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You say you want a revolution. Well you know, we all want to change the world.

Saved from the Hunger Games quarter quell by rebels in District 13, Katniss Everdeen (Jennifer Lawrence: X-Men: Days of Future Past) is haunted by violence and death. Plagued by nightmares and guilt that she left her pseudo boyfriend Peeta (Josh Hutcherson: Catching Fire), she wakes every night screaming.
    The rebels don’t have time for Katniss’ mental troubles. They need her to join their revolution as The Mockingjay, a symbol of truth and justice fighting the corrupt Capital.
    Can this Katniss inspire the nation?
    A movie about rebellion and sacrifice but mostly teen angst, Mockingjay is a placeholder with some great performances. The problem with any Part 1 is that we know Part 2 is coming. We know the stakes aren’t very high. It’s not likely Katniss will die or any decisive battle be fought when the studio has another movie to release in a year. You’re paying $15 for a prologue.
    Lawrence does a great job encapsulating Katniss’ pain and mental angst — within the confines of the material and her costars. Like a typical teen, Katniss is obnoxiously focused on her love life. Her obsession with Peeta is understandable — or would be were she not surrounded by suffering. When thousands are slaughtered in the name of the rebellion, it’s hard not to get frustrated at Katniss’ kneejerk worry about her boyfriend’s pain.
    It doesn’t help that Katniss is paired with two of the biggest drips ever to slump their way through a love triangle. As Peeta, Hutcherson is wooden, diminutive and blond. As Gale, Liam Hemsworth (Catching Fire) is wooden, tall and brunette. Both mope over Katniss, both do the right thing when called upon and both pout prettily in every shot. Watching Katniss waffle between these two ninnies in the face of the serious circumstances makes her seem silly.
    Fortunately, the boys are on the periphery. Director Francis Lawrence (Catching Fire) wisely fills the film with more capable actors to help star Jennifer Lawrence sell a setup plot. Philip Seymour Hoffman, Woody Harrelson, Julianne Moore, Jeffery Wright and Elizabeth Banks all show up for five-minute cameos. Each is excellent, but the movie becomes a bit of a clip show, reminding you of characters you liked in previous films.
    Still, Mockingjay is probably essential viewing if you’re planning on watching Part 2.

Fair Action • PG-13 • 123 mins.

Tundra swans return to Chesapeake Country

“The first tundra swans of the season have arrived in Columbia Cove, Shady Side.” Randy Kiser‎ posted the news on Bay Weekly’s Facebook page on Thursday, Dec. 13, documenting their arrival with this photo.
    Two mornings later I saw the snow-white birds at Fairhaven marsh pond, three on Saturday, then eight on Sunday.
    Swanfall is Bay chronicler Tom Horton’s word for this moment in time, coined for his 1991 book with photographer Harp: Journey of the Tundra Swans. “The birds seem almost to drop from the sky,” he writes.
    They do drop upon us, suddenly here. Some time in March, they will leave us. Last year their going was late, after the osprey had made their March 17 arrival. Their going is never quite such a surprise, for they talk about it, gathering flocks barking like dogs for days before the big pick up. They leave from here, familiar after four months feeding and basking in our temperate clime.
    After eight months’ absence, their arrival out of nowhere is always a surprise. Like the snow they come from the frozen north, big white flakes falling from the sky.
    Swansdown, I call it, after the soft white powdery cake flour of the same name.
    Indeed, there’s a lot of air, feathers and down about a swan before you get down to flesh and bone, all eight to 24 pounds of it. Still, they are big birds, four to five feet long with 66-inch wingspans. Unlike ducks, which could, from a distance, be any old mallard or a rare visitor, tundra swans are unmistakable. Size, neck length, and color — even to their all-black bills and feet — give them away. So do their vocalizations, loud calls of hoonk or woo-hoo.
    Not as gainly as snow is the feet-first landing that has them walking splashily on the water for some distance, wings akimbo, before settling into grace. Take off requires effort too, as they run across the water before lifting on powerful whistling wings. From which comes the nickname whistling swan.
    These annual arctic visitors and their gray-scale cygnets need a clean Bay, full of grasses and clams, to make their 4,000-mile trip worthwhile. That’s our job.

