Not quite forty-eight hours and I am still recovering from the betrayal and sucker punch delivered by Mamma Mia: Here We Go Again.
Spoiler Alert: If you don’t want to know the plot, quit reading now.
Before I begin what I hope will be a cathartic rant, allow me to explain why this movie meant so much to me, and why literally killing the story-line is so personally disheartening.
Mamma Mia was first released in 2008. It was the year my mother got very sick, and it was the last movie she ever saw. I was hovering around my 50th birthday. My girls were around 10 and 14. I went to the movie, and during the first few scenes was looking at my watch to see when it would be over. (Don’t know why, but I found the Money, Money, Money song annoying.) I think it was the Honey, Honey number that grabbed me by the heart and drew me in.
I was instantly transported back to my own magical days of wonder. Before I knew it I was engulfed in the visual beauty of Greece, the allure and energy of youth, the palpable ecstasy of decades-long friendship. And, honest to Pete, with every scene the delightful narrative just got stronger and brighter and the denouement left me giddy with joy and pleasure.
I spent money and watched that movie SEVEN TIMES at the theater. Never before or since have I even watched one a second time. I even went alone on several of those occasions.
And then I shared it with my girls. We bought the DVD, viewed it over and over, sang with it in the car…it is not hyperbolic to say that Mamma Mia was an regular, notable influence on our family during the next ten years.
So, you can imagine our delight when the sequel was approaching. So much to look forward to! Both my girls are in another state now, and we dearly wanted to be together for opening night. Alas, we missed it by one day. I saw it a few hours before their allotted time.
I viewed it with a dear friend from high school. We arrived more than an hour early, sat through a half hour of trailers, and finally, finally! The opening shot.
And I knew it instantly…the magic was gone. The opening shot was quiet, dark and lacked energy. Expressions were dower. And then, God help me, Sophie hung up a picture of Dead Donna, and said something about “This is what mom would have wanted.”
Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
They effing killed Donna???
So I have read that “Meryl Streep doesn’t do sequels.” Well, good for her. Knowing that, the writers couldn’t have had her go to Europe to see a friend? Join the Peace Corp? DID THEY HAVE TO KILL HER? And yet she shows up at the end as a damn ghost, so she did in fact do a sequel?
Well, I have not been that sucker punched since they threw Anne Hathaway under the truck in One Day. (Or maybe when they hoed the otter in half at the end of the movie, Ring of Bright Water.)
And then the grief started. Sam grieving. They had four, maybe five years of happiness before her death. Sophie grieving. Then Rosie and Tanya arrive crying. Good grief, who writes this crap?
How in the hell are you supposed to start singing and dancing and telling vagina jokes WHEN THE MAIN CHARACTER/MOTHER/WIFE/FRIEND is DEAD?
Call me a wuss but I cried for two hours. And so did a lot of other fans. And then I got really pissed.
The trailers were deceptive. Meryl Streep’s interview was deceptive. All Judy Craymer appeared to care about was shoving her sequel out of the gate.
Meryl Streep in her own words:
“Indescribable joy…pure fun…?” In what universe is a dead mother/wife/friend “joy and fun?: And for the record, I had heard rumors about Dead Donna. And this above interview had me believe my fears were unfounded. Very deceptive. Not cool, Meryl. Not cool.
However, anger, betrayal and grief aside, let’s have a look at the actual quality of the sequel.
This isn’t just the bitter talking. The musical numbers were an insulting rehash of the ones that were so strong, energetic and powerful. The jokes were equally as weak. Rosie wobbling around like an imbecile made me want to slap her down in the chair she kept missing. Sky and Sophie, who in the first movie exuded unbounded energy and sexuality, looked like they’d been married fifteen years and wanted a divorce. And, of course, Harry was still spontaneous.
There were a thousand ways this narrative could have kept the magic alive without turning it into a tragedy. With the addition of Cher, I personally was expecting a healing reconciliation between Donna and her mother. I was expecting to see the rise of the Dynamos and perhaps a bit of Sophie’s childhood.
