Review of A Prairie Home Companion (2006) by Markb. — 26 Jun 2006

Even though one of the principals in this visualization of Garrison Keillor's beloved, semi-parodic Midwestern radio variety show is the Angel of Death busily plying her trade (she's played by Virginia Madsen who, with all due respect to poster Chris F.

, is sexier in a Casablanca trenchcoat than most women half her age are in thong bikinis), this is still Robert Altman's warmest and most accessible film since...Popeye? Nah, too weird. A Wedding? No, for a movie to be accessible partially means that someone had to see it in a theater.

..and sadly, virtually nobody did. M*A*S*H? Nope, even though it was a smash and everybody remembers it well, there's still the matter of all that bloody operating table footage, even if you can see far nastier in any CSI episode.

I think you'd have to go back to one of those Bonanza episodes Altman helmed in his early days to find something in his resume that's this utterly crowd-pleasing (without compromising anything in content, form or characteristic Altman style; you still have to listen with elephant ears to catch as much of the overlapping conversation as possible, and even though you'll be lucky to catch 85% of it, it doesn't matter all that much to Altman if you do).

A Texas conglomerate plans to shut the show down and we're treated to the final performance; one of the acts says goodbye sentimentally while another, figuring that they've got nothing to lose, riotously goes out with a series of bangs.

Curiously, m/c "GK" (played by Keillor, whose charisma and command of stage, TV, radio and the printed word here extends to yet another medium; why didn't someone think of putting him before a movie camera before this? But then you also have to ask why didn't someone realize what a boffo comedy team Woody Harrelson and John C.

Reilly could be, or what heavenly duets Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin could make?) doesn't want to emphasize that the show is a farewell broadcast or anything other than just another performance. His attitude is reminiscent of that of the pilots in Howard Hawks' 1938 Only Angels Have Wings; in that one, whenever one of their number crashed and burned, his comrades responded by denying that he ever existed.

Altman, like Hawks, has always been fascinated by workplace and/or group dynamics but is completely clear-eyed and unsentimental about the relationships: you get the clear impression that if the put-upon, extremely pregnant stage manager (Maya Rudolph) actually DID deliver backstage, most of the performers would respond by gingerly but quickly walking around mother and newborn child.

However, there's a sunniness and optimism here that we haven't seen before; while Altman's previous studies of mass entertainment Nashville and The Player explicitly stated that the good, kind, decent and honest people working in the country music and movie industries are the ones who get totally, completely and irrevocably crushed, A Prairie Home Companion implies that there's definitely life, rewards, comraderie and hope after showbiz.

When Altman received his honorary Oscar this year, many viewers who expected him to use the opportunity and pulpit to thumb his nose at Hollywood for not always making his career easy were apparently disappointed that he instead gave a relatively benign speech expressing his gratitude for the medical miracle that extended his life.

Altman may claim that A Prairie Home Companion is about death, but like his acceptance speech, it's just as much the joyous song of a real survivor.