After six days pheasant hunting, we were exhausted, wind-burned — and ecstatic

“Congratulations,” my wife, Deborah, said to me over the phone early that morning. “You boys have managed to put yourselves in the coldest spot in the whole country, and that includes Alaska.”
    I was pulling on a pair of thick woolen socks while outside swirling snow was accumulating in the parking lot of our motel. In De Smet, South Dakota, the outside temperature gauge read five degrees above zero as we prepared to go ring-necked pheasant hunting. A stiff 30-mile-per-hour breeze made the wind chill calculation minus 20 degrees.
    A reasonable person would, perhaps, have hesitated, saying to himself, Maybe it would be wise to wait for another day. That kind of good sense is not often found among dedicated bird hunters. Besides, the number of wild pheasants in South Dakota was predicted to be the highest in years.
    The pheasants themselves were hardly inconvenienced by the descending frigid mass of arctic winter air. The ring-neck is a century-old immigrant from Northern China, where it was also no stranger to extreme winter conditions.
    Introduced to America in 1881 by Judge Owen Denny, the U.S. Consul to China, this superb game bird immediately adapted to our continent, especially the agricultural areas and particularly South Dakota, which long ago proclaimed itself the Pheasant Capital of the World.
    As we transferred our dogs into insulated kennels in the beds of two four-wheel-drive vehicles, it was obvious that the pups were not going to be bothered by the cold. Brewster, a four-year-old English cocker spaniel endowed with a delightful personality and boundless energy, was already rolling and frolicking in the parking lot snow drifts as we sorted things out.
    Along with Brewster were six field-experienced springer spaniels — Astrid, Buck, Gino, Penny, Sony and Susie — plus Sandy, a big muscular yellow Labrador whose role it would be to bust through any cover too stout or snow drift too deep for our mid-sized spaniels.
    The 10-day bird-hunting trip had been meticulously planned and put together by Tom Schneider with Meade Rudasill, both Annapolitans, avid wing shooters and springer spaniel fans. They had been making this pilgrimage for ring-necks for 20 years.
    This year they invited me to join the adventure along with their three other companions and gun dog handlers, Kevin Klasing of Mt. Airy and Jim Zimmerman and Tim Wachob, both Pennsylvanians.
    Below-freezing weather had one advantage: Ring-necks, particularly the roosters, yard up or gather in flocks under such conditions. They also seek out the densest cover for protection, usually close to an energy-dense food supply such as corn. If South Dakota has anything in large quantity besides ring-necked pheasants, it is cornfields.
    This year, especially, it had cold as well. That five-degree morning was just the beginning. Within two days, the temperature had fallen to minus 11 and the wind chill to 40 below. But ring-neck hunters are a hardy lot; with proper clothing and mad determination, we managed an exceptional hunt.
    Switching out dogs on a regular basis and selectively hunting only the smaller (about a quarter-mile or less), denser patches of cover kept our energy levels up. We also returned frequently to the trucks for restorative warmth. Almost every day we bagged our limits of roosters (three per gun per day; hens are protected from harvest) though it often took us to closing time (5pm) to get it done.
    We did not keep track of the shells we expended. The ring-neck can quickly attain 65 mph in level flight. Add in a 30 mph tail wind, you’ve got a particularly difficult target to bring to bag. By the end of six days in the field, we were just about out of ammunition, exhausted, wind-burned — and ecstatic.

