Turning the Page

---

---

As Christmas episodes go, the episode of How I Met Your Mother that first aired on this night five years ago, "The Final Page," wasn't your typical Christmas episode. In fact, it really only mentioned the season in passing and offered no unique spin on the holiday.

It was really more of a continuation of the series' timeline, telling a story that just happened to take place at Christmas.

By my definition, a Christmas episode tells a seasonal story. It might be a re–telling of the actual Christmas story, a spin on the traditional stories of Santa Claus or something that is unique to the nature of the show, but the one thing they all have in common is that they reinforce, in some way, the values and beliefs that inspire people of faith.

Well, on second thought, I guess there was an element of that in "The Final Page." Maybe a smidgen.

But calling "The Final Page" a Christmas episode is applying the broadest possible leeway to that term. What happened in that episode could have happened at any other time of the year — only without the Christmas lights and mistletoe in the penultimate scene.

Those elements would have had to be replaced in some way, I suppose, because they really did make a contribution to the effectiveness of the scene. And because I can't think of any comparable elements that could be used as substitutes, I am not really sure how they could have been replaced without significantly changing how that final scene was written.

So the Christmas season may have been the only realistic backdrop for this episode. Setting it at any other time of the year would have been a bit of a stretch.

But calling it a Christmas episode really is a stretch.

OK. Rant over.

But, really, the theme of this episode was not in keeping with the season.

It was a two–part episode, and both parts aired back to back on this night five years ago. The first part was inspired by "The Silence of the Lambs," and it was about throwing someone into one's pit.

Ted (Josh Radnor) wanted to throw one of his old architecture professors in the pit. This particular professor had never expressed approval of Ted's ideas, and Ted craved a "what do you think of me now?" moment. He never got it and reluctantly realized he had to let go of that particular desire.

Lily (Alyson Hannigan) and Marshall (Jason Segel) were in someone else's pit — a former college classmate who had been obsessed with them. Understandably that made them uncomfortable. They bumped into each other, and he invited them back to his home. They imagined the worst. As it turned out, he had formed a phenomenally successful company that sold hacky sacks named for the three of them. He wanted to give them $100,000 because they inspired the idea, but they rejected the offer without knowing what they were rejecting.

---

---

Robin (Cobie Smulders) had someone in her pit — co–worker Patrice (Ellen D. Williams). Robin believed Patrice was in a relationship with Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) and was going to fire her, but she relented.

The viewers later learned that Barney's relationship with Patrice was an act designed to get Robin to realize her feelings for Barney. It was another one of his elaborate "Playbook" plans. Fans of How I Met Your Mother know that Barney's "Playbook" was filled with strategies for bedding women — not wedding them. But as the first part of the episode ended, Barney showed Ted the ring he planned to give Patrice when he proposed — and swore him to secrecy.

In the second part of the episode, Ted was going to break his promise to Barney and tell Robin, but he got cold feet and invited her to be his escort at the grand opening of a building he had designed. When they got together, Ted spilled the beans, and Robin ended up at the building where Barney was supposed to be proposing to Patrice.

When she got to the roof, where this was supposed to be taking place, no one was there. But she did find a page from the Playbook titled "The Robin" that detailed the plan for getting her to accept his proposal. After she read it, Barney appeared from the shadows.

As I say, it was not really a Christmas episode.

It was more of a Valentine's Day episode — in Barney's creepy, manipulative sort of way.

Negotiating the Curves of Life and Baseball

---

---

I've been a sports fan all my life, and I enjoy good sports movies, but "Trouble With the Cueve," which premiered on this day in 2012, wasn't really a sports movie, even though it had baseball as its backdrop.

I tend to enjoy Clint Eastwood movies, but I will be the first to acknowledge that sometimes you can see things coming in a Clint Eastwood movie long before they get there. Such moments are always there in Eastwood movies, but what keeps them from being trite is the fact that they are always poignant in their presentations. They never seem cliched even if at times they are predictable.

