RTS 9 'I.Q.' has By SARAH STEWART After a flawless performance in "The Shawshank Redemption," Tim Robbins should be one of the most sought-after actors in Hollywood. With his tall stature and understated attractiveness, he exudes intensity, charm and intelligence even under the torturous conditions ofShawshank a heart but no brain Directed by Fred Schepisi with Tim Robbins and Meg Ryan Catherine Boyd (Meg Ryan), an el- egant mathematician, is engaged to James Morland (Stephen Fry), an anal behavioral psychologist; Ed Walters (Tim Robbins), an auto mechanic, will do anything to get Catherine to fall in love with him, even if it re- quires the brain power of Albert Einstein. Believe it or not, Einstein is Catherine's uncle, and he's as eager as Ed is for Catherine to dump James. It seems that besides having the great- est mind in the world, Uncle Albert also has the greatest heart. And he has his niece all figured out. As he sees it, she lacks confidence in her intellec- tual capabilities and has sacrificed love for intelligence with her engage- ment to James. Ed's the solution to the problem, but it's not that easy. With Einstein and his colleagues as cohorts, Ed plays the part of auto mechanic turned bril- liant amateur physicist to impress Catherine, only to become entangled in a web of lies. As one of the schem- ers says, "Our little experiment has just jumped to a higher energy level." Just when Catherine begins to shift her affections from James to Ed, "I.Q." loses its appeal and continues at a dangerously slow pace. The film is witty and lighthearted throughout, but audiences are not likely to be content with uneventful consistency. Once the conflict is laid out, the rest of the film is a series of dissatisfying en- counters between Catherine and Ed, all of which have Ed eating away at Catherine's heart until she is either forced to succumb to his appeal or walk away. Maybe these encounters would be more effective if Ryan and Robbins were more convincing as a couple magnetically attracted to one another. Both actors' performances are up to their typically high standard, but be- cause Ed's love for Catherine is so instant, "past, present and future all together," the few sparks that do fly seem superficial Ryan is as cute and perky as ever, but we never get a feel for what Robbins' character thinks is so right about Catherine. Einstein's match- maker efforts are even less convinc- ing, as he is so quick to accept Ed and so quick to take on his cause with complete abandon. But without Einstein and Matthau's show-stealing perfor- mance, there would be no "I.Q." Matthau perfectly captures the im- age of Einstein that is ingrained in prison. Robbins' performance in his current film, "I.Q.," takes nothing away from his role in "Shawshank" - he exudes the same fine qualities - but the film itself is mediocre in comparison. To its credit, the beginning of "I.Q." might fool audiences into an- ticipating more than they expected and more than they will get. The sun is shining, the old, 1950's cars are glistening and the film's simple premise seems full of potential: It doesn't take a genius to see that Meg Ryan and Tim Robbins have no on-screen chemistry in "l.Q.," so why is Albert Einstein even trying? Hell, this movie makes love about as interesting as your average physics lecture. our minds. Unruly hair, a bushy mustache and droopy face make for a striking resemblance, and an ab- sent-minded, non-pretentious man- ner give this fictionalized Einstein a personality that is easily perceived 'Half Asleep' is a rare snoozer from Tom Robbins By FLINT WAINESS For those yet to have the pleasure, let me introduce you to Rahsaan Roland Kirk. Along with several other invaluable friends, I met the underappreciated jazz great on a page of a Tom Robbins novel. And so went my summer with Mr. Robbins. Starting from his newest book at the time, and working toward his beginnings as a novelist, I perused novel after Robbins novel. But what began as an interlude into the world of the countercultural Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas Tom Robbins Bantam visionary, philosopher, cynic, oracle - once, he was that artist. Reading a Robbins novel, the frustrated could extract themselves from the jungle they call home. True, Mr. Robbins has somewhat elitist tendencies, but it is an elitism of epiphany. Each philosophy he pre- sents is an illumination, the turning on of a lightbulb in that little