A John Prine Appreciation

This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bianculli. You know that old trees just grow stronger And old rivers grow wilder every day Old people just grow lonesome Waiting for someone to say Hello in there, hello Singer-songwriter John Prine isn't around to celebrate what would have been his 80th birthday tomorrow. He died six years ago of complications from COVID-19. But it's being celebrated in a big way anyway, by family and friends, in a five-day series of events in and around Chicago that have begun already, held in support of the family. Last night, a tribute concert was held, hosted by John C. Reilly, featuring the songs of John Prine as sung by Steve Earle, Margo Price, and others. Documentary showings and other events continue this weekend. And today, we'll add our own voice to the mix by honoring John Prine's music and legacy on today's Fresh Air. John Prine was born in 1946 in Maywood, Illinois. After a stint in the Army in 1936, in West Germany, he settled in the Chicago suburbs in the late 1960s, attending folk music classes while working as a mailman. He wrote his first songs while delivering the mail and eventually appeared at an open mic night at the Fifth Peg, a local folk club, to sing some of them. That led to more performances and a summertime weekend gig. At one of those shows, an audience member who caught his act was a local film critic who had gotten his reviewing job at the Chicago Sun-Times a few years ago. He was also a member of the Chicago Sun-Times, and he was a member of the Chicago Sun-Times, and he was a member of the Chicago Sun-Times, and he was a member of the Chicago Sun-Times, a few years earlier. His name was Roger Ebert, and the story he wrote in 1970, John Prine's first review in print, captured the artist perfectly and helped him draw larger audiences. Ebert wrote, He appears on stage with such modesty, he almost seems to be backing into the spotlight. But Ebert added that Prine's music and lyrics were quite special. Prine's songs are all original, and he only sings his own, Ebert said, adding that Ebert noted Prine's ability in his lyrics to sketch a character in just a few words, and singled out with praise some of the very songs that would appear on Prine's first album the next year, becoming instant classics. Hello in There, Angel from Montgomery, and Sam Stone, the story of a Korean War veteran who returns home with a purple heart, shrapnel in his knee, and a morphine. There's a hole in Daddy's arm Where all the money goes Jesus Christ died for nothing, I suppose Little pitchers have big ears Don't stop to count the years Sweet songs never last too long On broken radios And on the radio Roger Ebert wasn't the only one to note the exceptional talents of John Prine. Fellow singers and songwriters paid particular attention. Chris Christofferson, after seeing one performance, championed Prine and helped him get his recording contract. Johnny Cash praised him early and often, as did Bob Dylan. And a year after John Prine's first album was released, Bette Midler took one of the songs on to the record. And showcased it on her own breakout first album, The Divine Miss M. The song she championed was an ode to old people, one of the songs Ebert had loved so much. Hello in There. So if you're walking down the street sometime And you should spot some hollow ancient eyes Don't you pass them by And stare As if you didn't care Say hello in there Hello After that exposure, John Prine attained even more notice and performed and recorded music the rest of his life. Eighteen studio albums in all, five live albums, and countless concert appearances, where fellow musicians continued to seek him out and perform alongside him. Performers such as Bonnie Raitt, who once joined Prine on stage to turn his solo recording, Angel from Montgomery, into a very memorable duet. Make me an angel That flies from Montgomery Make me a poster Of an old friend Rodeo Just give me one thing That I can hold on to To believe in this living Is just a hard way to go Over the years, John Prine clearly lost the onstage shyness Roger Ebert had witnessed in the 23-year-old neophyte performer. By the time he was introducing such comic compositions, as the other side of town in his concerts, his setup was as funny and as self-assured as the song itself. This is a song about a man who's developed a special ability over a number of years. He's able to travel in his mind, particularly when his wife just goes on just a little bit too long about something that he hasn't done. And he's also able to sing about it. And he's able to sing about it. I read about this guy. You might think I'm here When you put me down But actually I'm on the other side of town My body's in this room With you just catching hell But my soul is in this room My soul is drinking beer Down