If there's any one place in the business world where the Chicken Little types run rampant but are usually wrong, it's with entertainment and specifically the mediums in which it's delivered. When moviegoing became popular, that was supposed to be the demise of radio, while the advent of TV was certain to kill movies. The VCR arrived with the same grim forecast for theaters (although it's nearly succumbed to DVDs), while CDs were going to kill radio (but did bring about the demise of prerecorded audio cassettes).
Music videos were going to have the same effect on that medium ("Video Killed the Radio Star" was the first such short played on MTV), which has recently been said about paid satellite radio services, while the influx of talk shows and the corporatization of free music stations are yet additional harbingers of doom. One radio format that has been pretty much wiped out, however, is the variety show that once dominated the airwaves and turned their on-air personalities into big stars.
One of the last such performers (if not "the" last one) is Garrison Keillor, who's helmed such a show, "A Prairie Home Companion" -- for the past several decades. Heard by millions of listeners on National Public Radio stations, it's a throwback to the airwave days of old, complete with musical and comedy acts, fake paid commercials read by the on air talent, and a folksy, old-fashioned approach that's pretty much an anomaly in our fast-paced world.
Of course it's already been killed and then resurrected -- by none other than Keillor himself back in the late '80s and early '90s respectively -- and thus perhaps it's not surprising that such subject matter is the thrust of the movie version of it, not surprisingly titled "A Prairie Home Companion."
As penned by the longtime host, it concerns a show very much like the long-running one that's broadcast from the very same venue in St. Paul, Minnesota, but this is going to be the last broadcast as the Fitzgerald Theater is slated for demolition. Accordingly, everyone comes together for the big sendoff, all while Keillor (playing himself) goes about his responsibilities as if this day isn't any different from the rest.
The interesting but far too obvious story approach is that literal and figurative death is all around the show and its cast and crew. The young adult daughter of one of the old-time stars -- Lindsey Lohan delivering a solid performance -- is fixated on writing poems about death. And Virginia Madsen appears as a character named "Dangerous Woman" in the credits, which I suppose is appropriate as she's playing an angel of death who serenely lurks about backstage, presumably there to strike down the show, one or more people associated with it, or both.
While that might sound heavy-handed (it is, at least symbolically) or depressing (it's not), the film is more of a comedy-based throwback to entertainment of old rather than some heady Bergmanesque look at the one of those two "only" things guaranteed in life. And it comes from the hands of Robert Altman, the acclaimed director who's obviously fond of big casts, multiple storylines and mixing them all up together into a cinematic jambalaya.
If there's one thing the film has going for it, it's the terrific ensemble of talented performers who truly seem to be enjoying themselves while feeling a moistening of the eyes and a lump in the throat playing characters doing the swan song thing. Meryl Streep and Lily Tomlin are terrific together as the surviving half of what was once a quartet of singers, while Woody Harrelson and John C. Reilly fit the bill as a singing cowboy act that mixes genre appropriate songs with old-fashioned, ribald humor.
Although the cast's individual moments range from good to great, collectively they don't create a completely satisfying product. Of course, fans of the long-running show might think otherwise, and might not mind the fractured and episodic feel that's been a tradition of sorts for years (Disclosure: Despite being married to a Minnesotan, I've never once heard the program, although I've obviously been aware of it and have seen Keillor's (former?) home in St. Paul.
The problem, however, is two-fold. For starters, I was hoping for and expecting some fun, behind the scenes material regarding the cast and crew (something that Altman has mastered in the past). While there are comedy bits featuring Maya Rudolph as the very pregnant stage manager trying to wrangle the talent and keep the show on schedule, as well as Kevin Kline playing a gumshoe type security manager (and occasional narrator), they never amount to much as a whole.
The bigger issue is that the beauty of such radio programming is that it necessitates the use of one's imagination to picture the singers, comedians and more doing their thing. For the other half of this film, we're just seeing what's essentially a filmed version of a live, variety style radio broadcast. It's certainly not bad (and again, the individual performance bits are fairly entertaining - including one where several performers must ad-lib to fill time), but there's a big difference between imagining it and just seeing the real thing.
Throw in the angel of death subplot (that has an amusing bit about how Madsen's character got that "job" as related to listening to Keillor's show), Kline's character feeling as if he's come from another time and movie (despite playing a recurring character in the real radio show), and Tommy Lee Jones appearing as the corporate axe man there to drive the final stake through the show's heart, and the film ends up feeling like a bunch of set pieces rather than a tightly woven effort.
While that might jive with the radio program's style and structure (and thus will likely appease the fans), it feels a bit too incongruous and disjointed (not to mention somewhat disappointing for fans of Altman's best works) for everyone else. Moderately entertaining but nothing great, "A Prairie Home Companion" rates as a 5 out of 10.
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