Case in point: Eastwood movies have ways of repeatedly reminding the audience of the title in obvious and not–so–obvious ways. It isn't always easy to tell them apart, either. In "Trouble With the Curve," Eastwood played Gus, an aging baseball scout whose eyesight was failing him. Early in his scouting career, "curve" probably referred only to a type of pitch, but all sorts of new images became associated with it as his character aged.

There were curves that his life and his work kept throwing at him. Of course, everyone is susceptible to that — but I got the sense from watching the movie that Gus had been more fortunate than most. Not so in his later years. At one point in the movie Eastwood was driving his car and was in a collision with another car on a curving road.

Then there were his problems with his daughter. In that instance, I suppose, curve could be physical as well as psychological.

Of course, the curve that held the movie together was the one that a hot prospect couldn't hit. Gus couldn't see it, but he could hear it. It was easy not to like the prospect; he was the kind of narcissistic athlete that, unfortunately, is seen more and more frequently these days. The audience's first glance at him told you everything you needed to know — after demanding peanuts from a ballpark vendor he derisively called "Peanut Boy," the prospect clearly believed he needn't compensate the vendor for the nosh.

"Peanut Boy" got even with the prospect later — in a scene that was reminiscent of the one in "The Natural" when Robert Redford's character blew three straight pitches past a blowhard slugger. In "Trouble With the Curve," it clearly confirmed that Eastwood's character had been right in his assessment.

To say any more would deprive you of the pleasure of experiencing that cinematic moment. It was a gem even if you saw it coming — and, frankly, I didn't.

---

---

Eastwood movies seldom pull a fast one on the viewer. There's an honesty in Eastwood movies. They never start out as one thing and then shift gears improbably halfway through. What you see is what you get.

Eastwood movies tell good stories well — something that hasn't been in style in Hollywood for awhile, which may be what appeals to a writer like myself. "Trouble With the Curve" was no exception to the Eastwood rule.

As I say, sports was the backdrop of the story, but it wasn't what the story was about — unlike, say, for example, "Million Dollar Baby." Actually, I thought it had more in common with "Gran Torino." Perhaps that is because Eastwood has entered a different phase in his life and career. He is playing older men and chronicling what life is like for older men in today's world. Sometimes they are retired. And sometimes they are, like Gus in "Trouble With the Curve," being pushed toward retirement to make room for the new.

It was never said directly, but I suspected that Gus remembered a time when older people were treated with respect, and their experience was valued — and he lamented the absence of that in the modern world, where computers get the respect and people get the leftovers, if there are any.

Gus knew he wasn't perfect. He was seen at the grave of his long–dead wife, confessing his shortcomings and telling her how much better she had been at some things than he was — especially communicating with their daughter.

---

---

Gus' daughter Mickey (Amy Adams) was all too aware of his imperfections. The two were estranged, apparently had been for years. She harbored resentments, as most of us do, about her childhood (and adulthood, too) and her all–too–frequently absent father.

In spite of themselves, they shared many similarities. They were driven to succeed in their careers, above and beyond anything else — although, as it turned out Mickey, an attorney who was in line for a partnership at the Atlanta law firm where she worked, was more driven by her father's career than her own.

She was with her father at the request of his longtime friend and current employer, played John Goodman, who was concerned about Eastwood more as a friend but also as an employee who could still do his job. In the process she met a former pitcher (Justin Timberlake) who had been recruited by her father — but then blew his arm out and was angling for a broadcasting gig via talent scouting.

Remember when I said that you can sometimes see things coming from a ways off in an Eastwood movie? Well, this relationship was one of those things.

---

---

But that was OK, too.

It wasn't the best Clint Eastwood movie I have ever seen, but "Trouble With the Curve" was worth the time it took to watch it.

The Trilogy Tradition

---

---

Traditions begin in odd ways. Especially in sitcoms. Take the episode of How I Met Your Mother that first aired on this night in 2012, "Trilogy Time," as an example.

In the case of Ted (Josh Radnor) and Marshall (Jason Segel), they began a tradition of watching the original "Star Wars" trilogy when they were roommates in college. Stressed out over an economics exam that was looming, they opted to watch the trilogy rather than study. They also agreed that, no matter what, they would get together and watch the trilogy every three years — and then speculate on where they expected to be and what they expected to be doing three years down the road.