head of yours which tells you to free the dogs, engage in sex and drugs to escape into the netherworld of the conscious, strive for immortality, avoid immor- tality at all costs, and a whole slate of other tasty paradoxes. Take, for instance, this delicious morsel served to the reader in the novel, "Jitterbug Perfume:" "Bones are patient. Bones never tire nor do they run away. When you come upon a man who has been dead many years, his bones will still be lying there, in place, content, patiently waiting, but his flesh will have gotten up and left him. Water is like flesh. Water will not stand still. It is always off to somewhere else; restless, talkative, and curious. Even water in a covered jar will disappear in time. Flesh is water. Stones are like bones. Satis- fied. Patient. Dependable. Tell me, then, in order to achieve immortality, should you emulate water or stone? Should you trust your flesh or your bones?" Don't fret, you engineers! This self-selected passage is merely the inquisitive Robbins, often overshad- owed by the brilliant narrator, the storyteller that leaves you always wanting more - Robbins is 20 per- cent thought, 80 percent pure magic. Yet, this is where the fun ends. Tom Robbins's newest novel, "Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas," you see, is a firecracker without a spark. It seems like Robbins, it feels like Robbins, but it just isn't Robbins. From "Another Roadside Attrac- tion" to "Skinny Legs and All," you could not help but love the eclectic band of Robbins protagonists. There was a belly dancer, a washed-up De- ity, a baba ghanouj-loving waitress, a sensual gypsy, a Timothy Leary take- off, a loincloth wearing fan of Roland Kirk. "Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas" brings no such beauties. One can find a young monkey fresh from a career stealing jewels, now obsessed with banana popsicles. But in the end, it is the way Robbins constructs the whole that matters. And here, the whole is hollow. The main characters are shallow, condescending and pretentious. In- stead of taking the reader softly by the hand and playing tour guide, my old friend yanks the reader by his ear and drags him to Conclusion Station. Upon meeting Larry Diamond, starprotago- nist, on page 10, the reader can al- ready guess the conclusion. "He's in tight but frayed jeans, and you notice a gold earring in his left lobe, as well as some sort of tattoo on the back of his hand." Yeah, yeah, yeah, another story about the heroic former banker that transcends materialism to pursue loftier goals of the mind and the flesh. Give me a break. Exhibit #2: Usually, Robbins goes for the poetic and is greeted with a resounding standing ovation. Here, his attempts at fluidity result in something scripted, forced: "Timbuktu. A town made of pastry Instead of taking the reader softly by the hand and playing tour guide, my old friend yanks the reader by his ear and drags him to Conclusion Station. dough and starlight. A mirage you can walk around in - if you can stand the heat. Solitary, sealed and shuttered, it wears a mask beneath a mask behind a veil." The worst aspect, perhaps, of this novel is the underlying conservatism. Briefly but importantly, Robbins delves into the political, and the re- sulting cynicism and victim-blaming observations seem not to be thought through -simple rhetoric, a by-prod- uct of the times. Maybe I expected too much. Somehow I thought selling "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues" to Holly- wood was an aberration. Somehow I thought great wells never run dry. SoI was wrong. Recently, Robbins was in Ann Arbor reading from his new collection. Maybe I simply for- got about his visit, and that it is why I didn't attend. Or maybe my subcon- scious was pleading with me not to. Regardless, I will always remem- ber Robbins for the few gems that he left with us. Anyway, I still have Roland Kirk. as realistic. Matthau succeeds in transforming a potentially absurd and risky character into a surefire way of making "I.Q." stand out amongst the typical romantic com- edy. Various Artists Red Hot On Impulse Stolen Moments GRP Let's say someone loved'60sjazz. Let's say someone loved the new jazz and hip-hop fusion. And then sup- pose that someone had a dream that two compilations would come out - one which brought together great older jazz musicians, and another which brought together some of the best new talents in hip-hop and jazz. OK, wake