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Saturdays with Hitchcock

  • Livre Relié
  • 272 Nombre de pages
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Twelve-year-old movie-loving Maisie is in need of a distraction from her current romantic dilemma when her Uncle Walt comes to sta... Lire la suite
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Twelve-year-old movie-loving Maisie is in need of a distraction from her current romantic dilemma when her Uncle Walt comes to stay with her family after being hurt on the set of the movie he's filming in Hollywood. Maisie's best friend, Cyrus, has been hanging out a lot with Gary Hackett, whose last-name sounds to Maisie like a cat barfing up a hairball. When it seems as if Hackett might like Maisie romantically, she's none too pleased, and Cyrus is even less impressed. Uncle Walt has a way of pointing Maisie in the right direction, and Maisie's love of movies also keeps her centered. Heading to the local independent theater on Saturdays to see old movies helps Maisie stay grounded as she struggles with growing up, family tensions, a grandma who seems to be losing her memory, and a love triangle she never expected.

Twelve-year-old film buff Maisie's weekly routine of seeing movies with her friend Cyrus is disrupted when Gary joins in. Maisie may not feel ready for dating or anything like it, but Gary has an evident crush on her, Cyrus has a secret crush on Gary, and suddenly everything's complicated. Meanwhile, her grandmother is showing signs of dementia, and her sympathetic but flighty uncle is staying with the family while he recovers from an injury—all of which fuels conflicts about family duty. Distinctive characterization is a significant strength here, and Maisie's response to Cyrus's coming-out is all her own—she's upset at first not for conventional reasons but because of her fear of change and maybe, just maybe, because of her own feelings for Gary. A late-in-life romance for Grandma makes the family story line lighter than it otherwise might be, but the novel acknowledges that, like the many films it references, its story ends at "a good stopping point," which doesn't mean everything's perfect. Tweens who are wondering what their relationships, and their romantic relationships, will look like as they grow up should find plenty to think about in this honest novel.
The Horn Book

Twelve-year-old Maisie loves seeing old movies at the local theater with her best friend Cy, and she worships her Uncle Walt, who is in Hollywood trying to make it as an actor. When Walt injures himself on set and comes to stay with Maisie’s family, she’s overjoyed to have him visit. Less excited is Maisie’s mother, who feels that Walt has abandoned his family responsibilities, especially after Maisie’s grandmother starts displaying signs of memory loss. Worried about her grandmother, Maisie is also grappling with the fact that Gary, a classmate with a crush on her, has started horning in on her time with Cy. When Cy reveals that he “like likes” Gary, Maisie tries to figure out how it will affect their relationship and her own changing feelings for Gary. Wittlinger (Local Girl Swept Away) packs this sensitive coming-of-age story with movie references and trivia, but even readers less cinema obsessed than Maisie will sympathize with her conflicting desires to grow up and stay young forever. Her loyalty to Cy is especially moving, as is Wittlinger’s portrait of dementia’s impact.
Publisher's Weekly

Maisie, 12, is in the midst of several quandaries. She and her best friend, Cy, have become a trio, and Maisie is afraid that new addition Gary Hackett likes her. Then it becomes clear that Cy likes Gary. Ménage à trouble! In addition, Maisie’s actor uncle has moved back to their small house to recover from an accident, her grandmother is showing signs of dementia, and her mother loses her job. Tensions boil, but Maisie finds relief at the old movie theater in town, where she and Cy are regulars. The theater is owned by grumpy Mr. Schmitz, who has had his own decades-long crush—on Maisie’s grandmother. If this sounds like a full plate, it is, but each morsel is quite tasty, and veteran writer Wittlinger balances plots with aplomb. Some scenarios are more rosy than realistic, as in the cases of Cy’s coming out to an unruffled Gary. Yet it is the novel’s hopeful aspects that make this such an enjoyable read. Happily, all the (many) movies referenced throughout are listed at the book’s conclusion.

For twelve-year-old Maisie, watching old movies at the Lincoln Theater every Saturday with her best friend Cyrus provides a much-needed escape from the uncertainties she faces in real life. Her grandmother’s increasing forgetfulness and her family’s tight financial situation mean everyone but Maisie is less than thrilled when Uncle Walk — who is an actor in Hollywood — comes to stay after a recent on-set injury. Since Uncle Walt is one of the few adults who always understands her, Maisie is delighted, and when she finds herself in the center of a middle-school love triangle between herself, Cyrus, and their new friend, Gary, she needs Uncle Walt’s guidance more than ever. The book provides entertaining yet affecting portrayals of the different types of young love people experience and witness — from love between family members and friends to budding romantic love to even love found late in life, which Maisie witnesses through her grandmother’s unexpected reconnection with an old flame. The Use of first-person narration adds authenticity to Maisie’s perspective as readers gain insight into her inner thinking and responses to pivotal life situations (e.g. when Cyrus tells Maisie that he is gay and that he likes Gary). Wittlinger presents a moving coming-of-age story that will feel relevant to tween readers, particularly those wrestling with the notion of what it means to grow up and what it means to experience and witness love in its many forms.
The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books


Ellen Wittlinger is the author of fifteen YA and middle-grade novels. Her novel Hard Love won both a Printz Honor Award and a Lambda Literary Award. Her books have been on numerous ALA Best Books lists, Bank Street College of Education lists, and state award lists. Wittlinger has taught at Emerson College in Boston and in the Simmons College Writing for Children MFA program. She currently lives in Haydenville, MA.

