A Prairie Home Companion

Based on the National Public Radio drama of the same title, this well-done movie is an actual performance of the award-winning radio show, watermarked with backstage banter and drama. There is something wholesome and unapologetic about A Prairie Home Companion, particularly in its middle-American humor, morality, and spirituality. In Minneapolis you can stand on a public stage and sing songs about Jesus and America. The audience consists of atheists, Catholics, Protestants and anything else that winds its way through those ideologies, but the radio show today—as over its 30-year history—is just plain good ol’ entertainment, for which everyone applauds their approval. Strongly appealing and effective, this story is the successful blending of radio and cinema—we delightfully witness how a good old yarn can be told on the screen. The beauty of cinema is its visual artistry and real-time urgency; radio is powerful as it couples the dimensions of a story with the listeners’ imagination. These elements are mixed with great success in A Prairie Home Companion and, as an audience, we are all the more beguiled by it.

Garrison Keillor—a master storyteller and a lovable character who is quintessentially American—has written a screenplay with all of his best trademark elements in place. The film creates a sense of easy pleasure in its slow pace. It feels genuine and humble. There is no expectation of surprise or suspense (aside from the occasional question as to who knows about the demise of the show and who doesn’t), though there is a full-bodied backstory, or perhaps a woven tapestry of numerous backstories. For the virtuoso of storytelling, A Prairie Home Companion is the prefect vehicle to showcase Keillor’s seemingly limitless genius for narrative. As the curtain rises for the radio show itself (wherein the stories are told), the cast is busy telling stories to each other. Every member is teeming with stories—not wild, outrageous yarns, but everyday stories that fascinate by their very homey-ness and the way in which they carry the “on air� show. This backstory about friends, friends of friends, common acquaintances, and village idiots is the foundation upon which the movie is built.

Pacing the film like a radio show allows time to laugh at the many jokes in turn, rather than the all-too-common inundation of non-stop one liners that often proves hectic. Featuring local talent on the real radio show fosters the “in-your –living-room� feeling, which stays intact throughout the film. For this reason the show has little pretense but great entertainment value—entertainment made all the more valuable by the stupendously accomplished cast: Merryl Streep, Kevin Kline, Woody Harrelson, and Lily Tomlin among talented others. It was refreshing to see some of these seasoned and brilliant actors portraying regular, everyday, plain-spoken and average looking people. Their performances, as usual, were powerful. Meryl Streep, for one, is absolutely formidable. She may not be young anymore, but no one commands attention like she can. But the strong individual performances merely made it an outstanding ensemble production.

The relationships that have developed between cast members over the years are long-term but strained because of a singular effort—namely, the performances of the always-popular radio show A Prairie Home Companion. Sharing grief and joy over 30 years with friends and co-workers will, by default, create a bond. But it hasn’t been a strong bond. Perhaps it could be described as a tolerable bond. However, I was touched most deeply by these people as I watched them try to come to grips with the finality of their “careers� and possibly their friendships. I was struck by the thought of how we in America’s cities try so hard to become a community while simultaneously shutting each other out through various technological advances. We have our i-Pods, radios, and CD players, all with personal listening earpods to help us cope with one another. I ride the bus to work sometimes and I’ve noticed that a certain camaraderie has developed between many of the “regulars.� It’s fun to watch. But then I question, Has this cast of commuters become friendly because of the forced closeness of commuting? Would they die for each other? Would the cast of A Prairie Home Companion die for each other? Would I sacrifice for my friends? The cast is drawn somewhat closer, or at least caused to become more conscious of each other, by the interestingly timed death of a long-time fellow cast member. It’s a powerfully poignant moment with more than one obvious meaning. (I don’t like to divulge too much of the plot of the movie, so I’m being deliberately elusive.) It was so moving and thought-provoking that I found myself wondering, Will my friends regret my passing? Would I stop my life long enough for self-examination of my path? Will I ever pour myself into my friends? And most importantly to me: How many tragic reference points do I need for God to get my attention? It is an important message to convey.

I believe this is a performance for the record books: memorable characters, superb storyline, and unmatched dialogue. I am a junkie for movies of the ‘30s and ‘40s—I love the gay banter and clever writing. On my blog I mention my love of the Thin Man series, and I certainly felt this movie approached that level of writing. Soooo clever! And, just for fun, ask yourself this question: How many movies tell you what’s going to happen in the first scene, yet you still enjoy it? Um, well, one… A Prairie Home Companion. It was refreshing to see a movie that captures imagination, heightens interest, and doesn’t offend my intelligence, simply through its dialogue. Lively repartee is back! Bravo Garrison Keillor. Hooray Meryl Streep. Thank you Kevin Kline. Cheers! Woody Harrelson… I can’t go on; it’s great!