up: that dream has come true. With the "Red Hot On Impulse" album we begin the name game: Pha- raoh Sanders, Oliver Nelson, Max Roach, Charles Mingus, Archie Shepp, Alice Coltrane and, of course, her husband John Coltrane. Some of the best tracks from the Impulse label are here - Sanders' "The Creator Has A Master Plan", Mingus' "Hora Decubitus" and Roach's "Garvey's Ghost" are some of the ear grabbers. It also includes tracks which are not available anywhere but on the origi- nal wax. All of the tracks are deeply mov- ing and innovative. They represent rebellion, but are rich in tradition and melody. They are experimental but almost immediately appealing. Most of the tracks are introspective and contemplative, offering explanations for the players' and composers' com- plex emotions. There is also a social consciousness which pervades throughout, as reflected by the titles mentioned above. Before you go out and buy that one though, check out what the sec- ond one has in store. Again the names flow, and this time it is not only the names but the match-ups which are important: Donald Byrd (Detroittrum- peter) with Guru (Gang Starr) and Ronny Jordan (new jack British gui- tarist), Digable Planets with Lester Bowie and Wah Wah Watson, Me'Shell NdegdOcello featuring Herbie Hancock, the Roots (a break- through group from Philly) and Roy Ayers (top-notch vibes man), MC Solaar (acclaimed French rapper) and Ron Carter (one of the bumpinest acoustic bassists around), United Fu- ture Organization (Japan's high-pow- ered leader in innovative Acid Jazz), novel turned into a roller coaster ride that left me bitter at commercializa- tion and worried for the future of the American artist. The artist laboriously pieces to- gether a puzzle. He is an observer; he snaps still photographs of the world that surrounds him, and then he orga- nizes the past and the future. Tremendous power is inherit in this ability. Foresight has never been a mainstay of the human condition, so when an individual comes along that can not only open his eyes to the world around him, but can construct a vision from these pictures, that is an individual to be admired. Tom Robbins, author, cult hero, Nonetheless, with all its flaws, even Einstein reincarnated would find it impossible to make "I.Q." as smart as its title might suggest. I.Q. is playing at Briarwood and Showcase. and a bonus CD with Branford Marsalis, Pharaoh Sanders and Alice Coltrane (doing a track which is on the other compilation). As the tracks on the first compila- tion represent some of the best of the '60s, these tracks represent the '90s hip-hop and jazz coalition. The Roots track and the Solaar track demon- strate especially how well the two genres can be integrated. There is mellow and hyped, and most of the songs have poignant messages. Giving the albums a common theme is their purpose - to convey a strong social consciousness which is both anti-establishment and founded in jazz / African traditions. This is no coincidence, as the royalties of the@ albums go to an organization called Red Hot and its "continuing fight against AIDS / HIV." The liner notes point out that a number of jazz artists have died from AIDS. Although HIV has not directly impacted the rap com- munity yet, it is surely a matter of time. The music on both compilations is outstanding. But not only does someone's musical dream come true, these albums do something positive for folks in a very real way. - Dustin Howes Latimer World's Portable World Domination Knock knock. (You say) Who's there? Sonic. (You respond with glee- ful curiosity, the drool now forming' at the corners of your lips) Sonic who? Sonic Youth's elastic coattails, long enough to provide asylum for ad infinitum, ad nauseum slack-rock bands all vying for the mutually inexclusive titles of the New Velvet Underground and the Cloyingly (In)artistic Oh-so-hip, You're-so- closed-minded If You Don't Dig Our Feedback-drenched Sloppy Swirl of Guitar Noise and Off-Key Vocals Artist of the Year. (And if we don't keep our ears alert, and our bodies ready to rumble, people, this may actually become an actual Grammy category for '95 - but who the fuck really cares? The Grammys' preten- sion of one show encapsulating a year of the "best" music as judged by some See RECORDS, Page 9 ONE MEDIUM PIZZA* v yIS YOURS FREE FROM MICHIGAN BOOKANDSUPPLY! 0 BOOK -UPP *minimum purchase required The Young Women's Health Project .. « :: . r..: .: