IN THE EARLY DAYS of this blog seven or eight years ago, I noted the rising trend of films  about women, directed by women, and likely featuring strong women as protagonists or antagonists as the case may be. The trend has strengthened with the many new series out now.   Dune: Prophecy   IF YOU ARE PREDISPOSED to watch fantasy or Sci-Fi and already know of the Dune franchise, you should enjoy Dune: Prophecy, a prequel by ten-thousand years of the  two earlier segments. In the Dune universe of the first two, there is a powerful group of mystical robed and hooded women who have supernatural powers. These are the Bene Gesserit and while they at first  hint at  something akin to the witches of

[Author’s Note: I wrote this a little over two years ago.  Dec 14th, 2024 (today) will be the two-year anniversary of her passing.] In Memory of Mary Helen Duren Hecht In the earliest memory I have of you, I woke to the music of your voice; my eyes opened on your smiling face. A young mother, you roused me from sleep with the softest, sweetest lilt you could produce. You knew how children’s dreams, their souls still bright, are visited by cherubs—in whose presence there can be no fear or need. You eased the harsh stir from soft bliss to garish day. And so, as a child, my heavenly dreams ended gently, and earthly days began with your smile and the music of your heart.

She is Winter      by William Hecht Deep December night and she is spent. She is consumed–like the fields after a greedy harvest. She slumbers—as does the world. Only her essence is sentient, aware. It is a spell: cast in the light of the great moon, it will break with the first rays of the equinox sun. Her hair is black. It is a wave of boreal night that flowed through the glass, swept down her  cheek, and spilled on a pale shoulder.  Things made of night are smooth–and softer by far than anything made from day. She dreams—as does the world–of light and warmth, of aromas and twitching roots, the launch of dancing sprouts: calls to life. If I could dream with her, I would

[Author’s note: I wrote this over twenty-five years ago. It remains a favorite bit of writing–especially this time of year. Readers who wish to may share it for non-profit purposes with due attribution. ]   Dear Friend  (How Many Blessings Can You See in This Picture?) By William Hecht   Though I never suspected it (and usually don’t), I had been blessed when Paul asked me if I might join him on Christmas Eve. He intended to call the Salvation Army or Goodwill Industries and offer to help serve dinner that night to the needy and homeless. I told him that I had no other plans and would be glad to join him. That Paul would initiate such a plan was not the surprise that it

  AT THE AGE of 22, my life path was given a shake when a roommate spontaneously recited a few poignant passages of a book he was reading. The title was The Day on Fire and the author, James Ramsey Ullman, had fictionalized the life of a great poet. Arthur Rimbaud was the enfant terrible of French Poetry; he was only 17 when he arrived in Paris, and by the time he turned 21 he had shocked the literary world.  He shocked my world, too. He wrote things powered by vision and imagination–and their impact was not overly weakened by filter of translation: As soon as the idea of the Deluge had subsided, a hare stopped in the clover amid the swaying bluebells, and said

    [Author’s Note: I wrote this eleven or twelve years ago, before I moved back from the Southwest. Every time it snows during the night, I am reminded of this piece.]   I AM IN THE NORTH for a family visit. My elderly parents manage their simple life with a grace that humbles me. They could be threatened by the simplest acts. My minor setbacks would be their calamities: a fall, the flu, a minor accident driving to the store. Today they were mirthful and sweet and I could not decide if they were revisiting childhood or auditioning to become angels. Last month, I watched the movie “Amour,” an intense look at a couple managing change after half a century of life together (they

  [This is a seasonal piece from Unit Three Writings] MY SEASON APPROACHES and with it arrive my best prospects for redemption. I refer to September, both as the ninth month and as a stage of Life–the ripeness of being that precedes the bitter cold. I refer to the September I was born to and those sweet, sad days that invite surrender to Melancholy’s caress. This belief takes shape in me only now, at fifty. It formed in increments by way of three separate and eclectic experiences. The first came while I was away at college, that blissful period when my future was indiminishable by doubt or skepticism, and a writing pad stuck out of my back pocket that I might recognize and record rare

[Note: This material is for educational and entertainment purposes only. It does not recommend investments of any kind. Use a professional and licensed advisor or broker when making investment decisions]   In the last few days, I have read articles on marketwatch.com, a Wall Street Journal site, that have done well to explain why stocks are where they are. We are into uncharted territory again–well it can’t be “again” and “uncharted territory” at the same time, but it’s new so perhaps “everything old is new again.”In order to make sense of the current market environment, I have to reflect back on the environment of the Tech Bubble in 2000. I was working a trade desk and right in the middle of the mania—the insanity of

True Detective Season Four: Night Country  I haven’t watched Jody Foster in a movie or series since perhaps Safe Room and certainly before that in Silence of the Lambs.As part of the True Detective series, this time the story is set in a remote part of Alaska where it’s dark for an entire month during winter. It’s also in a small coastal town where many of the townsfolk represent First Peoples. When mystery and mayhem visit a group of researchers who sequester themselves in a nearby compound, Foster plays local law enforcement, and compares notes on the case with a native American woman, a state trooper.At first, this  one reminded me strongly of Dark Winds, a series I reviewed that took place on reservation  land

I haven’t seen all of the nominated films–there are too many (ten) nominated films this year anyway. But I can talk about what I have seen. The Holdovers This one could also have been titled “The Throwback” in the sense that it’s an old-fashioned dramatic film: no CGI, no crazy special effects, no aliens, ghosts, monsters or supernatural beings, etc. It’s simply about a handful of people who encounter one another more acutely because they’re tossed together almost randomly like “leftovers “ that result in a surprisingly good goulash.  Like most good films, it’s unpredictable but credible. As a teacher, I was a little more engaged, perhaps, because the setting is the holiday break at a New England boarding school where the main character (Paul