Using decidedly flimsy logic, Ted and Marshall reasoned that they would ace the exam and, therefore, had no reason to study. They were wrong.

But back to their speculation.

Each time Ted imagined himself being a successful architect in three years with a woman who bore a striking resemblance to Robin (Cobie Smulders) — a clue that the mother of the show's title and Robin would be revealed to be connected in some way.

Marshall imagined himself to be a successful lawyer (with a mustache) in three years and married to Lily (Alyson Hannigan) with an ever–increasing number of children. By the end of the episode they had three children with a fourth on the way and a fifth already conceived because, as Marshall put it, "I'm just that good."

Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) kept imagining himself having one–night stands, which, given Barney's history in the series, hardly qualified as speculation — but by the end of the episode Barney surprised everyone, possibly even himself, when he told Ted and Marshall that he didn't want to be having one–night stands in three years. He wanted to be settled in with one girl.

For the most part the speculations were thoroughly unrealistic, little more than fantasies, really. And sometimes the fantasies took dark turns. Marshall's expectations of being a successful lawyer never seemed to pan out, and at one point he fantasized that Lily had taken up with a guy with a mustache and a trucker hat — and was carrying his child, who, it was revealed in a sonogram, was wearing a trucker hat in the womb.

Sure, the guys indulged in some wild flights of fancy — but they were always grounded in life as it really was.

---

---

The unmistakable signal that one is maturing.

Swearing a Broath

---

---

Barney (Neil Patrick Harris): You broke the broath.

Ted (Josh Radnor): How dare you? A broath is the most sacred bond between — OK, yeah, I did.

---

An oath is a solemn thing, whether you are promising to discharge your duties in office or tell the truth in court. Under lesser circumstances, I suppose, oaths are known by different names. On "How I Met Your Mother," they were dubbed "broaths" in the episode "The Broath" that first aired on this night in 2012.

As the episode began Barney (Neil Patrick Harris) swore Ted (Josh Radnor) to secrecy about a girl Barney had been dating. Barney, of course, was the one who came up with the term broath — a combination of "bro" and "oath." He talked Ted into putting on a brobe for the occasion.

Barney wanted the girl, named Quinn (Becki Newton), to meet his friends, but he was afraid they would judge her too harshly when they learned she was a stripper and that she had swindled Barney of a lot of money. Ted knew all this, and Barney wanted him to keep quiet, but he told the gang anyway.

In a get–acquainted dinner, Quinn mistreated Barney, and Robin (Cobie Smulders) and Ted began competing to sublet Quinn's apartment after she moved in with Barney. Lily (Alyson Hannigan) found evidence that Barney had plane tickets to Hawaii and reservations at a four–star hotel there. The gang was convinced that Quinn was after Barney's money and decided to stage an intervention — or, in How I Met Your Mother lingo, a "Quinntervention."

---

---

Quinn broke up with Barney in an awkward confrontation in front of the gang, who were overcome by guilt (even though Robin and Ted were still lusting for Quinn's apartment) and went to Barney's apartment to see if there was some way they could make it up to him.

Barney then swore them all to a broath that they would never interfere in his life again. To seal the deal Barney coerced the girls into sharing a kiss. Barney and Marshall (Jason Segel) kissed, too, although Barney never instructed them to do so. All he said was, "And now the gentlemen ..."

Anyway, then Quinn appeared, and it turned out everything — the theatrics at the get–acquainted dinner, provoking the competition between Ted and Robin for Quinn's apartment, the awkward fight at the "Quinntervention" — had been an elaborate plan by Barney and Quinn to prevent the gang from judging her.

It proved they were right for each other, and Barney's friends gave their heartfelt congratulations.

I thought it was an enjoyable kind of episode — the kind that always makes me think of a scene from Woody Allen's "Annie Hall" in which he and Diane Keaton were standing in a line to get movie tickets, and a patron behind them — a professor at Columbia — was talking about Marshall McLuhan. Allen walked over to a display in the lobby and pulled the real Marshall McLuhan out from behind it. McLuhan proceeded to dress down the patron, after which Allen looked at the camera and said, "Boy, if life were only like this."

