Long weekends. What's not to love?
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| Watching planes take off from Honolulu International Airport. | |
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| The grand opening weekend for the Ward 16 Theatres hits a snag. | |
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| Inside the new Ward 16 Theaters before the bad news broke. |
The weekend also marked Jen's return to work, so sadly we had to spend a chunk of it apart. But we made the most of our time together; it felt like the first time in ages we seized the solitary mission of taking it easy.
On Saturday, we knew we would be spending part of the day at dad's. I knew how crazy Memorial Day weekend would be for him, so the last time I saw him (at the Mo`ili`ili Community Center benefit), I plugged "Mandatory Chill-Out Time" into his Visor PDA. Miraculously, no other appointments superceded it, and Gayle supported it, so we were on for a simple barbeque in the afternoon.
We had the morning to kill, however, so I asked Katie what she wanted to do. Go to the park? Go shopping? Her answer? "Go see airplanes!"
Now, ever since she and Jen came back from Florida, she's been obsessed with two things: stock car racing ("Zoom zoom! Fast cars!") and airplanes ("Fasten seat belts, get ready for landing!"). In order to shut out the former, I humored the latter, and every time we headed out of town I made sure to take the H-1 past the airport. She'd search the skies for the faintest glimmer, and cheer any time she'd spot an aircraft in the sky.
Of course, soon she was demanding to go to the airport, or barring that, past it, practically every time we got in the car. Er, van. Nearly every time I played with her, she'd run through her commercial aviation phrasebook. She was bonkers for planes.
So with a few hours to kill, I bundled everyone up and we hit the road. I headed down Nimitz Highway to Lagoon Drive, then followed it all the way to the end — past the UPS and FedEx depots, past the "Aircraft Approach Zone" signs, to the little parking lot jutting out into the lagoon — a few hundred yards from one of Honolulu International Airport's runways.
The long weekend was a big travel day, so the show didn't disappoint. Planes roared down the runway almost nonstop for close to 40 minutes. From shining JAL, Aloha and Hawaiian airliners to huge, ugly military monsters belching thick black smoke. Katie was so thrilled I thought she was going to explode, especially after I got up the nerve to get out of the van and walk with her right up to the fence.
Planes make me very, very nervous. While we stood there, a substantial portion of my brain was tied up with "flee in terror" contingencies, and every time a jumbo jet arced overhead, I put extra effort into being excited so as to best defuse the instinct to yelp like a little puppy.
Witness the things I do to bring a smile to Katie's face.
Jen humored the both of us, relaxing back in the van to an eclectic mix of MP3s. Katie would run back every so often, though, just to inquire, "Mama, see the airplanes?" As if anyone could miss their ground-shaking, deafening roar.
For a brief period, they were sending planes down alternating runways, the one we were watching and the one further inland. Katie watched, then, from inside the van, going from one window to the other and back again. She was in heaven.
Finally it was time to go, and a finally sated Katie relaxed in her car seat (a new car seat, by the way — Northwest lost our original one) for the ride home.
After a brief respite, we headed into Manoa Valley to pick up grandma Ozawa, then out to `Aina Haina to our visit with dad and Gayle.
We all got to know their new dog, Buddy, a manic three-month-old mixed-breed, who joins their elder golden retriever Toffee. Dad and I set up his brand new charcoal grill (which Eathan had apparently assembled somewhat backwards) while Jen and Gayle caught up. Then Katie, grandma Ozawa and I followed dad into the ocean, first to admire the colorful fish darting about in the rocks near shore, then to collect the pipipi (little sea snails) attached stubbornly to the rocks.
It was a priceless image, Katie and her great-grandmother wading about, picking pipipi — a positively trans-generational Hawaiian moment. Katie had no qualms collecting fistfuls of snails, barely patient enough to pause once in a while to watch them slowly open their little sea doors and nervously stick out their slimy grey "foot." Soon a Dixie cup had to be fetched from the kitchen, and in no time, we had about thirty of them living in Dixieland.
For yuks, I gave the cup to Jen to hold. Quickly she realized the little suckers were all trying to make a break for it, and she had to either plink them back down or risk having them making their way up her arm. "Thanks, hon," was her affectionate reply, as Katie ambled up with another fistful of the little darlings.
(They're surprisingly zippy for snails... Frequently told is the story of someone putting a bowl of pipipi in their fridge, only to return hours later to find the little black things made it all over the place before giving up the ghost.)
As the wonder of picking them wore off, dad explained how to prepare the pipipi for maximum deliciousness. Now, I remember eating 'em when I was little, and surely most any time I'm presented with a bowlful of seafood I suck it down without a thought. But Jen, Gayle and I were now reluctant to consider munching on the snails, mostly because we'd become quite comfortable with their being alive.
Dad was a good sport; he just shrugged and dumped them all back into the ocean. In my head I heard a chorus of little voices shouting, "Freedom!"
It was time to eat. Delicious, as always. Gayle prepared some kick-ass monster burgers, and of course we had hot dogs on hand too. The quintessential Memorial Day cookout.
Sadly, soon I had to take Jen to work. Gayle and dad generously entertained Katie while I dropped Jen off. Then I returned
When I got back, Katie was just settling down for a nap. We watched Pearl Harbor documentaries on the History Channel until she woke up. Then, while grandma Ozawa napped, the rest of us hit the pool.
It was great. Katie loved the water, loved watching the dogs, and somewhat tolerated my clumsy attempts to teach her to hold her breath.
