Call us late to the game, but we don’t watch much TV other than news. What we do is stream in videos or series that we find, and suddenly we become addicted. And so it was with the FX series, “Rescue Me” starring Denis Leary. Once we began watching this series, we went through the first four seasons in days. While Denis Leary is known for his salty comedic wit, he is also a mesmerizing dramatic actor.

The series “Rescue Me” was designed to portray New York firefighters post 9/11. It brings heartfelt attention to those firefighters and families who lost co-workers and loved ones on 9/11 and the emotional debris with which they struggle in the aftermath. They pull no punches and this is not for the faint of heart. But the excellence of acting within the cast, particularly Denis Leary as firefighter Tommy Gavin, may be some of the finest acting witnessed on TV or any medium for that matter.

What the public may not be aware of are the magnanimous gestures of Denis Leary. Sure, we have seen that biting comedic style, but Leary has a real heart for firemen. His foundation, the Fund For New York’s Bravest distributed over two million dollars to the families of the 343 firemen killed in the 9/11 attacks. He didn’t stop there. In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, Leary donated more than a dozen boats to the New Orleans Fire Department to aid in future disasters and his foundation rebuilt the entire NOLA firehouses.

We already have the 2009 series in our queue and the 2010 episodes began in June of this year. Do yourself a favor and catch this series. It is gritty, sometimes funny and often grips your heart till you think you can’t breathe. Denis Leary is a multi-faceted man. You may love or hate his political statements, but you can never deny his talent or his heart.

—cher

I love the film “Chicago” and sometimes when I want to watch something with superb music and a great cast, this is the film I watch. John C. Reilly’s rendition of “Cellophane” is like old vaudeville with a hint of Charlie Chaplin. Fabulous!

—cher

This voice of this beautiful child, Jackie Evancho from our city of Pittsburgh, is thrilling. She must have a God-given talent. I won’t say anymore. Just watch this astonishing video.

—-cher

I have this recurring dream of one day going to Tuscany and becoming Diane Lane in the 2003 film, “Under The Tuscan Sun.” No, I’m not reviewing the film, but anyone who believes that dreams can come true should see this movie. I have always wanted to go to Italy. Actually, it is more than that. I want to live in Italy long enough to experience the magic of Tuscany. I don’t want to do touristy things, though I know it is considered incumbent upon visitors to foreign countries, let alone Italy, so rich in history, to do just that. Not I, said she. I want to grow grapes; shop in out of the way markets; buy fresh flowers and radiate warmth and happiness as never before.

This is where dreams can take us. They give us the ability to reach beyond the practicality of the here and now. They give us the freedom to believe that magic is possible. Still. I will not read newspapers. I will not own a TV. I will commune with nature, friends and love under the Tuscan sun. I will wrap myself in an Italian skirt with a flowing red silk scarf around my neck, over a silken white blouse, while wearing Italian-made sandals. Music will be everywhere, along with aromas of luscious foods in the comfort of small café’s. And I will learn to speak Italian. I’ve had two years of Latin and two years of Spanish. Somewhere in-between perhaps I can develop enough Italianesque language to communicate. And for those of you who don’t know me, I talk with my hands. I’m so animated that the Italians may want to learn my hand language. We can share and laugh and love.

So what is life without dreams? A whimsical fancy of mine is to one day live in Tuscany. Stop by. I’ll have espresso ready and perhaps you, too, will hear the music under the Tuscan sun as my red silk scarf sails along with me in a breeze sent from the sea.

—cher

So Bluzdude, writer of the blog, Darwinfish2 had an idea. He was coming back home to Pittsburgh from his current residence in Baltimore for the great family event of his parents 50th wedding anniversary. He decided he would gather some Pittsburgh bloggers together for a meet and greet. He called it the Darwinfish Fry; I called it the BluzFest since he orchestrated the whole thing and because I call him Bluz (pronounced “blues”).

The event was held at a little Italian restaurant that has red and white checkered tablecloths and a ladies room that, as Cassie from Sisters From Different Misters will show you, has no stalls. You need to read her story because she is a stand-up comic on the loose! She and her sister Carly write this raucous blog. They really are sisters from different misters and you can’t help loving them for their witty and honest-to-the-bone personalities.

The folks who attended have some of the most creative blog titles, like the three writers of BitchBurgh. Their names are Mindbling, Wormy and Hot Mama! And of course there was Carpetbaggery. The story of Mr. and Mrs. Bagger is fabulous. They moved to Pittsburgh a few years ago, bought an old bar they have been told was at one time a Speakeasy, and renovated it to become their home.  Awesome people!