Love Is a Journey

---

---

"I have a feeling that God is going to give you a free pass on this one. Go for it."

Father Brendan (William H. Macy)

---

"The Sessions," which made its debut at the Sundance Film Festival on this day in 2012, was a thought–provoking movie for me.

And, no, I am not talking about thoughts provoked by the sight of Helen Hunt in the nude, but I will make this observation on that subject — for a woman approaching her 50th birthday, Hunt was astonishingly beautiful when she made the movie. In fact, I think she would be considered astonishing for a woman of any age.

But even though "The Sessions" was about sex, that wasn't exclusively what it was about. The sexual part was more clinical than erotic.

John Hawkes played Mark O'Brien, a poet who had been handicapped since having polio as a child. The audience learned early that he wasn't paralyzed. His muscles simply didn't function as they normally would, and he had to rely on an iron lung to survive. He sought the help of a sexual surrogate (played by Hunt) in losing his virginity.

---

---

I guess the first thought I had about this movie when I first heard about it — and hadn't yet seen it — was that, while I was sorry about his condition, his desire to lose his virginity was nothing new. Boys have been looking for ways to lose their virginity — and agonizing over the pursuit of their first time — since time began.

Consequently, I regarded it as an outgrowth of the belief that somehow every person on this planet is entitled to have every possible experience that there is — and that one has been cheated somehow if denied that. But a realistic appraisal of the world and life in it has to be that those who do get to experience everything that life has to offer are few and far between.

A very small percentage get to be rich and/or famous. Most people don't get to play professional sports or perform in a rock band. Many people don't even get to live long compared to what most people would consider normal life spans. That's the way it is. Life isn't fair. All the people I have known who have died had things they wanted to do but never did. Yet I frequently hear it said when someone dies that it is lamentable that the person never did X or Y or Z — as if that were an exception to the rule.

But when I saw "The Sessions," I realized that Hawkes' character wasn't worried about losing his virginity the way adolescent boys do. It was his way of reclaiming part of his life that was taken by polio. He also sensed that he would not live much longer (in fact, he lived more than a decade after the events of "The Sessions," but still died at the young age of 49). That lent a sense of urgency to his quest.

He may well have been driven as well by the desire to experience all the things that able–bodied people do, but one did not get that sense from the movie. It was simply an experience he wanted to have — even though one of his assistants told him that sex was "overrated but necessary" — and, in keeping with his Catholic upbringing, at first tried to have it the conventional way with a marriage partner. When that didn't work out, he pursued the sex therapist route.

An intriguing side character was Hunt's husband, played by Adam Arkin, whose love for his wife was evident and his jealousy over his accurate perception that she was developing an emotional attachment to her client could be painful to watch. He knew what his wife did for a living, that it involved sexual contact with other men, and the sensation the audience got was that he usually was not threatened by her business relationships.

But her relationship with Hawkes was, for whatever reason, different.

---

---

What can I say about William H. Macy's performance? I've always liked his off–the–wall work. I saw him being interviewed on one of the late–night shows once, and he observed that, in his movie roles, "I never get the girl — but I am the most likely one to stuff her in a trash bag." You've gotta like a guy with that kind of sense of humor.

His character had a nice sense of humor in this movie as well, but he wasn't a homicidal maniac. He was Hawkes' spiritual adviser and friend.

---

---

In fact, it was his character who inspired the headline I have given this post. Near the end of the movie, he told Hawkes that he had prepared a short speech "for the forlorn" that he had planned to deliver to revive Hawkes' spirits but decided he would not when he found that Hawkes was faring better than he had expected. Hawkes encouraged him to go ahead, and Macy said, "Love is a journey."

When Hawkes asked him to continue, Macy confessed, "That's it. I told you it was short."

I liked the review Roger Ebert wrote in October 2012 when the movie had its limited theatrical release: It "isn't really about sex at all," Ebert wrote. "It is about two people who can be of comfort to each other and about the kindness that forms between them. This film rebukes and corrects countless brainless and cheap sex scenes in other movies. It's a reminder that we must be kind to one another."