the road to spell You might think I'm listening to your grocery list But I'm leaning on a jukebox And I'm about halfway there John Prine released his final studio album, The Tree of Forgiveness, in 2018, after surviving a bout with cancer. He won four Grammy Awards over his five-decade career. He also won four Nobel Prize winners In 2020, the Grammys honored him with its Lifetime Achievement Award. John Prine died that year after contracting COVID-19. But in his final album, he offered some last words on the subject in a typically sly song called When I Get to Heaven. When I get to heaven, I'm gonna shake God's hand, thank him for more blessings, the one man can stand. Then I'm gonna get a guitar and start a rock and roll band, check into a swell hotel. Ain't the afterlife grand? And then I'm gonna get a cocktail, vodka and ginger ale. Yeah, I'm gonna smoke a cigarette that's nine miles long. I'm gonna kiss that pretty girl on the tilt of the world cause this is my world. This old man is going to town. Terry Gross spoke to John Prine in 2018 just after the release of that final album. After a quick break, we'll hear excerpts from that interview. This is Fresh Air. This is Fresh Air. Today we're celebrating John Prine. The late singer, songwriter, and guitarist would have turned 80 this weekend. He died of complications from COVID-19 in 2020. Terry interviewed Prine in 2018 after he recorded his final album, The Tree of Forgiveness. They started with the song Summer's End, co-written by Pat McLaughlin. Brandi Carlile sings backup vocals. ♪ Summer's End Around the binges ♪ Flyin' The swimmin' suits Are on the line Just drivin' I'll meet you there For our conversation I hope I didn't Ruin your whole vacation Well, you never know How far from home you're feelin' Until you know Until you've whacked The shadows cross the ceiling ♪ Well, I don't know, but I can see it snowing In your car, the windows are wide open Just come on home Come on home No, you don't have to be alone Just come on home Valentine's, big hearts and mine That's John Prine from his new album, The Tree of Forgiveness. John Prine, welcome to Fresh Air. It is a pleasure to have you here. Is there a story behind that song? Well, the big story behind that particular song, Summer's End, first of all, it's my favorite track from The Tree of Forgiveness. You know, it just came out so pretty. A good buddy of mine, Pat McLaughlin, and I wrote that song. And we've been writing together. We've been friends longer than this, but we've been writing together since my Missing Years record in 91. And it's just uncanny the way we write together. I mean, we can finish each other's sentences, you know. I'll just throw an image. It's him and he comes back with one. And we don't really decide what the subject is that we're writing about. We just kind of go with whatever sounds good and feels good to both of us. And the fact that that song ended, like, that's how we approached it. And it ended up as pretty as it did. And it's lonesome and many other things. It was a surprise to me because we were literally going, like, it was like ping pong. We were going back and forth with each line in the song. What about the melody? The melody is just another simple John Bryan patented melody. I mean, all I'm trying to do is play a freight train, I think. The Elizabeth Cotton song? I just pick up the, yeah, that's how I learned to fingerpick was I learned how to fingerpick playing, trying to pick like Elizabeth Cotton and Mississippi John Hurt. So much so that I used to put my, when I was 14 years old, I'd sit in the closet in the dark. In case I ever went blind to see if I could play. Wow. That's pretty strange. Yeah, you're telling me. So can you do it? I mean, do you ever have to look down at your fingers when you're playing? I can't. My belly's too big. Ha. I can't see. I can't see my hands. Good thing I practiced in the dark. You've been through a lot in the past few years. You've had neck cancer and lung cancer. Can we talk about how you were able to get back into shape? To be able to perform and tour? I mean, the neck surgery severed nerves in your tongue. It damaged salivary glands. Did you have to learn to sing or speak again? I had to do some, they gave me a speech therapist. That was part of the therapy when I was just getting over the initial surgery, the neck surgery. That was pretty, that was a pretty big surgery. It was my first really big surgery and it was a big one. And I didn't realize I had anything, any slur in my speech whatsoever, but it killed some of the nerves in your tongue and it kind of made you have, I guess they would call it like lazy, you know, where your tongue would just go to one side naturally and you'd slur some of your words. So I did some speech therapy, but I told them when I was going in for that surgery, I had talked to