Foogle Business - Shawshank Redemption the Movie - Listen to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Aria - The Marriage of Figaro - Morgan Freeman

Tim Robbins makes Andy Dufresne a man of few words, quietly spoken, in some air of arrogance so it sets him apart from the guilty. He does not get worked up easily but stays aloof. He is his own man, capable of keeping his head down for years, and then indulging in a grand gesture, when he plays an aria from Mozart's

"The Marriage of Figaro."

At this point he truly equate himself with the other prisoners and risks the hole just to give all the men at Shawshank the gift of music. The overhead shot of the prisoners in the yard, spellbound by the music, is one of the film's most hard hitting shots. Listen to that aria here and imagine yourself in their position.

Red: I have no idea to this day what those two Italian ladies were singing about. Truth is, I don't wanna know. Some things are best left unsaid. I like to think they were singing about something so beautiful it can't be expressed in words, and makes your heart ache because of it. I tell you, those voices soared higher and farther than anybody in a gray place dares to dream. It was like some beautiful bird flapped into our drab little cage and made those walls dissolve away, and for the briefest of moments, every last man at Shawshank felt free.

At the heart of this extraordinary movie is a brilliant and indelible performance by Morgan Freeman as Red, the man who knows how to get things, the "only" guilty man at Shawshank prison. He was nominated by the Academy for Best Actor in 1995 but didn't win. (Tom Hanks won for Forrest Gump.) What Freeman does so beautifully is to slightly underplay the part so that the eternal boredom and cynicism of the lifer comes through, and yet we can see how very much alive with the warmth of life the man is despite his confinement. Someday Morgan Freeman is going to win an Academy Award and it will be in belated recognition for this performance, which I think was a little too subtle for some Academy members to fully appreciate at the time.

But Freeman is not alone. Tim Robbins plays the hero of the story, banker Andy Dufresne, who has been falsely convicted of murdering his wife and her lover. Robbins has a unique quality as an actor in that he lends ever so slightly a bemused irony to the characters he plays. It is as though part of him is amused at what he is doing. I believe this is the best performance of his career, but it might be compared with his work in The Player (1992), another excellent movie, and in Mystic River (2003) for which he won an Oscar as Best Supporting Actor.

It is said that every good story needs a villain, and in the Bible-quoting, Bible-thumping, massively hypocritical, sadistic Warden Samuel Norton, played perfectly by Bob Gunton, we have a doozy. I want to tell you that Norton is so evil that fundamentalist Christians actually hate this movie because of how precisely his vile character is revealed. They also hate the movie because of its depiction of violent, predatory homosexual behavior (which is the reason the movie is rated R). On the wall of his office (hiding his safe with its ill-gotten contents and duplicitous accounts) is a framed plaque of the words "His judgment cometh and that right soon." The irony of these words as they apply to the men in the prison and ultimately to the warden himself is just perfect. You will take delight, I promise.

Here is some other information about the movie that may interest you. As most people know, it was adapted from a novella by Stephen King entitled "Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption." Rita Hayworth figures in the story because Red procures a poster of her for Andy that he pins up on the wall of his cell. The poster is a still from the film Gilda (1946) starring her and Glenn Ford. We see a clip from the black and white film as the prisoners watch, cheering and hollering when Rita Hayworth appears. If you haven't seen her, check out that old movie. She really is gorgeous and a forerunner of Marilyn Monroe, who next appears on Andy's wall in a still from The Seven Year Itch (1955). It's the famous shot of her in which her skirt is blown up to reveal her shapely legs. Following her on Andy's wall (and, by the way, these pinups figure prominently in the plot) is Rachel Welsh from One Million Years B.C. (1966). In a simple and effective device these pinups show us graphically how long Andy and Red have been pining away.

Frank Darabont's direction is full of similar devices that clearly and naturally tell the story. There is Brooks (James Whitmore) who gets out after fifty years but is so institutionalized that he can't cope with life on the outside and hangs himself. Playing off of this is Red's periodic appearance before the parole board where his parole is summarily REJECTED. Watch how this plays out at the end.

The cinematography by Roger Deakins is excellent. The editing superb: there's not a single dead spot in the whole movie. The difference between the good guys (Red, Andy, Brooks, etc.) and the bad guys (the warden, the guards, the "sisters," etc.) is perhaps too starkly drawn, and perhaps Andy is a bit too heroic and determined beyond what might be realistic, and perhaps the "redemption" is a bit too miraculous in how beautifully it works out. But never mind. We love it.

All in all this is a great story vividly told that will leave you with a true sense of redemption in your soul. It is not a chick flick, and that is an understatement. It is a male bonding movie about friendship and the strength of character, about going up against what is wrong and unfair and coming out on top through pure true grit and a little luck.

The Marriage of Figaro
(Italian title: Le Nozze di Figaro)
An Opera by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Mozart set to work on "Figaro" in 1785, having at this date been ordered by the Emperor Joseph to write an opera for Vienna. Da Ponte was again the librettist, founding his text on Beaumarchais’ famous comedy, "Le Mariage de Figaro," which had lately been creating a stir in Paris. The opera has no regular, well-defined plot. It is rather a succession of awkward and humourous situations, calling forth an abundance of sparkling repartee. The imbroglio is "often exceedingly difficult"; but while not easy to make clear in writing, it is easy enough to follow on the stage.