Échantillon de lecture
ldquo;Hey, you kids!” Mr. Schmitz yells up at us. “Yeah, I’m lookin’ at you. The movie’s over. Go home!”
I lean over the balcony. “We’re just talking.”
“Well, talk outside. I wanna close up.”
I shut my notebook, and Cyrus and I shuffle downstairs to the lobby. Mr. Schmitz is standing by the big double doors, a broom in his hand.
“How come you’re only open afternoons?” Cyrus asks him.
“’Cause nobody comes downtown at night anymore. At night they wanna go to the multiplex at the mall.” The way he says “multiplex” sounds like he means “hellmouth.”
Not that many people go to the Lincoln Theater in the daytime either. There’s only one screen, and Mr. Schmitz likes to show mostly old movies. Which is fine with me. Sometimes, on Saturdays, Cyrus and I are the only people in the whole place.
We do go to the mall once in a while. We saw The Martian there, and Inside Out, which we both loved, but the mall is too much about buying stuff. Cyrus and I never have money for much more than the film anyway, so we like a place where going to the movies is pretty much all you can do. Besides, we can’t even see PG-13 movies, a classification we’re about six months away from. Old movies aren’t like that—they were made for everybody.
We’re probably Mr. Schmitz’s best customers, but he’s not particularly nice to us. He always acts like he’s annoyed he has to rip our tickets in half, like why are we making him go to all that trouble? And if we want popcorn, his eyes roll back in his head before he shovels some into a box.
We don’t mind too much, though. I figure he knows more about movies than anybody else in New Aztec, Illinois, because he always shows the best ones. I’m probably second smartest about movies. Cyrus comes in third because he just doesn’t put enough time into it. Of course, my uncle Walt would beat us all if he still lived here, but he’s out in Los Angeles, because that’s where you have to live if you’re a screen actor.
We wave to Mr. Schmitz as we push through the glass doors, and he grunts at us.
“We got a good crowd today, huh, Maisie?” Cyrus says, as if the Lincoln Theater belongs to us.
Casablanca always gets a crowd,” I say. “All the old people come.”
“Yeah, old people and us. What’s the matter with everybody else in this town?”
I shrug. “For some reason they think their actual lives are more interesting than movies. Which might be true if they lived someplace else.”
“Like Morocco,” Cyrus says. “I love that speech where Bogart says the problems of three people don’t amount to anything compared to the problems of the world.”
“Three little people,” I correct him.
“Of course the writing is good,” I say, “but what I love about Casablanca is the lighting.”
Cyrus snorts. “That’s all you ever care about. The lighting.”
“That’s not true. And anyway, lighting is one of the most important elements of film.”
Cyrus wrinkles up his nose. “I don’t want to do lighting, Maze. I want to be a director. I want to be the boss.”
“If you’re going to be a director, you have to know this stuff, Cy. Remember how the vines and plants throw deep shadows up on the walls in Casablanca?”
“That’s Rembrandt lighting. The dark, twisted shadows echo how the characters’ situations are tangled together and complicated.”
“You just read that somewhere.”
“Of course I read it somewhere! And we’ve talked about it too, how bright lights and heavy shadows are exaggerated for emotional effect.”
“Okay, okay. Just because I don’t remember every little thing about lighting . . .” He socks me lightly on the arm and I return his punch, but we’re smiling. Cyrus and I never really argue.
We unlock our bikes from the parking meter out front and start pedaling home. There’s not much traffic in downtown New Aztec on a Saturday. Everybody is either at the mall or locked in their air-conditioned houses. It’s only the middle of May, but here in the Mississippi River valley it gets hot and steamy early.
In five minutes my bangs are sticking to my sweaty forehead, but at least my hair is short, so I can feel a little breeze on my neck. I’m practically the only girl in the sixth grade who doesn’t have long hair, but those massive hair blankets are hot and heavy, and I don’t see the point. I guess boys like girls to have long locks to swing around, but I don’t care what boys think. Except for Cyrus, of course, and he doesn’t care what I look like. We’ve been friends for so long that Cy probably doesn’t even notice what I look like anymore.
“Let’s go to my house,” I say. “Mom has Dr Pepper.”
Cyrus doesn’t argue. His mother has banned all sugary beverages from the premises at their place, diet or otherwise, so he has to get his fix at my house. Which is easy enough, since I’ve lived across the street from him my whole life.
