A Prairie Home Companion | Review

Altman finds bidding farewell is hard to do.

Luring or capturing the attention of one listener is a cause for celebration in itself. As the direct result of an era of “modernity”, the multi-channel universe of radio airwaves means that the a.m. dial has seen better days – a conclusion that cinephiles can concede is the case for one of cinema’s favorite pioneers. Robert Altman’s A Prairie Home Companion is an agreeable, non-offensive number that feels more like a homecoming than a bid farewell – perhaps a fitting double allegory that speaks volumes on the place that this filmmaker has in film history and his own aversion to it.

The voice behind the mike has probably wondered on more than one occasion, what would the final day of him being “on air” be like? The seedling behind Garrison Keillor’s screenplay about a fictitious finale night of live performances is best summed up by a scene in the film where a man’s last inhalation is reserved for what he loves most. In this moment of silence we find that all good things must come to an end and while this amusing blue print for a death wish fantasy may be miles away for the man with a catalogue full of jingles in Keillor, it may be part of a daily conscious for the ailing Altman.

Exploring the mortality of a business, the lifespan of the tale combined with the necessity for storytelling by rhythm and lyrics and the importance of folklore spirit in Americana, Altman communicates the need to pass on such genes to the further generations. Altman mounts a parade of voices, of characters and old stories for one last Shangri-La which for most might be something worth tuning in for if you have enough patience to filter through all the slower parts in this nostalgic visit with the past via song lyrics and monologue commercial breaks.

The cowboy country music and the way of life serve as a pretext to discuss such items, but in the grand scheme of this story, the characters’ spaces hardly get visited whether it is on the scene or behind the scene in the dress rooms and backstage area. More bizarre is the inclusion of a ghost from X-mas past/grim reaper-ish presence and exchange between Madsen and a Kline disguised in odd detective-babble. Fans of the filmmaker will find the usual Altmanesque visual and aural cues. The Streep and Tomlin duet is a master class in perfecting the effects of overlapping dialogue, while the moving camera contributes to a sense of time and place. It’s just too bad that the sequence of a thousand and one uses for Duck Tape doesn’t extend itself throughout the tapestry of the entire film – such a greatly needed improvisational touch that is the backbone of his best works.

The most dangerous moment when you are working on the airwaves is when there is a dead silence. While Gosford Park was a strong millennium entry, with much of his better work behind him (and thankfully available on home video), A Prairie Home Companion is the aged filmmaker’s way of saying that he is the least bit interested in bidding adieu and/or keeping his artistic mouth shut.

Rating 2.5 stars