That’s what all these Odd Fellows are up to

There are worse things to keep bumping into, like the doorframe that bruises your toe. The good works of civic organizations were my run-in. They cornered me at every turn, surrounding me, until I had no alternative. This week’s feature story — Get Involved: Local Civic Groups Help Make the World a Better Place — is the result of those confrontations.
    Lions, Moose and Elks: What are all these Odd Fellows up to? That was my question.
    Odd Fellows really exist; we could find trace but no specifics on one branch of the British fraternal organization in Chesapeake Country. Wish we could tell you more.
    What we do know is that theirs is the kind of name these organizations gave themselves back in their early days, when fellowship and good times were more the point than good works. Hence the Elks — the oldest by our reckoning, dating back to the post-Civil War Reconstruction era — began as the Jolly Corks.
    Kiwanis we were able to trace to a different origin, though the choice of a Native American word remains a mystery. As do the animal names, Lions, Moose and Elks. Certainly those animals are big stately models, with distinguishing male features of antlers or mane. Both elk and moose have North American ranges. How and why those totems were chosen we long to know. If you know, tell us.
    Interesting too is the coincident founding of so many of these civic organizations, just about a century ago. With the exception of the Elks (1868), Knights of Columbus (1882) and Moose (1888), all were founded between 1905 and 1928, with five in the century’s second decade. Put it down, I think, to one more phenomenon rising from the developing American social conscience of those years, the same that gave us conservation, women voters and prohibition, which began as a campaign for family integrity.
    More interesting than the long histories and odd names of these civic organizations are the human hours committed to good works here at home and in the wider world.
    I keep bumping into good works. Here are ­outreaches going on right now, each one needing you to reach its charitable goal:
    • Severn River Lions Club Fruit Sale: Order by Dec. 6 for fresh Florida navel oranges and ruby red grapefruit plus Georgia Elliot pecans. Pickup Saturday Dec. 13 at Severna Park High School (9am-1pm) Order: www.severnriverlions.org/fruit.htm.
    • South Arundel Lions Citrus Sale: Order by Dec. 8 for fresh Florida navel oranges and ruby red grapefruit plus locally made sausage and Virginia sweet potatoes. Pickup Saturday Dec. 20 at K-Mart parking lot, Edgewater. Order: 410-703-3773.
    • Rotary Club of South Anne Arundel County Lights of Kindness: Admire and vote on Christmas trees sponsored and decorated by local businesses and displayed at Homestead Gardens Dec. 4-7. Sponsor a tree to support a charity of your choice: Anthony Clark: 443-822-1606.

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

Hero-worship deflects Jon Stewart’s aim for a great movie

Iranian-born journalist Maziar Bahari (Gael García Bernal: El Ardor) has great hopes for his homeland. Living in Canada and working for Newsweek, Bahari specializes in reporting on Iranian politics. In the week leading up to the country’s 2009 elections, he returns to Tehran optimistic that Mir-Hossein Mousavi will be elected president and usher in a more moderate era. The younger generation shares his hope.
    Their hopes are dashed. Fanatically conservative leader Mahmoud Ahmadinejad is re-elected in a seeming landslide. Iranians take to the streets decrying the election as a fraud and demanding a recount. The government responds with violence, slaughtering protestors.
    Bahari sees it all from behind the camera. Knowing the risk, he gives his footage of the deadly protests to the BBC. The night after the footage leaves the country, Bahari is dragged from his mother’s home and imprisoned.
    Accused of being a spy for the West, he is thrown in solitary confinement where his only human contact is with an interrogator who identifies himself as Rosewater.
    Can Bahari keep his integrity? Or will the government break him as violently as they did the protestors?
    A compelling true tale of one man’s struggle to maintain his sanity under torture, Rosewater scratches at greatness but ultimately settles for mediocrity.
    If you’ve watched a news program in the last 10 years, you won’t be surprised to learn that the repressive Iranian government isn’t a fan of protests or a free press. First-time director Jon Stewart’s choice of graphics adds to the sense that he’s creating an extended news report.
    Stewart also fails to give his subject — hence his lead — much character. Bahari is so unrelentingly saint-like in his persecution that it’s hard to relate to his humanity. Like most saints, Bahari is most interesting when he’s suffering. When he’s free, he’s simply a good guy: He doesn’t judge the political climate, he makes friends wherever he goes, he looks on the bright side, he loves his wife, he chats with friendly ghosts. Add some singing animals, and he’s starring in a Disney movie. His motives are unexamined and his naiveté is improbable. How could Bahari be so shocked by his false imprisonment when his father and sister were held captive for years on trumped up charges?
    Stewart has sacrificed his great movie to hero-worship.