The scene is laid at the country-house of Count Almaviva, the character in whom the chief amusement of the opera centres. With accommodating notions of morality himself, he is very jealous of the conduct of his Countess, whom he suspects of being rather too fond of an over-grown page, Cherubino. The Count is carrying on a flirtation with Susanna, the Countess’s maid; and the droleries of the opera hang to a large extent on the incidents thus afforded. Susanna is about to be married to Figaro, the Count’s valet; but the Count offers her a dowry if she will meet him that evening. She declines, and Figaro presently appears, requesting the Count to honour his marriage by giving away the bride. The Count agrees, but delays the ceremony in order to renew his suit with Suzanna.

Meanwhile, Susanna has joined with the Countess and Figaro in a plot to discomfit the Count. An anonymous letter, written by Figaro, tells the Count of certain assignations which have been made for the evening in the garden. Various diverting contre-temps arise out of this plot; and further hilarity is created when Bartolo and Marcellina, an aged couple, enter. Bartolo had been rejected by Susanna, and Marcellina had been unable to excite the tender passion in Figaro. But Figaro had promised to marry Marcellina if he failed to repay her an old debt within a certain time; and the payment not having been made, she now comes to claim her bridegroom. The Count, delighted at this turn of affairs, promises that she shall get her rights.

The Second Act is "mainly devoted to clearing up the various difficulties." It turns out that Figaro is the long-lost son of Bartolo and Marcellina. Then, in continuance of the plot above-mentioned, the Countess disguises herself as Susanna, and at the place of assignation, the Count ardently avows his passion to his own wife. He discovers his mistake and promises amendment, and he and the Countess mutually forgive each other their little flirtations. Figaro weds Susanna, and "all’s well that ends well."

Da Ponte declared that Mozart wrote the whole of "Figaro" in six weeks. Mozart’s note-books hardly bear this out, but at any rate the time occupied was very short. In the score we admire the spontaneous growth and continuity of the whole organism, the psychological truth and depth of sentiment which make the individual characters so life-like; resulting from these, the striking harmony in the use of means and forms, and the mixture of dignity and grace, all founded on something higher than mere sensuous beauty. While listening, "we feel the throbbing of our own life-blood, recognise the language of our own hearts, and are captivated by the irresistible charm of unfading beauty: it is art, genuine, immortal, making us free and happy." Mozart never excelled the melodic beauty of some of the numbers. What could be finer than the Countess’s aria, "Dove sono"; Cherubino’s "Voi che sapite"; or Figaro’s duet with Susanna? The verve and brightness of the music force themselves on the pleased attention throughout; and when all is over, so true is the picture, that, as Mr. Streatfeild says, one comes away with the feeling of having assisted in an actual scene in real life. Such music can never grow old, though modern realism may demand something different.

The opera was brought out on May 1, 1786, in face of the most elaborate intrigues against it, and was received with the attention it deserved. Even at the rehearsal its success was most decided; when, according to Michael Kelly (an Irish tenor who was in the cast under the name of "Signor Ochelly"), the enthusiasm of singers and orchestra rose to fever heat. Kelly says: "I remember that at the first rehearsal of the full band Mozart was on the stage, with his crimson pelisse and his gold-banded cocked hat, giving the time of the music to the orchestra. I shall never forget the little animated countenance when lighted up with the glowing rays of genius. It is as impossible to describe it as it would be to paint sunbeams."

He goes on to tell how at one point, "those in the orchestra I thought would never have ceased applauding by beating the bows of their violins against the music desks. The little man acknowledged by repeated obeisances his thanks for those distinguishing marks of enthusiastic applause bestowed upon him." This was at the rehearsal. At the public performance the furore was equally remarkable. All the principal numbers were re-demanded. Indeed, so numerous were the encores that the performance lasted nearly twice the time that had been calculated upon. The success, too, of the first night was maintained at subsequent representations.

At the second performance, one duet had to be sung three times. So trying, in fact, did the encores become that the Emperor forbade them for the future. Kelly accounts how Joseph II., after issuing this order, spoke to some of the leading artists on the subject. "I daresay," he said, "you are pleased at my having put a stop to encores. It must be fatiguing for you to repeat so many songs." The artists obsequiously signified their agreement. But Kelly, who was standing by, boldly said to the Emperor: "Do not believe them, Sire; they all like to be encored. At least, I am sure I always do." And Kelly was right; for what singer does not welcome the compliment of an encore? Soon afterwards, the opera was given at Prague, where its reception was even more enthusiastic. "The one subject of conversation," wrote Mozart to his father, "is ‘Figaro’; nothing is played, whistled, or sung but ‘Figaro’; nobody goes to any opera but ‘Figaro’; everlastingly

‘Figaro.’" And we have so few chances of going to "Figaro" now!