the surgeon and the radiologist and they had to do a lot of things. They had to do a lot of radiation on my throat, right across my vocal cords. And the radiologist was explaining to me he was going to make a shield for my vocal cords. And I said, have you ever heard me sing? I said, if you leave me with something, if I can make a noise, I said, I'll come out with a voice on the other end, you know. And the surgeon told me my golf swing would improve. After surgery. And I said, I hate golf. So at least they left me with a voice to sing. I think it improved my voice if anything. I always had a hard time listening to my singing before my surgery. So you got a new voice and you feel different about it? Yeah, it dropped down lower and it feels friendlier to me. So I can actually sit in the studio and listen to my singing played back before I run the other way. That's really surprising, I think. Do you feel like you've improved? Do you feel like your voice sounds more lived in than it did before? I've heard singers complain that they've been through so much and you don't hear it in their voice. You know, that they feel you don't hear it. That their voice doesn't sound as troubled as they feel or as worn as they feel or as experienced as they feel. Well, with me, my early recordings, I had a difficult time listening back to them because I was so nervous. I was kind of thrown into, I didn't expect to do this for a living, being a recording artist. I was just playing music for the fun of it and writing songs. That was kind of my escape, you know, from the humdrum of the world. And everything happened so fast for me that I became a recording artist before I knew it. And I just, when I would listen to my old records, I'd just hear this young, extremely nervous fella that made me want to run out of the room, you know, rather than listen to what he had to say. So, you know. So, in addition to the neck surgery that you had for cancer, a few years later you had lung cancer and you had an operation on one of your lungs. So, what was it like to learn how to be able to get enough breath to support your singing? Well, luckily I had a friend who was a trainer, you know. I mean, he individually trained people for either weight loss and stuff like that. We were friends. We just liked to get together and BS, you know. And he, when I told him I had to get the surgery, he volunteered to come to our house and help me get back in shape to get on the road. He had me running up and down our staircase three times. Then he'd put a guitar around my neck and I'd sing three songs without taking a breath, you know. And this was all after losing half a lung. And I didn't know I could train like that. My wife didn't either, you know, because I hadn't previously put that much into training before. I like that because it's tailored to who you are and what you do as opposed to giving you, you know, just the standard exercises. Exactly. I'm no good with that. If somebody tells me to work or exercise, I go the other way. I'll come up with an excuse. So, one more thing about the surgeries. I know you knew Roger Ebert and he gave a boost to you. He gave you your career really early on, before anybody knew you. He gave you a great review when you were just performing in Chicago before you'd recorded. And I don't know if you remain close, but he had cancer and he had jaw surgery that basically left him unable to speak. I was wondering if you communicated with him at all about your surgery. I think he was still, he would have still been alive. After Roger initially got, you know, sick, I was, I had played a show and him and his wife came to it. And this was after my surgery. It was when I was out touring behind the missing ears. And we got to talk a little bit, but obviously it was a social situation. You know, it was more like we looked at each other like we're members of the club, you know, both having been through our surgeries. Yeah. Him, him even. Even more so. He was really, at the particular time that he wrote a review on me, I was a mailman still. And I was just singing this one night a week in the Chicago club, the Fifth Peg on West Armitage. And Roger had walked out on a movie that he was supposed to review for the next day. This was a Thursday night and Friday was the big, the big day for the entertainment section in Chicago. And Roger's reviews, he always got his own page, the back page of the entertainment section. And he, instead of reviewing the movie, he said he walked into this pub to get a beer because the popcorn was too salty in the movie theater. And somebody told him to go in the back room and listen to this kid. I was the kid. And he wrote a full page on singing mailman. And it delivers the message, I think. That's great. And I never had an empty seat after that. And I was, I was still, like I say, I was still