There were more bloggers in attendance, but I want Bluz to tell the rest of the story. It was his event after all and wow, did he pull this one off! When we entered the restaurant, I only recognized Bluz because of photos he sometimes puts on his blog. But he stood to greet us and all I could think was, “OMG, he’s so tall! That’s why we look up to him, well that and countless other reasons. All I can say is that conversation and laughter flowed all evening. What else would you expect from bloggers? That’s what we do. We talk and tell stories.

It was all over too soon, but I do believe Bluz has plans for another one. You can bet we will look forward to another gathering. Thanks Bluz, for a fabulous evening in which, as you have said, “blogging friends became friends.”

—cher

In the late ‘80’s I was a social worker and did some photography on the side. A friend of mine was a radio talk show host at KDKA in Pittsburgh and had an interview scheduled in-studio with Muhammad Ali. He asked if I would like to be there to be there to take photos for him during the interview. I couldn’t get the word “Yes” out fast enough! My friend invited a cadre of associates who also wanted to be there to meet “The Great One.”

I checked and re-checked my 35mm camera and finally the evening of the interview arrived. The group of friends sat in the green room awaiting the arrival of Ali, swapping stories about him, many of which included Howard Cosell. When security called to say that he had arrived at the station, the host asked if I would go to the lobby to greet him. Me? Sure!

I took the elevator and my heart pounded in descent as much as it rose in anticipation. The doors opened and there he was, the Great Muhammad Ali. I was taken aback by the beauty of his face. Not a mark on it. He was tall and stately looking. I introduced myself to him and to his entourage of black-suited, tie-clad businessmen who had accompanied him. I later learned they were some of his Muslim brothers.

We went to the green room and waited till 9:00p.m. when the interview was scheduled to begin. In the interim, I offered Mr. Ali coffee and we chatted about Pittsburgh. His mind was sharp and his body not yet as debilitated as it would later become. I admit that I was completely star-struck. But it was more than that. His manner was that of a gentleman and had I not seen him and his strength in the boxing ring, nor known of his prowess at the sport, I may have thought him to be a spiritual leader in some high capacity or an astute businessman without a hint of arrogance. He was humble and so unlike the persona who would “float like a butterfly; sting like a bee.”

We entered the studio at 9:00 and I introduced him to the host. Quick exchanges were made and the host, known for his sense of humor, ended up bested by Ali who one-upped him with barbs, as he leaned back in his chair laughing. I sat discretely in a corner of the studio snapping shots as quickly as I could. The interview was raucous with stories and laughter.

After the show, we went into the green room and all eyes were lit with delight as Mr. Ali kindly consented to have me take his photo with each person there. He may have been the most gracious person I have ever met. I have thought of him often in the years since. I wonder if he knows the indelible impression he made that night, not only on me but all who were there. He truly is “The Great One.” May his days be filled with comfort and his heart at peace with the knowledge that he is a good man.

—cher

In one of discussions on BlogCatalog yesterday, someone posed the question about what films they had seen more than any other. I posted two films, then thought more about it and added “What Dreams May Come.” The film stars Robin Williams in a dramatic role. There is definitely that fine line between comedy, which Williams does so well, and drama, where he truly shines. He is reminiscent of Chaplin in that regard. Chaplin could make you laugh just by his cane-swinging walk, or bring you to tears in his silent sadness.

There is a genius within Robin Williams. His stream of consciousness in doing stand-up, particularly in the early years, was surpassed only by Richard Pryor. When Williams is doing a dramatic role, I often wonder what darkness may lie beneath the comedic man he has so often presented to us. To be truly comedic, one may need to have gone into the darkness and found the box labeled  “humor” as a coping mechanism. Whatever it was, I can only say that in the film, “What Dreams May Come,” Williams brought a gentle man to the screen who gave us a glimpse of what heaven may be like and a love so deep that it clutches your heart.

No, I would not call this a “chick flick.” Anyone with a heart would enjoy this film. So put it on your list of rentals and see what dreams may come to you.

—cher

—cher

This is a clip from one of my favorite films, Magnolia. Done in 1999 it remains timeless and I cannot help but watch it at least once a year. The cast includes William H. Macy, Tom Cruise, Philip Seymour Hoffman , Jason Robards, and Julianne Moore. It is about life’s strange coincidences and the culmination of reckoning with life’s twists and turns. The music was compelling, especially the songs by Aimee Mann. So today we take a break from politics and I share this clip with you from Magnolia, with my highest recommendation that you rent it.