We let our bikes fall on the backyard lawn, which I’ll get yelled at for later, but it’s so hot and we’re thirsty. The minute I open the kitchen door, though, I can hear my parents arguing in the living room, and I shush Cyrus. The only way a person gets any information about what’s going on around here is by eavesdropping.
Dad sounds aggravated. “I thought he had a girlfriend out there in Hollyweird. Can’t she take care of him?”
“They broke up months ago,” Mom says.
“Can’t he stay with your mother?”
“On that old foldout couch in her back room? That would be torture,” Mom says. I’m daring to hope I know who they’re talking about.
“Well, he can’t expect you to be his nursemaid! You’ve got a job!”
“I know that, Dennis. Don’t get mad at me. I didn’t invite him!”
I hear the springs squeak as Mom flops into a chair. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Isn’t your bowling team practicing today?”
“We’ve got a game tonight,” Dad says. I can hear him pacing. “Look, it’s not that I don’t like the guy,” Dad says. “It’s just that every time he comes back here, you get all upset, and you end up taking it out on the rest of us.”
“I do not. I get upset with my mother, is all. The way she flutters around him like he’s the famous movie star he thinks he is—‘Wade Wolf’—and not just her useless son, Walter Hoffmeister.”
I turn to Cyrus and clap my hands silently. “My uncle Walt’s coming!” I whisper.
He gives me a thumbs-up. I’m excited about Uncle Walt visiting, of course, but not so thrilled about my parents arguing over it. Mom has been known to snarl when she’s angry, and while Dad usually stays calm and talks her down, that’s not happening today.
“How on earth did he manage to break his collarbone, anyway?” Dad asks Mom. What?
“Doing a stunt in some movie. Collarbone and two ribs.”
I pop around the corner in spite of myself. “Uncle Walt’s hurt? What happened?”
Behind me Cyrus salutes my parents. He always does that, for a joke, when they’re in their uniforms. My dad’s a mail carrier, and my mom is a parking enforcement officer. They don’t have any badges or medals or guns or anything.
“Oh, Maisie, I didn’t hear you come in,” Mom says. “He’ll be okay. He just needs someplace to rest up while he heals.”
“And somebody to wait on him hand and foot,” Dad mutters to his shirt sleeve.
“How’d he get hurt?” I ask.
Mom sighs. “He jumped off a high diving board in some silly movie—”
“Probably Girls Gone Haywire or some great work of art like that,” Dad grumbles.
“—and apparently he hit the low board beneath him. I don’t even see how that’s possible, but—”
“Does that mean he can’t finish the rest of the movie?” I ask.
“I’m sure it does,” Dad says. “They’re not going to hold up filming for six weeks just because some second-string actor got banged up.”
“He’s not a second-string actor,” I say. “He was Eddie in Sometime Tomorrow.”
“One decent role in ten years doesn’t make him a movie star. Besides, eleven people saw that movie.” Dad heads for the kitchen to get himself his work-is-over beer.
Cyrus laughs, and I elbow him in the side. He thinks my dad’s funny because his own father is so boring, but nobody laughs at my uncle Walt.
Sometime Tomorrow got a rave review in the Hollywood Reporter,” I call after Dad, “and Entertainment Weekly said Uncle Walt was an exciting new talent.”
Dad calls back. “That was five years ago. He’s older now and a lot less exciting.”
“He actually had a pretty good part in this movie,” Mom says. “He was a swimming instructor who falls in love with Kristen Bell.”
Wow. “Kristen Bell from Veronica Mars? That’s huge!”
Cyrus has been eating peanuts from the can Dad left open on the coffee table, but this gets his attention. “Cool! I love Kristen Bell. She was the voice of Anna in Frozen too.”
“Never heard of her,” Dad says as he walks back in. Which doesn’t surprise me. Dad’s not a movie person, and most of the TV he watches involves men trying to keep some kind of a ball away from each other.
“Anyway,” Mom says, “I’m picking him up at the airport tomorrow at noon. And I don’t think we can make him sleep on that awful couch in the den with all his broken bones.”
“He can have my room!” I yell. “I’ll sleep in the den!”
Dad laughs. “You’ve got the only air-conditioned room in the house, and you’re giving it up? You’d do just about anything for that guy, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would!”
Mom shakes her head. “Just like your grandmother.”

Informations sur le produit

Titre: Saturdays with Hitchcock
Code EAN: 9781580897754
ISBN: 978-1-58089-775-4
Format: Livre Relié
Editeur: Random House N.Y.
Genre: Enfants et adolescents
nombre de pages: 272
Année: 2017