I have spent the last two days discussing this with many fans on social media. Many of them loved this new movie, and that is their prerogative. But many also feel as I do, that it was a blind-siding script and an insult to those expecting an actual “reunion.”
I hope this crappy bait-and-switch will never quell the wonder, beauty and near divination of the first Mamma Mia. Shame on the people who killed this narrative. You didn’t have to.
Here is a fraction of what made Mamma Mia so amazingly special and the only song I cried at during the first movie. Tears of love at the bitter-sweetness of mother and daughter-hood, not in any way tears of loss and grief:
This post from 2013 popped up in my Facebook memories today. I thought I would re-post to further explain my continued lack of literary fame and acclaim. And I will always grab an opportunity to plug one of the best writers in the History of Time. It is an honor to explain myself to Stephen King.
Not long ago, while sharing some sushi rolls with my eldest daughter, I sliced one in half and consumed the bite.
“You can’t do that,” said the Daughter.
“Sure I can, ” says I.
“Mom…you’re already not using chopsticks, how weird do you want to be?”
I sighed and felt compelled to explain.
“But I like the smaller bites. They fit my mouth better, and besides, that way I get to enjoy every single ingredient’s flavor. And use more ginger. And it lasts twice as long.”
Satisfied with my complete and logical reply, I get the look that says I love you and all, but that’s just not how it’s done.
I guess I have approached my writing life the same way. I go at it in small chunks, clearly on a much smaller scale than is customary. Stephen King, an author whom I adore, (though I’ve not read one single book except his On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft,) comments below. I read these words first in 2001, and they haunt me still. (See Steve, you haunt me in spite of myself. I am a colossal sissy when it comes to the horror genre. Two or three times I have turned one guarded eye toward your movies, yanked in against my will. As I am now in my fifth decade, I may be able to toss my sissified trepidation aside and tippy-toe into your written world. But no promises.)
From On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft, while discussing novelists who only write a very limited number of books, the words of Stephen King:
On the other hand–the James Joyce hand–there is Harper Lee, who wrote only one book (the brilliant To Kill a Mockingbird). Any number of others, including James Agee, Malcolm Lowery, and Thomas Harris (so far), wrote under five. Which is okay, but I always wonder two things about these folks: how long did it take to write the books they did write, and what did they do the rest of their time? Knit afghans? Organize church bazaars? Deify plums? I’m probably being snotty here, but I am also, believe me, honestly curious. If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?
Well, Steve, since you asked, with the exception of deifying plums, yes, I was doing all of the above. I would not think of boring you or anyone else with a list of life’s humdrum activities. But since I began writing in 1996 to the present day, I am, without reservation, eating my storybook plate of sushi in two bites, maybe even three or more. My world is full of durable afghans, well-organized bazaars, and I chase people down to pick and haul the fruit from the trees in my yard. In my defense, I am at least a two-book wonder, and that may not entirely be the last of my creative contributions.
So I suppose along with my sushi, I am consuming my literary capabilities in small, tasty bites as well. And yes, that violation of protocol does render me weird in the eyes of many. But I am savoring each bite, and leaving on the plate what I mean to leave.
To each his own, screamed someone. Probably while bleeding…in one of Stephen King’s magnificent books.
Dorothy Hagan is the author of The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, not one bit scary but clever and funny as hell. She has super-duper (thanks again, Steve) reviews on Amazon. Read them. She also published a companion novel, The Edge of the Grace Period, 2000, that folks spoke of in the same breath with Willa Cather, Eudora Welty, Mary Karr and Molly Ivins. Seriously. She’s not making that up.
While slurping my morning coffee, to my utter astonishment, I opened an email from Amazon asking me to give 1-5 stars for a list of books which somehow included both of my own. They’re kidding, right? Taking the bait, I proceeded to blow the daylights out of my own legendary horn.
And may I just say, that in addition to writing darn fine novels, I can toss off two quite excellent reviews as well? There is every reason to believe Amazon will never allow them to see the light of day, as authors aren’t really allowed to review their own work, but hey, if offered a plug of one’s own, (thanking you, Virginia Wolff) who would resist?