As the sun went down, we headed in to shower, then to eat what was left of the afternoon feast. Katie quietly entertained herself with blocks while we watched the evening news (spotting dad's head in the background during the segment on veterans). Soon it was time to go — I took grandma Ozawa home, then Katie and I picked Jen up at Ala Moana. We passed out in a heap together as soon as we got home.
Sunday was our down day. We spent it at mom's, playing, hanging out, doing laundry and taking a quick trip to CostCo. Jen worked again, but in toddlers, so it had its appeal.
Yesterday, the only item on our to-do list was to see "Pearl Harbor."
On our way out to mom's again — as she offered to watch Katie during our outing — we tried to buy advance tickets at Consolidated's huge new 16-screen megaplex at Ward Centre, but the box office hadn't opened yet. When we got out to Mililani, our plans got a little more delayed: mom's tire had blown out the night before, so we first worked to find a tire place open on Memorial Day (Lex Brodie's in Waipahu) and get her there.
When we finally headed back into town, it was almost 2 p.m. My hope was to catch any of the several showings of "Pearl Harbor" before 4 p.m. to get their matinee discount. We found parking no problem, and quickly got tickets to the 3 p.m. show (there was a show almost every 30 minutes). We went in to admire Consolidated's new pride and joy, still only partially built but opened this weekend just to catch the "Pearl Harbor" wave.
Before we even got in line inside the cavernous lobby, though, we knew something was up. There were security people darting everywhere. Cops, too. We then watched as crowds gathered outside the restrooms. I listened in — a water main had broken, and there was no water anywhere in the megaplex. No fountain drinks, and no working toilets.
Jen and I and clearly the theater management sensed pending disaster — the current showings of "Pearl Harbor" would get out soon, spilling hundreds of moviegoers into the lobby... moviegoers who were holding it for three hours. All subsequent showings were canceled, and we got our money refunded. I just saw it as just another odd adventure, but there were certainly many others there that weren't at all amused.
(This story in the Star-Bulletin says the show went on, eventually, but not without some toilet-related mayhem.)
We quickly headed further East to Kahala Mall, and snapped up (full-price) tickets to the first available showing of "Pearl Harbor." At 4:10 p.m. Now we wouldn't be getting out of the movie until after dark... and we had two hours to kill in the mall before getting in.
Thank god for bookstores.
And, finally, we saw "Pearl Harbor."
While I know I could say volumes — Jen and I deconstructed it all the way out to Mililani, and all the way back into town — frankly, a lot of it has been said before.
I have to note that the first thing out of my mouth when the credits rolled was, "My neck hurts." The movie was three hours long, and no matter what anyone else says, I felt every minute. It's a story in three acts, and that's at least one act too many.
A capsule review? Somewhere in there was a decent movie trying to get out.
And even with that I have to tack on a pair of disclaimers. One, I ultimately relaxed on matters of historical accuracy and tried to take the film as pure Hollywood spectacle. And second, I gave scriptwriter Randall Wallace a huge "cheese factor" handicap — either because he was consciously paying tribute to simpler, cornier war movies of days past, or because the publicized rift between him and the producers meant he really knew better.
There were many incredible, unforgettable moments — involving both special effects and deeper emotional impact. But sadly there were many, if not more, unbelievably bad elements too. Even more disappointing, I'm finding the flaws easier to recall than the gems. There was a lot worthwhile in the rightfully heralded attack sequence; if only it didn't have to be bookeneded by empty fluff and puff.
The movie did affect me. How could it not have, focusing as it does on my home, on an event that directly affected my family, in addition to its being a part of larger, shared human history. For that I'm glad I saw it, and I'd grudgingly recommend others see it too. The best reviews — the vast majority of them negative, of course — make a point to position the film as an opportunity to remember and educate. All the hype and excess is worth it to me, honestly, for that simple reason.
I give Bay and Bruckheimer credit for focusing a little on the hospital side of the war story, on the nurses as well as the soldiers. (But it barely makes up for how all the female characters are shallow ninnies the rest of the time.) And as far as the racial issues that most concerned me going in? I have to say, if anything, I actually felt the Japanese were treated almost too well. (At least in terms of depiction — the dialogue and the actors were horribly flat.) For a big-budget Disney extravaganza, there were some genuine, notable surprises.
But honestly.
The whole third act, the Doolittle raid, tacked on for a happy ending? Not only was it misguided in concept, but it failed at even that. (And you could have just as easily killed off one corner of the love triangle during the Pearl Harbor attack.) The controversial voiceover that ends the film, which declares the Doolittle run on Tokyo as the turning point of the war, has meanwhile ticked off quite a few veterans.
And the love story? It's rushed through so quickly, you can't possibly believe these people love each other, and thus care much for them. Sad as it is, you wanted them to get out of the way so the real story could get going. Either there should have been twice as much character development for these kids, or none at all. Of what little chemistry there was, at least, Josh Hartnett easily outclassed Ben Affleck.
Finally, some lines are simply inexcusable. And this excludes the already infamous moments of ridiculous melodrama (i.e., "Whatever will become of us, Danny?" or "I'm not going to make it... I'm... so... c-c-c-cold!" or just about anything Alec Baldwin says).
Like when the heroine tries to explain to boy number one how she fell for boy number two and didn't have a chance to make things right. She wanted too, see, "but then all this happened," she says with a dismissive wave of her hand that somehow summarizes a day of infamy. How dare this massive, violent, deadly tragedy get in the way of her romance!
Or like when Jon Voight as President Roosevelt gruffly remarks, "I like sub commanders. They don't have time for bullshit and neither do I."
Everyone in the theater laughed out loud at that one.
I'm glad I saw it, but I only need to see it once. There's more than enough gripping drama, tragedy, and tales of heroism in Pearl Harbor's real history.
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