—cher

Okay, David Letterman got a few giggles and grins, not only from his audience, but at water coolers in offices around the country for cavorting with several of his female employees over the years. There are those who say that he is still a ‘stand-up’ guy. Great for comedy clubs and his show, I suppose, but what about the impact on women in the workplace? The word ‘objectify’ should come to mind.

The seduction of power over subordinates is toxic in any work environment. Who doesn’t want to be the boss’s favorite? Speaking to women, I can only ask: Have you really come a long way, Baby? We, the mothers who raised you after hard-fought battles for equality and women’s rights, are sickened by the set-backs. And men, don’t for a moment think this cannot happen to you. Both women and men are hit on by their bosses. Do I sense a need for a new “Just Say No” campaign?

There are predators in the workplace. That power thing doesn’t just work on promoting people due to their merit as conscientious employees. Too often it works on promotions due to the merit of more sub-rosa abilities. It is the fusion of ego and libido, a molotov cocktail exploding in the face of exploitation. It goes something like this: You too can have your law degree paid for or go up the rungs of the career ladder faster if only…well, you get the idea.

I am not laughing, Letterman. Your apologies were a quick and well-planned strategy to ward off a blackmailer and to put a spin on the fix you’re in. It looked more like testosterone-filled self-aggrandizement. You are an over the hill clown who got some jollies by announcing publicly that you had sex-for-power fun while further exacerbating problems within the workforce. And there is that little matter of your wife. Was she impressed?

Those superiors to whom we must report have an obligation to employees to set the proper tone of conduct within a work environment. Get a grip Letterman. Oh no, not that way, I was talking about your character. And for heaven’s sake get a decent haircut.

—cher

Step up to the lemonade stand, ladies and gents. Take a swig that will pucker your cheeks and have you asking for more sugar. I would offer you a glass of water, but I’m terribly afraid there is something in it causing rather bad behavior this week. I only hope it is not indicative of viral attitudes.

We talked about Representative Joe no-decorum Wilson recently. Yesterday he was formally admonished, and though his son now rants that Joe is no racist, I have my doubts.  Much to my chagrin, Joe is becoming something of a cult hero. He has unearthed the uglies which simmer ever so slightly beneath the surface in some Americans who cannot abide a Black man as President. There, I’ve said it. Let’s out these beasts for what they are and have done with it. Joe Wilson did a bad, bad thing.

Tennis, anyone? The lovely and skilled Serena Williams lost her temper at the U.S. Womens Open and unleashed her potty mouth at the line judge. She lost her composure, lost her cool and lost the match. It may have cost her more than the match, actually. Sponsors don’t like potty mouths. But she did apologize and guess who was in the announcer’s booth staying relatively quiet? Why, it was John McEnroe who set the standard for unleashing fouls on the court. Serena apologized but she did a bad, bad thing.

Kanye, Kanye. I watched Kanye West on Jay Leno’s show Monday night. Kanye was close to tears when Leno asked him what his mother would have thought of his behavior at the MTV Awards show. Kanye apologized to Taylor Swift after stealing her spotlight moment and raving about Beyonce’s video. Beyonce’ showed grace by taking Taylor Swift on stage with her when she received her own award. But Kanye, you too did a bad, bad thing.

I may have a swig of that lemonade myself. Apologies all over the place this week, some totally ineffectual. Some outbursts can be forgiven. But I ask myself who are the people most impacted by this errant behavior? Aside from Joe Wilson, our kids are enamored of music stars and sports figures. I never bought into that line from the film Love Story which said “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” If you slink into bad behavior, you better say you’re sorry, love or no love. More than that, just don’t get yourself into that predicament.  Show some R-E-S-P-E-CT. Thank you Aretha. Now let’s have another swig at the lemonade stand ’cause I need to close this thing down.

—cher

I’d like to start out with a word of warning to those of you who have not read Stephen King‘s “Dark Tower” series of books, but plan on doing so.  Don’t read any more of this post, since  some of the things I’m going to discuss will give away major elements of the plot.