First of all, to a degree that is professionally intoxicating, my books have been mentioned in the same breath with writers such as Eudora Welty, Willa Cather, Fannie Flagg, Billie Letts, Mary Karr, Mollie Ivins and Erma Bombeck. To a degree this list is proof-positive that my work won’t fit into any known genre, well, it is also likely why I’ll never retire from my literary earnings. But that’s okay. Don’t vex me with genre. Pshsf…categories…who needs them?
So here are my reviews, my own plugs, if you will.
Regarding The Edge of the Grace Period, 2000, this is a raucous and poignant story about people living on the edge of everything: the edge of family function, the edge of forever friendships (and some not), the brink of industrial, southern sensibilities, the fringes of faith, the tipping edge of bravery to grab Life by the throat and swing…it was this first book that elicited the above author comparisons.
Regarding The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, 2012, I spent seven years researching the offshore world (among other things) for this book. At the end of The Edge of the Grace Period, a story mostly about Darlene and her best friend, Karla…Karla goes off to work offshore. From that very moment I wanted to know how that happened and how that went. (I am personally a former merchant mariner; I went to sea in 1978 as one of about six total females sailing in the world.) Every last one of us gas up our cars easy as you please, without a second thought, never wondering how that sweet fuel gets from a hole in the ocean to our corner store. This is just one person’s story about who goes and fetches that fuel for us. It’s a unique story, from a unique perspective and that is seriously understating things.
Karla is a tall, skinny, gutsy, verbally-unfiltered 20-year-old who goes to work as a roustabout in 1980. (For the life of me, I always picture Sandra Bullock or Sara Gilbert.) She is hit with an onslaught of “you don’t belong here-isms” in what was and still remains an almost exclusively man’s world. She is a victim to every prank of the trade but after 26 years ends up as the boss. After hundreds of helicopter rides to rigs large and small, she is on her final trip home to begin a second career, one that is entirely out of her character. But on this last trip her helicopter goes down, and she is missing in the Gulf of Mexico. Her family and friends are gathered for a gigantic Welcome Home party; instead they await her fate.
Karla (Karla Jean to Dooley Wade, her whacked-out Vietnam chopper pilot and constant thorn) hasn’t cut her hair since childhood. Why not? She sports a braid so long is can double as a weapon. Find out how Karla gets pregnant, even though she is allergic to children, and it’s all her husband’s fault. So many twists and turns…and finally, find out what this new career is, because you won’t see it coming in a month of Sundays. Then there’s the whole “Is she dead or alive?” thing going also.
Don’t take my word for it. Go to Amazon (or Barnes & Noble) and read the reviews for yourself. I am happy to report there are more than just mine, which probably won’t show up anyway. Read them, enjoy them, share them.
And thanks for reading this…I not-so-humbly submit…a Plug of One’s Own.
This post from 2013 popped up in my Facebook memories today. I thought I would re-post to further explain my continued lack of literary fame and acclaim. And I will always grab an opportunity to plug one of the best writers in the History of Time. It is an honor to explain myself to Stephen King.
Not long ago, while sharing some sushi rolls with my eldest daughter, I sliced one in half and consumed the bite.
“You can’t do that,” said the Daughter.
“Sure I can, ” says I.
“Mom…you’re already not using chopsticks, how weird do you want to be?”
I sighed and felt compelled to explain.
“But I like the smaller bites. They fit my mouth better, and besides, that way I get to enjoy every single ingredient’s flavor. And use more ginger. And it lasts twice as long.”
Satisfied with my complete and logical reply, I get the look that says I love you and all, but that’s just not how it’s done.
I guess I have approached my writing life the same way. I go at it in small chunks, clearly on a much smaller scale than is customary. Stephen King, an author whom I adore, (though I’ve not read one single book except his On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft,) comments below. I read these words first in 2001, and they haunt me still. (See Steve, you haunt me in spite of myself. I am a colossal sissy when it comes to the horror genre. Two or three times I have turned one guarded eye toward your movies, yanked in against my will. As I am now in my fifth decade, I may be able to toss my sissified trepidation aside and tippy-toe into your written world. But no promises.)