Fair Drama • R • 103 mins.

A fat eel is the best winter bait

I could feel my bait strongly swimming downward next to the bridge piling. Judging its descent at a couple of feet off bottom, I thumbed the reel spool, both to keep it out of any rubble it might dive into and to incite its efforts to escape. It briefly struggled against the increased resistance. That was all that was necessary. Something powerful grabbed the bait then swam away.
    A five-count allowed about 25 feet of line to slip under my thumb. I slowly raised my rod tip, then lowered it to allow a little slack in the line. Hoping the rockfish had the bait well back in its jaws, I dropped the reel into gear and waited for the line to come tight. When it did, I struck back hard.
    My rod bent in a severe arc. I could feel the heavy headshakes of a good fish transmit up the line. Then the striper took off running, headed for the general direction of Baltimore. There was little I could do to stop it.

The Art of Eeling
    More than any other seasonal change, cold alters fishing tactics and baits for stripers. One of the better tempters, especially for large winter-run stripers, is the eel. Called big rockfish candy because the whoppers love them so much, eel is one of the surest bets for seducing a trophy rockfish this time of year.
    The one downside to eeling, as its more dedicated practitioners call it, is handling the slimy devils. Slipperier than a bucket of eels, is an old saying. They are impossible to grasp with a bare hand and a challenge to control if you do manage to get hold of one.
    Fortunately, there are solutions to these problems. Keeping the snakelike creatures restrained in a net bag in your live-well or an aerated bucket will allow you easy access to them. Using gloves or a piece of rough cloth simplifies holding them until you can manage to get them on a hook.
    One of the better alternatives I’ve found is to store them on ice. I use a small lunch-pail-sized cooler with a good layer of ice (or better yet reusable plastic ice blocs) on the bottom covered by a thick wet towel. The snakes become dormant when stored this way and will live for quite some time, days even, if maintained cold and covered by another layer of wet towels.
    They can be easily handled in this passive condition using just a piece of towel or a cloth glove. Once you’ve hooked them up and tossed them in the water, they quickly regain their vigor.
    Put them on your hook in a way rockfish favor. Because rock have very small teeth, they will usually attack a larger bait toward the head to immediately control it. Your hook should be toward the head of the eel, where the fish is likely to strike.
    Sliding the point through the corner of their eye sockets gives the hook a solid purchase. Some anglers prefer to hook them under the chin and out the top of the mouth, particularly if the eels are to be fished weighted on the bottom. Others, especially anglers drifting their eels suspended under release bobbers, hook them lightly under the skin at the back of the head. There is rarely a need to place a second hook farther back on an eel. In fact, using a second hook on this writhing critter will lead to an impossible-to-unravel tangle.
    Once a striper strikes, allow it to swim off with the bait. Give it time, a five-count at minimum, to subdue the prey and work it back in the throat in preparation to swallowing. Use a strong short-shanked hook, at least a size 4/0, that can withstand a good deal of pressure because your chances of hooking a really big rockfish will never be better.

Farewell Fish and Eel
    The rockfish headed toward Baltimore that day probably arrived within not too many minutes. Somehow, during that express-train run, the hook pulled free. I lost the fish, but my hands did not stop shaking for quite a few minutes, and it wasn’t from the cold.

