Coming from a generation that was raised on -- and often by -- television, radio has not been an exceptional influence on my development. Despite adolescent games where a friend and I pretended to be a radio personalities, spinning records, reporting the "news" (complete with sound effects) and the weather (if it was sunny the forecast was "sunny;" if it was raining, it wasn't), the concept of a radio show seemed to be a rather archaic form of entertainment with little appeal in the age of television. It was fun to pretend at the time, but we saw no future in it.
That attitude forms part of the plot for "A Prairie Home Companion," the film version of the popular public radio program out of St. Paul, Minnesota and hosted each week by Garrison Keillor, a show of which I have recently and unexpectedly become something of a fan.
Written by Keillor and directed by Robert Altman, the film celebrates the era when radio was king with the same dry wit and folksy humor of Keillor`s weekly show. It blends together "A Mighty Wind" and Altman`s classic 1975 film, "Nashville," though it lacks much of the boisterous absurdity of the former film and the drama of the latter. Filmed almost entirely in the Fitzgerald Theatre in St. Paul (named after the city`s favorite son, F. Scott Fitzgerald), where the real show has aired for years, it has a strong documentary air about it, which adds a strong sense of realism to the picture. Though it never fully engages the audience, it still manages to ease us into the goings-on behind the scenes of the fictional radio show`s final curtain call. As such, it`s a fairly enjoyable, unassuming, and lackadaisical experience.
The film is a loving tribute to Keillor`s wry Minnesota humor and the quirky characters that inhabit the fictitious community of Lake Woebegon. It is definitely an ensemble piece, and equal time is given to each of the players. Altman and Keillor have such a great eye for detail, and the film is sprinkled throughout with little touches like the in/out box of solved and unsolved cases in the office of soft-boiled private-eye-turned-security-guard and self-styled "president of data acquisition" Guy Noir, a popular recurring character on the weekly show here played with tongue firmly in cheek by Kevin Kline. That the "solved" cases box is empty gives us an insight into this inept but well-meaning character who falls for the pretty dame in the snow-white trench coat and a tight skirt, though she is the Angel of Death. Virginia Madsen, who plays said angel, appears to literally float through her scenes, dispensing words of comfort and giving a metaphysical twist to the storyline.
Keillor himself plays G.K., the host of the show and a man who finds it easy to say goodbye and never look back. "Every show is your last show," he philosophizes backstage, yet not everyone shares that sentiment. Most are saddened by the news that a corporation from Texas intends to turn the site into a parking lot. The company`s unsentimental axeman, played by Tommy Lee Jones, arrives to oversee the final show, which adds an additional dose of stress to the night and makes him a callous counterpart to Madsen`s warm-hearted finality.
Change is especially unwelcome for crooner Yolanda Johnson, who still holds a torch for G.K., though they`ve been broken up for years. Played by Meryl Streep, Yolanda and her sister Rhonda (played by the inestimable Lily Tomlin) are all that`s left of a quartet that was taught everything they knew by their dearly-departed mother. The two veteran actresses both work and sing quite well together. Though their characters may complain about life`s shortcomings while in the dressing room, once on stage they find solace in their music, reflecting the film`s major theme: that life isn`t always fair, but there are ways by which one can make their peace with it.
The rest of the excellent cast is rounded out by Maya Rudolph from "Saturday Night Live," who does quite well in the dramatic role of the stage manager/expecting mother; John C. Reilly and Woody Harrelson, who replaced Willie Nelson and Lyle Lovett as singing cowboys Dusty and Lefty (who are also recurring characters from the actual show); and Lindsay Lohan as Yolanda`s gloomy daughter, who spends her time penning poems about death. Reilly and Harrelson receive the biggest laughs for their racy act, during which the duo, recognizing that this is their last show, really push the envelope. Still, even knowing why they are telling bad joke after bad joke doesn`t prevent the scene from feeling prolonged and somewhat mind-numbing. It brings the film to a halt for too long, and we wish they`d wrap it up sooner and move on to the next bit.
The nearly glacial pace, meandering and decentralized plot may very well put off all but Altman`s and Keillor`s die-hard fans. Additionally, for all its breezy cheer, at times it veers dangerously close to actual, serious drama, and ends on a rather glum note. Although it strives to be upbeat, "A Prairie Home Companion" is at heart a rather melancholy ode to the people, places, and things we`ve lost, begging us to appreciate what we have while we have it.
Rated "PG-13" for risqué humor.
Matthew Wanniski is a Los Angeles-based writer, editor, story analyst, and film critic. He can be reached at Mattsreviews@aol.com. His Thursday reviews here have been appearing Fridays to a much wider audience at http://www.worldnetdaily.com,