From On Writing: A Memoir on the Craft, while discussing novelists who only write a very limited number of books, the words of Stephen King:
On the other hand–the James Joyce hand–there is Harper Lee, who wrote only one book (the brilliant To Kill a Mockingbird). Any number of others, including James Agee, Malcolm Lowery, and Thomas Harris (so far), wrote under five. Which is okay, but I always wonder two things about these folks: how long did it take to write the books they did write, and what did they do the rest of their time? Knit afghans? Organize church bazaars? Deify plums? I’m probably being snotty here, but I am also, believe me, honestly curious. If God gives you something you can do, why in God’s name wouldn’t you do it?
Well, Steve, since you asked, with the exception of deifying plums, yes, I was doing all of the above. I would not think of boring you or anyone else with a list of life’s humdrum activities. But since I began writing in 1996 to the present day, I am, without reservation, eating my storybook plate of sushi in two bites, maybe even three or more. My world is full of durable afghans, well-organized bazaars, and I chase people down to pick and haul the fruit from the trees in my yard. In my defense, I am at least a two-book wonder, and that may not entirely be the last of my creative contributions.
So I suppose along with my sushi, I am consuming my literary capabilities in small, tasty bites as well. And yes, that violation of protocol does render me weird in the eyes of many. But I am savoring each bite, and leaving on the plate what I mean to leave.
To each his own, screamed someone. Probably while bleeding…in one of Stephen King’s magnificent books.
Dorothy Hagan is the author of The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, not one bit scary but clever and funny as hell. She has super-duper (thanks again, Steve) reviews on Amazon. Read them. She also published a companion novel, The Edge of the Grace Period, 2000, that folks spoke of in the same breath with Willa Cather, Eudora Welty, Mary Karr and Molly Ivins. Seriously. She’s not making that up.
Okay, with all due respect to Sue Grafton and her enormously clever list of titles, it seems that since mentioning her in a post, I have had an awesome increase in traffic, well-deserved or not. So…thank you, Ms. Grafton, for your skirt tails and titles for which to grab a hold. That said, behold…a shameless self-promotion.
The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jeanis a rollicking good read, with tales of feminism, addiction, religion, goofy families, awesome friends and an ending so fun and unexpected you will be smiling for a week. So, please, do me and yourself a favor and Buy This Book!
As my teaching year swirls to a close, a long-forgotten voice reminds me that I have in fact recently published my second novel, The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean, a fun, adventuresome companion book joining The Edge of the Grace Period.With this recollection comes the additional reminder…that I am perhaps the world’s suckiest marketeer. I just can’t seem to do more than one thing at a time. To prove it, I’ve just gone an entire school year where I shared with not one colleague my status as Double-Published Authoress. Sadly, I am woefully behind as a carnival barker for my own literary prowess.
But alas, just like the sanitary napkin Always Infinity, this persistent circumstance cannot in actuality continue to suck forever. Shortly, I shall embark on Marketing Campaign Number 674 (or so it feels) and attempt to share my stories with a much broader audience. I may even dust off my keyboard and write some more.
So to the interwebs, Oprah Winfrey, Cameron Crowe, Sandra Bullock, Abby Hagan, et al…you are all hereby on notice that you shall be the focus of the systemic pesterization of a writer in the mood to hock her literary wares in your directions. Here’s hocking at you, kids…
To my faithful readers, perhaps it’s a good time to suggest a great book to your friends for summer reading. Two by Dorothy Hagan come to mind…
And don’t forget this awesome book trailer…created by Abby Hagan:
Hello, friends! Up and coming film-maker, Abigail Hagan, created this awesome book trailer for The Offshore Triumphs of Karla Jean. Check it out, share it…and if you are inclined, send me your feedback! I would love to know what you think!
Here’s wishing you all a completely, massively awesome 2013!
dorothyhagan 