thursday, march 4; 1976
daily nebraskan
pegs 9
QUt to T
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By Diane Wanek
In 1863, Adele Hugo, daughter of the great French
poet Victor Hugo, left her home on the Isle of Guernsey,
where she lived with her father in exile. She left for one
Lt. Pinson, a young English officer with whom she prob
ably had a short affair while he was stationed on Guernsey.
The tale of Adele H.'s journey and obsession with Fin
son is the subject of Francois Truffaut's newest film, The
Story of Adele H., currently playing at the Plaza Theatres.
The film is immediately refreshing and beautiful. Re
freshing because it's the best thing Truffaut has done for a
long time. Truffaut's latest films have lacked the genius
and exuberant flow that brought Truffaut to the fore as a
filmmaker with such films as Jules and Jim, The Wild
Child and The 400 Blows. Not so with Adele H.
hot
Harris holding her own;
Stewart 'steps out' and up
It is brooding and melancholy, but it is magnificent, in
tense and single-minded, like tb film's subje$.
Adele, who wanted desperately to marry Pinson, fol
lows him to his new post in Halifax, Nova Scotia, much to
the dismay of her disapproving father. Pinson was neither
a gigolo nor a rascal, he just was not interested-something
Adele simply could not handle, much less understand.
He is transferred from frozen Halifax to Barbados in
the West Indies, and Adele follows him, endlessly walking
the tropical streets like a' madwoman talking to herself.
Her inability to see the light causes her to create a
fairy tale world for herself in which she is Pin son's wife
and love is her religion. The encoded diary she kept while s
there, only recently deciphered, is the basis for Truffaut's
film. It faithfully records the mad but intense passion of
one woman.
It is a one-character film in the same way that
Truffaut's Wild Child was, and Isabella Adjani as Adele
Country is country; rock is rock; and never the twain
shall meet. True enough once, but, oh, how the times have
been changin',
One of the most dramatic trends in recent musical
memory is the blurring of lines between what once were
separate genres,
Gone is the image of a pompadoured tenor or beehive
haired woman yodeling on the Grand Ole Opry stage
thanks, in part, to renegades like Waylon Jennings, Jerry
Jeff Walker and Willie Nelson.
At the opposite pole, John Denver and Olivia Newton
John have used the country guise to snatch awards in
Nashville and national ceremonies. Two fecent albums
typify this trend in country music-away from a cult
following in Nashville-aiming now toward that nebulous
lump of consumerism known as the mass audience.
Emmylou Umtej Elite hotelReprise.
Emmylou Harris's second, album suffers only when
compared to her first album, Pieces of the Sky, one of
last year's most surprising, welcome success stories. No -single
album in recent memory did so much to give grass
roots country music (no, fans, the Eagles are not country)
such widespread appeal.
This album is highly professional, yet a bit less charm
ing than her first effort. Harris plays it safe here with no
surprises, no boat-rockers. But anyone who can product
such fine music in the name of safety is all right by me.
Harris uses many of the same songwriters who con
tributed to Pieces of the Sky. She gives a haunting rendi
tion of the LennonMcCartney tune "Here, There and
Everywhere." Rodney Crowell contributes "Till I Gain
Control Again" (on which Linda Ronstadt sings back
ground vocals).
. Harris co-authored the first cut, "Amarillo." Let's hope
for more Harris tunes. Both "Amarillo" and "Boulder to
Birmingham"-the only song she wrote for her last release
-were high points on their respective albums.
Her voice isn't that powerful-she isn't as gutsy as, for
example, Linda Ronstadt. But she is fully aware of her
capabilities and makes her limits work for her.
Ballads are definitely Harris's thing-like two heart
clutchers here, both by ex-Burrito Brother Chris Hillman
and Gram Parsons, the former Byrd member whom Harris
credits with teaching her almost everything-musically,
that is-she knows. On "Wheels" and "Sin City," Harris's
t irk uu
Sheldon Art
. Gallery,
12th& RSrs.
AMTOniA:
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Palacae, ptaftfet "ANTONIA, a ewperto documentary about
conduct; Antonia Brkjo, dotoUa the echtevemenfa and the
atruftglM that began for a child who wae Ural taught piano
became ah bit her nalla and eonllnuo for th 73-yoar-old
who now 4 a community orchestra in Denver. ANTON
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enda, at H ahouH, with bravo and applaua." Nora Sayro.
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voice is as pure as. . .well, I won't say the driven snow, but
you get the idea. Her delivery has the fragility of a
trembling whisper.
Gary StewartSteppin ' Out RCA.
Gary Stewart was completely unknown to me before I
heard this album, but he's definitely worth checking out.
The album's ballads are as country as anything Nash
ville can produce. But it is not limited to that. The rockers
are infectious, good fun. Check out, for example,
"Trudy" by Charlie Daniels (who plays fiddle and slide
guitar on this album) and Stewart's own "Flat Natural
Born Good-timin' Man."
For background vocals, Stewart chooses the Jordan
aires, the group, that used to back up Elvis Presley.
Stewart himself sounds like Presley at times, especially on
Danny OTCeefe's "Quits"-his twitching vibrato warbles
at the end of his phrases, like Presley's.
Stewart writes four songs on this album-as strong as
anything put out by such current luminaries as Willie
Nelson, who contributed "I Still Can't Believe You're
Gone" to this collection. (It seems like the Nashville bro
therhood sticks together closely these days). On the basis
of this album, I'd say Gary Stewart's obscurity is about
over. - Deb Gray
i' '
H. lends the role a grace and beauty it needs. She is impec
cable in the role and enters into the incredible depths of
Adele's emotions as though they were her own.
Truffaut used cinematographer Nestor Almendros, who
he has not used since The Wild Ctyild, and the result is
a visual triumph. The richness of color and background,
even the composition of single frames, makes this film
photographically second only to Sven Nykvist's work on
Ingmar Bergman's Cries and Whispers.
All in all, I'm more than happy to say that Truffaut is
once again working up to his potential in Adele H. He has
taken what could have been an overly melodramatic,
milksoppy story and made a profoundly beautiful film
from it.
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