At Thanksgiving, this year’s garden continues giving

This year’s garden was one of my most productive in recent years, despite its late start as I recovered from a fall last November. With help from family members, including grandchildren, the garden was planted in mid-May.
    Even so, we harvested nearly a bushel of onions, which were braided and hung in the garage until recently. This year’s turkey stuffing will contain those garden-grown onions. The Crocket snap bean crop was outstanding, as was the harvest from the yard-long Gita pole bean plants.
    My 14 tomato plants were so productive that in addition to feeding the children and their families, I delivered many half-bushel boxes to the SCAN food pantry at St. James Parish in Lothian.
    I shared my ample okra crop with fellow Ruritans, who also enjoyed harvesting my Gita beans, tomatoes, cucumbers and melons while I vacationed in Maine in late August and early September.
    From six separate plantings of sweet corn, five harvests were better than expected. The last was not ready until early October; its ears were only partially filled and small.
    There were a few disappointments. Cabbage, broccoli and cauliflower were small due to being planted late. My garlic crop was thin because I was unable to keep up with the weeds. Peppers under-produced, too. A granddaughter came to help me transplant, but because I could not convince her to tear the roots of the transplants, the plants never fully established and produced only a few peppers each.
    This late in the year, the garden will bless our Thanksgiving table with fresh as well as frozen and canned vegetables. Fresh from the garden we’ll serve roasted Brussels sprouts, kale chips and raw salad of shredded carrots and kohlrabi — plus peas from the freezer and stewed tomatoes from the canning library.
    Leaves of kale will be spritzed with olive oil and baked at 400 degrees until crisp, approximately 10 to 15 minutes, then sprinkled with onion or garlic powder. This kale is the product of my successful experiment growing in the bales of straw, where both organic and chemical fertilizers did well.
    The Brussels sprouts will be cut in half, brushed with olive oil and baked in a covered dish for 15 minutes at 400 degrees, then baked uncovered for an additional 10 to 15 minutes or until the edges of the cut surface turn light-brown.
    The salad is made by shredding and blending together equal amounts of carrots and kohlrabi to be drizzled with real maple syrup made by my brother in New Hampshire.
    Peas harvested in October were blanched for five minutes in the microwave, chilled and bagged for the freezer. On Thanksgiving Day, they will taste as if they had just been harvested from the garden. We’ll put them in a Corning dish, microwave for five minutes and, as soon as they’re removed, sprinkle with Butter Buds.
    When tomatoes were plentiful in August, I peeled and processed 28 pints, each with a teaspoon of salt. On Thanksgiving Day, several pints of stewed tomatoes will be dumped into a large bowl with two tablespoons of light brown sugar per pint and a generous portion of fresh dill from the garden blended in, then microwaved for only three or four minutes before serving.
    Grow a garden, and you’ll eat this well at Thanksgiving and all year long.

