Last in Line

Don't mess with people's Lincoln.

Arriving at the god-forsaken Short Pump multiplex, we found a line snaking outside into the cold night air.

We dutifully joined it, becoming part of the throng clamoring to see "Lincoln" with its cast of locals (Matt! Brandon! Thomas!) and Richmond locales.

Fifteen minutes in line and we got the bad news. A manager came out and with a sweep of his hand informed us that we would not be getting into the theater tonight.

Naturally, I ignored him and stayed in line hoping his guestimation of theater capacity was off somewhat.

Once we made it inside (and past the security guard checking for weapons and recording devices), we continued to inch forward.

Once we got within reach of the door to the theater, a manager stepped forward and cut off the line.

We were the last two people admitted.

Let's just say the foursome behind us was none too pleased.

Our late admittance meant we had front row seats, so Abe and Mary were all up in our grill, but it was a small price to pay.

Truth be told, I enjoyed the movie more than I had anticipated.

Sure, that was partly my interest in scanning for familiar faces and locations, but also the story of the man rather than just the historic events, captured me.

As played by a magnificent Daniel Day Lewis, Lincoln was a wholly compelling and complex man led by his conscience even when doing so risked his personal popularity.

Often, his humor made me laugh out loud, even when delivered so quietly and nonchalantly.

"You think the word won't get around in Washington?" he asks of a cabinet member.

The pacing of the film was slow and deliberate in that way that used to be standard for movie-making before our collective attention spans required endless quick cuts and short takes.

While my companion found it a bit tedious, I appreciated the time Spielberg allowed for characters to react and scenes to unfold.

In fact, I'd go so far as to compare Spielberg's intent in making "Lincoln" to that of Aaron Copland's "Lincoln Portrait."

I think Spielberg, like Copland, intended this movie to serve as his lasting tribute to a great man, incorporating various elements of who he was for the ages.

Like "Portrait," the film used Lincoln's actual words (speeches, letters) as well as period music and details to evoke a unique personality determined to pass the thirteenth amendment.

But the essence of the man was there, too - the endless storytelling to illustrate an example, the patience with his unstable wife Mary, the humor and humanity he never lost.

Needless to say, the audience was a devoted one, even cheering at the credits and many lingering until the last one rolled.

Personally, I make a point to see so few big-budget Hollywood movies, but this one was worth breaking my rule for.

Leaving the 19th century behind, we made a beeline back to the city so I could breathe again and to Balliceaux for music.

If it's Monday, it must be RVA Big Band and I felt right at home when I walked into a Marcus Tenney sax solo to greet me.

There were some changes in the lineup tonight, significantly, Bryan Hooten on trombone for the first time with these guys.

From my original perch on the stairs, I moved to the bar for the next couple of songs before taking a seat on the back banquette.

Three vantage points, three different ways to hear and experience the music. All good.

After being promised by the bandleader, "We're going to take a break, exactly ten minutes and we'll be back," a break of 20 minutes followed.

When they returned, the first song began with a baritone sax, always played by the only female member of the band, and she was wailing hard to the delight of the guys in the band.

In fact, Marcus Tenney, sitting next to her, was clearly so impressed that he pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of her playing from a foot away.

He put down his phone and picked up his sax as the rest of the band joined her before coming back around to a second sax solo and the musicians hootin' and hollerin' their approval as she wound down.

Another song began with the deep notes of the upright bass to which finger snapping was added and eventually a musician opened his PBR on the off beat just to be clever.

This time, Hooten had a solo and Tenney turned around in his chair to shoot him, too.

Finally, it was that unfortunate time.

"We've got one more song," the bandleader announced. "We're going to have 15 soloists on this one!"

From the ranks I heard another musician say, "Oh, man, we had 14 on that last one."

And so what? It's the collaborative nature of the RVA Big Band that makes it such a compelling draw week after week.

Some weeks, the music selections are far more traditional and others you get some way-out choices that show how jazz was developing.

But you always get superb musicianship and 16 or 17 guys making beautiful noise in Balliceaux's back room.

It wasn't quite Copland, but it sure was swingin'.

To paraphrase Mr. Lincoln, "I don't know how word hasn't gotten around in Richmond."