watergate break-in but before the Nixon administration’s crimes were revealed publicly. While Perlstein continues that story, through Congressional investigation and Nixon’s eventual resignation, The Invisible Bridge isn’t really about Nixon. Rather, it’s about the transition in conservative leadership from Nixon to future President Ronald Reagan.

When I read Nixonland a few years ago, I thought it was probably one of the most interesting non-fiction books I’d ever read. Perlstein’s narrative tells the parallel stories of Nixon’s rise to power and the nation’s ever-growing cultural divide in a way that makes his point clear: these two stories are one story. Nixon was adept at using social change for his own purposes, and he contributed in large part to our perception of the 1960’s to this day. (This, pretty much.) Reading Nixonland as a young gun who never lived through that decade, I figure it’s the closest I can get to understanding the feel of the era without having been there. Perlstein’s writing has this visceral quality that can take you back in time without making it seem like you’re travelling to a completely foreign land. His Nixon-era America is striking and familiar at the same time.

Perlstein paints an amazing portrait of Nixon, as well. Even through all the sliminess, Nixon comes across as a great intellect and a strong-willed leader. While he might not exactly be persevering- more than once, he quits politics after losing an election- he’s a man of energy and passion. These attractive qualities helped him to inspire the kind of loyalty that led his underlings to carry out undemocratic and criminal acts, and to subsequently go to jail for them. We tend to remember the Richard Nixon who looked sweaty and unshaven on TV, who seemed out of touch with his era, and who seemed to disdain American democracy, but Perlstein makes Nixon into a very impressive figure.

This leads me to the first difference I noticed between Nixonland and The Invisible Bridge: Perlstein’s utter contempt for Ronald Reagan. Reading Nixonland, you can tell that he has a grudging sort of respect for Richard Nixon, both as a man and as a leader. He respects Reagan as neither. The Invisible BridgeAs a Democrat myself, I’m sympathetic to the idea that Reagan was not the superhero that he’s made out to be in the media, and that his brand of conservatism has darker foundations than we typically like to think about, but even I found myself wondering whether he’s being given a fair shake in this book. Perlstein’s Reagan is a born charlatan, lying to himself and to others because a better story was always more true than the facts could ever be.

I do think that character matters in politics, but it doesn’t seem accurate to try to paint a picture of Reagan, or anyone for that matter, using cherry-picked examples from every stage of his life. I don’t mean to imply that Perlstein uses anything out of context, since he’s generally very careful to provide as much context as possible, but I think he might be conveniently leaving a few things out. For example, I think it’s highly suspect that Perlstein’s Reagan never acts altruistically. Are we expected to believe that  Reagan’s never done anything with pure motives? Do anecdotes from his youth really reveal anything about his character? Does tweaking a story for different audiences make him a pathological liar? According to Perlstein, yes, yes, and yes.

Another thing that bothered me this time around was Perlstein’s use of real events as snapshots or microcosms of the contemporary national mood. Reading Invisible Bridge earlier this summer, I couldn’t help but do try to do this myself, and it turned out something like this:

“Meanwhile, America was tearing itself up over identity issues. A simmering activist movement known as Black Lives Matter, formed to protest violence and police brutality in minority communities, was courting controversy and causing white people to wonder whether their lives were valued in America anymore. A woman named Rachel Dolezal, a Spokane-based leader of the NAACP, was revealed to be a white woman passing as black. Sexuality and gender, too, all of a sudden seemed fluid. Bruce Jenner, celebrated Olympian, reality TV star, head of the infamous Kardashian clan, came out as a woman named Caitlin. And on June 26, the Supreme Court of the United States legalized same-sex marriage across the land. Whether you were looking at the New York Times or the New York Post, all you could see was a society that was becoming less recognizable by the day. You were afraid that you might wake up tomorrow and not recognize yourself in the mirror.”

See what I mean? It’s easy to start with some facts, mix in some commentary, and produce an anecdote presenting opinion as absolute truth. Were those things going on this past summer? Well, yea. Are the issues related? Some of them, sure. Does it really represent our time period? Maybe, maybe not. If you’re reading a passage like that fifty years from now, who are you to say? Nothing in that passage is inaccurate.

This writing style a bit sketchy to begin with, but Perlstein goes back to this particular well constantly. And maybe it’s because I wasn’t on board from the start, but these passages just got more and more tedious. Hell, one of his sky-is-falling incidents had to do with bees in a baseball dugout. Another related to Doc Ellis getting ejected from a game after trying to bean every batter he faced. I don’t know about you, but I usually don’t use the MLB as a marker for American political culture. Perlstein’s repeated use of this style seems intended to mask the absence of a real immersive experience.

As a follow-up to Nixonland, I was personally disappointed with The Invisible Bridge. Nixonland portrayed a perfect alignment between a man and his time period, as well as between the author and his subject matter. Not only does Perlstein know his stuff, but his portrayal of America in the 50’s and 60’s feels effortless. Everything seemed so real and tangible, almost as if I was actually watching a documentary, or even living the experience. The Invisible Bridge shattered that illusion for me. Instead of easily immersing readers in the subject matter, Perlstein felt like a museum tour guide who really wanted to convince me that his perspective on the exhibit was all-important. So sure, he knows what he’s talking about, and he’s probably right, but it really detracts from the experience a bit.

Compared with Nixonland, The Invisible Bridge feels like a step backward for Perlstein. The split focus on his two major subjects- Nixon and Reagan- doesn’t help, nor does Perlstein’s obvious contempt for the latter. The half of the book concerned with Reagan seemed like a chore compared to everything that came before it, which was generally fantastic.