A beautifully staged and wonderfully acted ­communications breakdown

Written in 1980 by Brian Friel and set in a fictional village in agricultural Ireland in the early 1800s, Translations deals with the imperialism of encroaching England, the tradition of language and the refusal to compromise that tradition for communication’s sake. The Masqueraders’ production is beautifully staged and wonderfully acted, which makes a questionable artistic choice all the more unfortunate.
    The setting is a hedge school, in this case a very realistic and near life-sized barn where a local schoolmaster teaches a handful of students the classics in Latin and Greek. Few of the students know the world outside their little village. The alcoholic Hugh, the schoolmaster, drills them like a master sergeant. His son Manus is an assistant of sorts with aspirations to run his own school. Owen, the successful other son, returns as a translator for two English army engineers. Their charge is to map the area and rename the places in a way more friendly to English — thus, bastardizing their traditional names.
    Both Irish and English characters speak their own languages, but the audience hears only English, except in place names.
    As Owen and the English orthographer Lieutenant Yolland work, Yolland falls in love with the Irish land, culture and hedge school student, Maire, who also is the apple of Manus’s eye. Tension rises when Yolland goes missing. When Manus leaves as well, heartbroken, he looks like the guilty party.
    On a search party, English soldiers go on a rampage. Captain Lancey (Jonson Henry) threatens first to shoot all livestock if Yolland is not found within 24 hours, then evict the villagers and destroy their homes if he is not found within 48 hours. Henry enters with humor, but, as does the play, becomes the harbinger of bad things to come.
    Jett Watson as Owen and Josh Goetz as Yolland strike a nice camaraderie as they take the stage. Comedy, marked by Yolland’s constant referral to Owen as Roland, eases into drama as the Englishman takes offense at his own work, figuratively evicting a people from their land by changing generation-old names. Watson is especially effective as he finds himself at the center of not only familial tensions, but political and martial ones as well.
    As Hugh, Leith Daghistani gives us a likeable yet military-like schoolmaster who seems to love his village but is prepared to take over the national school that will come to town and be open to all. Chris Hudson as Manus, Michael Donovan as Jimmy Jack, Bubba Scott as Doalty, Clara Navarro as Sarah, Portia Norkaitis as Maire, Megan Rausch as Bridget all bring the locals to life. They give us humor — this is in places a very funny show — as well as anger.
    A five-piece combo (calling themselves the Dropkick Middies after the well-known Irish rockers Dropkick Murphys) plays very good Irish music before the show and between acts. The set is a marvel, an almost life-sized multi-level barn that also houses Hugh and Manus. Huge, rustic and wooden, looking like it might have been trucked in from South County, this is one of the more beautifully realized sets I’ve seen in any area theater for quite some time.
    So why taint such realism by projecting images of various Irish locations along the back? It’s justified in the program by director Christy Stanlake as giving “a sense of presence to the characters’ homelands” and showing “the profound relationship between the specific lands and their original Irish names.”  Throughout the play, when an Irish locale is pronounced correctly, its image is projected onto the set. When the wrong or Anglicized name is used, the image disappears. It’s a clever idea in theory. In practice, it confuses the audience. Not having read the director’s notes, many thought the images were technical miscues. They are hardly recognizable because the back of the set is uneven wood, exactly like an old barn, not a smooth screen made for showing slides.
    Worse — and this is the inexcusable part — the very good work of this cast of actors must compete with the double distraction of these images popping on and off and also being projected onto the actors’ faces and bodies. When the images are wiped away, we feel relief that we can finally see, unmarked, both the beautiful set and these very talented actors.
    Sometimes less is more, and sometimes an idea that clearly doesn’t work needs to be discarded, regardless of how creative it sounded in theory. The actors, and their audience, deserve better.


Playing thru Nov. 22: FSa 8pm at Mahan Theatre, U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis. No on-yard parking; walk thru Gate 3 with photo ID (16+). $12; rsvp: 410-293-TIXS.

 

Give thanks and get ready

It’s a good thing the winter holidays start with a feast. You’re going to need all your energy to keep up with the oncoming season.
    Thanksgiving, only a week hence, is a command performance throughout America. Anticipation and anxiety pair as we prepare for the communal feasting demanded by our native holiday.
    Have we the time, energy and skill to manage a multi-course menu? Or had we better eat out or carry in? The Bay Weekly family spans the options, with some cooking … others going over the river and through the woods to Grandmother’s house … some dining out … and others carrying out grocery-store feasts of turkey, ham and roast beef — each with its side dishes and desserts.
    Even more complex, can we manage the dynamics of our families?
    Who’s coming to dinner? Ask that innocent question, and you’ll hear stories that make you classify your own family in the ranks of the nearly sane.
    I’ve celebrated a whole lot of Thanksgivings. Most have approached with their fair share of trepidation and doubt. A few lived up to my worst fears. There was the Thanksgiving when … I could tell you that story, but you could tell me your own, just as traumatic.
    Yet I look forward to this year’s feast with hope, encouraged by the wisdom of writer Caiti Sullivan, whose Thanksgivings are far fewer than mine.
    “The food on the Thanksgiving table is a bounty to share while celebrating family, friends and the joys of life,” she writes in this week’s feature story, Loving Your Leftovers. “Preparing the feast is a labor of love among us.”
    That’s just what Thanksgiving is about. What better way there than affirming her words in our hearts?
    As well as a good attitude, Caiti brings us six recipes for transforming Thanksgiving leftovers into a continuing feast.
    Leftovers, after all, are one of the few certainties we who cook the Thanksgiving feast can depend on. With all that’s going on, we can’t be sure the turkey will be moist, the gravy lump-free, the guests timely or Uncle Max sober. But there will be leftovers. To that end, I buy a 20-plus-pound turkey for eight or 10 people, and I collect a tall stack of carryout containers. My family and my guests have read Caiti’s recipes, and we’re all eager to eat them.