Before I began the somewhat monumental task of tackling the 4,500 pages contained in the Dark Tower series, I had read a number of Stephen King’s other books.  Among them were Hearts in Atlantis, Insomnia, Salem’s Lot, and (of course) The Stand.  In some ways each of these books , although riveting, left me with a feeling of frustration; as if too many pivotal questions went left unanswered.  For example, in Hearts of Atlantis, King introduces us to Ted Braudigan, who is mysteriously kidnapped by “the low men” who work for The Crimson King.   The purpose of these mysterious figures is never explained.  In Insomnia, King introduces the character of a young boy named Patrick Danville, who is destined to change the course of history.  Again, references are made to the Dark Tower and the Crimson King.  Once again, the book ends with the reader left to wonder just what Patrick Danville was destined to save, and who in the world is this Crimson King.  Finally, in “The Stand” King introduces us to the evil figure of Randal Flagg, who is a satanic figure out to subjugate a post-apocalyptic world.  In the end, Flagg proves to be indestructible, but the reader is still left to wonder where he came from and what comes next.

Fortunately for many of us (somewhat) frustrated Stephen King readers, the author tied together in the “Dark Tower” series many of the loose ends he left dangling in at least five of his earlier works.  Ted Braudigan turns out to be a man with extraordinarily powerful psychic powers, taken prisoner by the evil Crimson King and used to destroy the very fabric that holds the universe together.  Patrick Danville, also with powerful psychic powers, finds his destiny by being the only one capable of killing the Crimson King, and saving the fate of the universe.  Lastly, the evil and somewhat indestructible Randal Flagg is identified as an age-old antagonist, who has lived in many worlds under many different names.  He always represented the face of universal evil.  In the end, of course, Flagg is destroyed by the son the very same Crimson King he has paid homage to throughout time.

In the end of the Dark Tower series,  King provides the reader with a  surprise ending  (of course).  Although finally climbing to the top of the Dark Tower, the great heroic/tragic figure of Roland of Gilliad finds he is stuck in an endless cycle of  repeating history. 

I’m sure I will continue reading Stephen King’s novels in future, but I’m not so sure I’ll ever find anything as compelling as the Dark Tower.  I would, however, like to hear if any of our readers feel the same way.

—rich

Yesterday we were touched by the deaths of two American celebrities, Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett. It seems that sometimes we build people up just so we can tear them down. But in the end, they go Home for final judgement, and we are left with two vacancies on earth which will not soon be filled.

I actually cried yesterday when I learned of Michael’s death. My emotional reaction surprised me. But no matter what accusations were ascribed to him, I always found Michael to be a tragic and lonely figure. He was iconic in his talent, which I contend was God-given to make up for the sadness which dwelled within him.

Michael spoke at various times about the abuse he suffered during his youth. He was the ‘golden boy’ who would bring the family fame, fortune and infamy. If one has not been through childhood abuse, it is difficult to empathize with the scars that only deepen over time and cut into the fabric of person-hood. I am not going to play arm-chair psychologist, and certainly there will be many days and years of examining his life.

I do know that he was a talent extraordinaire and influenced all musicians after his breakaway entrance into the musical domain. Michael said in one of the interviews I saw last night that if you really want to know who he is, you should listen to the song he wrote entitled “Childhood.” I listened to it this morning with tears, and put it on our video page. Rest easy dear child, for God is much more forgiving than we mortals. You will be deeply missed.

The death of Farrah Fawcett was eclipsed by Michael’s death but is very sad, nonetheless. I had watched her television special which chronicled much of her struggle with cancer, the Grim Reaper’s wretched weapon. Farrah was valiant in her struggle and an inspiration of grace through suffering. Her physical beauty was matched by her inner spirit. Can such beauty ever be replaced?

Our prayers are with the families of both Michael and Farrah. May they rest in the arms of God who called them to “come home…you who are weary, come home.”

Years ago PBS did a reality TV show called An American Family. It aired in 1973 for twelve episodes and was probably the forerunner of television reality shows. In 2002 TV Guide listed it as one of the 50 greatest TV shows of all time. I remember watching it and saw this lovely in-tact family of Bill and Pat Loud from California fall apart during the filming. Pat filed for divorce during one of the final episodes.

Fast forward to today. We have a plethora of reality TV shows and we watch some of them with voyeuristic pleasure. I have never watched an episode of Jon and Kate and resolve not to do so. I guess there is now a cliff-hanger with the country tuning in for the next episode to see whether or not this couple with eight—–eight—–children will divorce.

You cannot go to a supermarket or drug store without seeing photos of them on every rag magazine in the racks. I turn my head because they make me ill. Maybe they made too much money and lost their grip on what reality truly is. Perhaps they bargained with the devil and used these children as pawns in the trade-off. I protest. You should too. Do not watch this and limit their funds. They are not my charity of choice.

I just hope that someone intervenes and sets up a trust fund for the eight children so the parents get not a single cent. I suppose Octomom will be next. If I see her face on the tube I will find that BB gun hidden in the basement and shoot the TV. Greed, avarice, egomania, and exploitation of children through self-promotion are not on my list for donantions. Protest, I say! There are better things to do with your valuable time and money.

Well, Susan came in second on Britain’s Got Talent but she is fabulous, talented and endearing. The Cinderella girl won our hearts and let her amazing singing ability become recognized by the world. That took great courage for a gal who has never even been kissed. Susan taught us all a lesson in grace and the ability to smile.

From her vamping hip-swish to her bedazzling smile, somehow you knew there were moments when she must have been nervous, if not frightened by all the media attention. She seemed to do what many of us cannot muster under such stress. She smiled. With that smile she captivated the world and it became her triumph in living.

In an odd way she reminds me of Charlie Chaplin, the man who could make us laugh or make us cry with the most simple of gestures. There are those fine lines between comedy and tragedy, fight or flight, and hiding or seeking. Chaplin represented all that is wonderful about the light of a soul coming through and reaching beyond a stage to impact an audience. Susan Boyle has that same stellar quality.

Charlie Chaplin wrote the song “Smile.” our video page. Susan, you made us smile and taught us a lesson in the grace of a fine woman. We wish you much success and many more smiles.

We all have them, those nonsensical things that we enjoy. Guilty pleasures, they are. You might be as astounded as I am that I like the Discovery series “Deadliest Catch.” This is the TV program about crab fishermen in Alaska and their frigid, wet, and icy expeditions. I hate the cold, though I do love king crab legs. Why I like this show is beyond me, but I’m fascinated. The pitch of the ships. The roar of superior nature.

Another guilty pleasure of mine is during a sleepless night, I may meander into the kitchen, get a tablespoon of peanut butter but only one, mind you. I hold it over the sink and drizzle Hershey’s chocolate syrup over it, letting some drip into the sink. Fewer calories that way. Yes, I am guilty of sweet delights.

I also take resounding pleasure in watching James Carville lambaste the Republicans as though he has them on a spit. Then I ponder how he and his very conservative and Republican wife, Mary Matalin, get along and what their dinner conversations must be.

That is just part of my list of guilty pleasures. Freudian? Some perhaps. But isn’t it interesting, the dichotomies in us?

Kahlil Gibran wrote, “Beauty is not in the face; beauty is a light in the heart.” I like that thought. In the last several decades, physical beauty has been defined in our society by cookie-cutter images to which many women and a lot of men aspire. Weight must be slim-to-thin and muscles must be defined. A nose must be just so and wrinkles must be hidden, lifted off the face so that traces of paths taken and the shadows created by them are lost. All in the name of pleasing whom?

I was a bit dis-heartened to learn that Susan Boyle, who captured our hearts with her muzzy hair and gifted vocals, has had her eyebrows waxed, has a new hair style and no more frumpy clothes. I don’t know about you, but I think one of the reasons we were all so captivated by her was that we like to cheer for the underdog. We wanted her to remain untouched by the glam factor and show the world the purity of beauty. Her quick smile, her vamping hip-swish and total confidence in her ability to sing her heart out was absolutely refreshing. As Gibran wrote, her ‘beauty was a light in the heart.’ How sweet if that were to remain unfettered.

Beyond physical appearances, there are numerous instances of beauty to behold. Finding good art is a thrill for me. The creative energy and the subtle use of lines, colors and forms are inspiring, like whispers from God. There is a blog listed on this site which I find compelling. Visit Beltran Studios and let the art speak to you. It is almost a daily fix for me.

Beauty is also seeing a couple who has been together for years, who can finish each other’s sentences while still holding hands, and blending into a unique flavor of One. Beauty is a child reaching for the safety and assurance of your hand. Beauty is nature and the way it nutures our existence. Beauty is reaching out to help someone when your own soul is almost depleted.

Perhaps Helen Keller said it best. “The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart.”

If you haven’t already seen the clip from “Britain’s Got Talent” show featuring competing singer Susan Boyle, do yourself a favor a check it out on You Tube. This woman who describes herself as looking like a “garage” and stated that she has never been kissed, was like Cinderella at the Ball. I have watched this clip several times and each time my eyes filled with tears.