Christmas Is Coming
    Then, before you’ve worked your way through the leftovers, begins the countdown toward Christmas. It’s a season worth savoring whatever your faith.
    The fun starts Thursday, Nov. 20, when you can Trot for a Turkey through Watkins Park’s Winter Festival of Lights or walk your dog through Lights on the Bay at Sandy Point State Park.
    In this issue, Bay Weekly keeps you up with the fun in Season’s Bounty: Your Essential Guide to Holiday Happenings. Illuminations, Shops and Sales, Santa Sightings, Holidays at the Theater, Skate Your Way into the Holidays and a day-by-day calendar — plus dozens of advertisers offering wondrous things — stuff its 48 pages with seasonal opportunity for you, the kids, family, friends and visitors. Open it up today and fill your calendar from ours.
    Without Season’s Bounty, you won’t know what you’re missing.

Sandra Olivetti Martin
Editor and publisher; editor@bayweekly.com

Who needs superpowers when you have a robot?

Hiro Hamada (voiced by Ryan Potter: Supah Ninjas) is not a nerd. Sure, he graduated high school at 13, but he bypasses higher education for a more lucrative career in robot battles, where his apparently innocuous bot dismantles the fiercest opponent with ease. When Hiro’s hustle runs afoul of both bot-fighting thugs and the police, his older brother Tadashi (Daniel Henney: Revolution) decides enough is enough.
    Tadashi forces his little brother to visit his college, which Hiro reviles as Nerd School. He is surprised, however, when he meets Tadashi’s fellow nerds. Students are working on amazing projects utilizing lasers, chemicals and robots. Hiro’s hero, robotics innovator Robert Callaghan (James Cromwell: Murder in the First) is the head of the school.
    Inspired, Hiro ditches the bot battles. But just as he wins a slot in the exclusive school, Tadashi dies in a freak accident.
    Overwhelmed with grief, Hiro resumes his old lifestyle. But his pain activates Tadashi’s passion project, a health bot named Baymax (Scott Adsit: St. Vincent) who cannot be deactivated until his patient is satisfied with his care. Hiro wants nothing to do with the bot, but Baymax is unyielding.
    As Hiro bonds with Baymax, he discovers that Tadashi’s death might not have been accidental. Hiro plans to catch the killers by reprogramming Baymax and recruiting Tadashi’s classmates. Using science, they become superheroes.
    A story about love, grief and revenge, Big Hero 6 is a superhero movie for worshipers of brain over brawn. Directors Don Hall (Winnie the Pooh) and Chris Williams (Bolt) give their movie substance as well as spectacle. They spend time cultivating the Hiro/Tadashi relationship, ensuring we feel Hiro’s loss, crushing grief, need for revenge and moral quandaries.
    The brothers’ relationship gives the story its emotional context. Star power comes from the inflatable health bot. Uncomplicated, slow-moving and rotund, Baymax is a robotic Pooh Bear. As voiced by Adsit, he is both childlike and wise, the perfect companion for a grieving boy. When Hiro attempts to change the bot’s basic programming, Baymax reveals that he might be more complex than he seems.
    Big Hero 6 is a kids’ film with big ideas. But it doesn’t always give time to developing them. The plot can feel rushed, and the main mystery is easily solved by anyone over the age of 10. Tadashi’s friends rarely rise above stereotypes (the tough girl, the neat freak, the idiot and the girly-girl), but top-notch voice work gives them personality.
    The story for this animated Disney film is adapted from a Marvel comic book.

Good Animation • PG • 108 mins.