Susan Boyle is not a beauty in the sense we generically ascribed to that term. But she possessed a self-assurance about her singing ability and at age 47 took a chance at being noticed or ridiculed. Once she began singing, her beauty of spirit emerged through her compelling version of “I Dreamed a Dream” from Les Miserables. The audience was on its feet and many were drop-jawed, stunned and tearful. It was her moment, and it is the moments in life that truly count. My hope is that she has countless more.

Susan Boyle taught us more in those few minutes than many of us learn in a lifetime. She dreamed her dream and sang of it. She is not a size two or four. Her hair was not a coiffure of contemporary style. She did not seek recognition for trend-setting. Instead she emerged as a woman who was truly given a gift with her voice and now the world knows that she is beautiful. Her inner beauty shook the rafters and no one will forget her soon.

I love watching Celebrity Apprentice. There is some vicarious pleasure in seeing these stars under Trump’s slathering gun. The back-biting, the heated exchanges, and the qualities in those who emerge redemptive, make for interesting side-line viewing. Mental football for non-athletes. Last night one of the stars, Brande Roderick who is a former Playboy Playmate, searched for gowns and models for a stint showcasing jewelry. Her first imperative was that she needed models who wear a size two or four. That’s where I gulped. I work really hard to stay in a size 8/10 and wonder how these women diet to this size. What message are we women sending to each other? We see it everywhere, in advertising, in actresses, models, magazines and in high schools where girls think anorexia is the norm. It is a dangerous precedent with some disastrous results.

First, is this what men really want? Stick figures with built-in boobs? It seems a bit like the Stepford wives to me, but I am not sure how men really feel about this. Are they the driving force or are we? If this is indicative of how far women have advanced their causes, it is a sad commentary on our self-loathing and a real setback. Ask a man, preferably one with who is not your significant other since the answer may be patronizing, what they like about women’s bodies. My instinct tells me that they prefer real and umphy over sticks, bones and silicone. That would then make us the driving force.

One of the very real dangers here is that we are, in a subliminal way, sending messages to our daughters that skinny, not healthy slim, is an image to which they should strive. Many become bulimic, anorexic or drug-addicted to attain this. Some die in the effort. Oh, we can say that the “medium is the message” and blame it on the magazines, but who buys them? Women, that’s who. I am aware that some women become bulimic due to sexual abuse as children. That is a different issue which also warrants attention. This particular issue is one we must address—and now.

We need to teach our daughters and help our friends to be self-accepting. We cannot air-brush our egos in order to be something unnatural. As women we still have a long way to go. I am a believer in proper nutrition and exercise. But ya know, sometimes I look at these size two’s and four’s and find a bit of envy. Maybe I could look like that. Well, no I couldn’t unless I found starvation and/or drugs appealing. Buckle up, ladies. We have some work to do.

Revisiting a favorite film is like seeing an old friend. You are reminded of why you liked this film so much and happy for the opportunity to see it again. So it is with the film “Inside Moves.” Though it was done in 1980 it has not lost its appeal nor its ability to reach into your heart to draw a myriad of emotions.

The film stars John Savage as Rory, who made a failed suicide attempt and finds himself in the midst of friends who become family upon his recovery. Much of the film takes place in Max’s neighborhood bar. It is Cheers for the “crippled,” a term they use in the film. Each person in the bar has a disability, but they gain strength and insight from one another and force us to look at our own flaws. We all have them. Some are just not visible.

In watching “Inside Moves” your emotions range from sadness, to happiness, to shock and finally to a breath of redemption. It does not have special effects, gratuitous sex or violence. What it does have is great character development and a storyline that is compelling. It shows the undeniable warmth of true friendship and the acceptance of those we love on an unconditional basis.

I have often thought that John Savage was a highly under-rated actor. His character of Rory in this film is done with acting aplomb and part of you wishes you actually knew this character. David Morse plays his best friend Jerry, and you hear Savage calling to him in a cheering voice as he says, “Jerr—rry!” At times it is an unrequited friendship and your heart aches. Other times the friendship is a destiny fulfilled and you are gratified—for awhile.

Diana Scarwid’s performance as Louise, Rory’s girlfriend, earned her an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actress. It was a well-deserved nomination, but I probably would have  nominated the entire cast, simply because I fell in love with the characters. Good thing I’m not part of the process.

If you are searching for a quality film which offers only depth perception in reality, this film will not disappoint.