making my living as a mailman. And I was singing after that three nights a week and two shows a night. And there was a line outside and things just got better from then on. This would have been about what, 1969? Late 1970. Okay. Early, early 71. is when I got my record contract, and I had a record. come out by August of 71. Things happen really fast. John Prine, speaking with Terry Gross in 2018. We'll hear more of his interview with Terry after a break. I'm David Bianculli, and this is Fresh Air. Today, we're celebrating the life and music of John Prine on the eve of what would have been his 80th birthday. Prine died of complications from COVID-19 in 2020. He was an inspiration to his peers, including Bob Dylan, and to a younger generation of musicians, among them Phoebe Bridgers and Jason Isbell. In 2016, he was honored by the writers' organization PEN for Lyrics of Literary Excellence. Let's get back to Terry's 2018 conversation with John Prine. He had just released his final album, The Tree of Forgiveness. So let's talk about your background. You grew up in Maywood, Illinois. Was that like a small town outside of Chicago? Yeah, it's an old suburb. Almost as old as the city itself. It was right next to the suburb of Oak Park, where Hemingway is from. And there was a stark difference between Maywood and Oak Park. Maywood was like full of minorities. My mother and father came up from Kentucky and settled in Maywood because it had the American Can Company there. My dad got a job. He got a job there in the 30s and helped organize the Steelworkers Union. So was your father from Paradise, West Kentucky? He was actually born down the road in Mercer, Kentucky, but he ended up over in Paradise because his father was a carpenter, and he'd work like a. He'd stay three months in a town, rent a house, and when the job was done, he'd pull his family up and move to the next town. My dad went to. Something like 11 different elementary schools and many different high schools, too, because his father moved around so much. But when he would get jobs, when my grandfather would get a job and didn't want to uproot my father, my father would end up in Paradise with all of his cousins from the Smith side of the family. My mother was born and raised in Paradise. So you have a pretty famous song called Paradise. Right. That's about Paradise, Kentucky, and how beautiful it is and how the main character in your song wants to go back there, but his father tells him that it's basically too late because it's been hauled away by the coal trains. Did you see that happen to Paradise? I was in the Army, and my dad sent me a newspaper clip because he knew how much I liked Paradise. We would go there in my childhood. We would go there as much as often. We would go there as much as we could to see my mother's sisters and my dad's family. So he sent me this clip and he said, that's it, Paradise is gone. They brought up the town, tore the town down and strip-mined the whole area. So I wrote the song probably just after I got out of the Army. I wrote it for my dad. I realized that years later that I just wanted my dad to. I put him in the song, so he would know I was a country songwriter. He was a huge country music fan. I used to sing Hank Williams Sr.'s stuff for him and Ernest Tubb and Roy Cuff. I put on a little show for him when I first learned to play guitar. So let's hear Paradise, and this is from your 1971 debut album, John Prine. When I was a child My family would travel Down to western Kentucky Where my parents were born And there's a backwards old town That's often remembered So many times That my memories are worn And daddy, won't you take me Back to Muhlenberg County Down by the Green River Where Paradise lay Well, I'm sorry, my son But you're too late for Nassau Mr. Peabody's coal train Has hauled it away Well, sometimes we'd travel Right down the Green River To the abandoned old prison Down by Avery Hill Where the air smelled like snakes We'd shoot with our pistols But empty pop bottles Was all we would kill And daddy, won't you take me Back to Muhlenberg County So that's John Prine's famous song, Paradise, from his 1971 debut album called John Prine. So you grew up with a lot of country music because of your father. It sounds like you turned toward it as opposed to rebelling against it. Oh, yeah. I mean, I grew up with rock and roll. But when I learned how to play the guitar, it was from my oldest brother, Dave. Dave is 10 years older than me. He taught himself how to play fiddle and mandolin and guitar and banjo. And so he came from like an old-timey country music thing. And also, he was big into the folk boom of the early 60s. And so when he taught me to play guitar, that's the kind of music I learned to play because that's what he taught me. He gave me a Carter family record and I learned all those songs. And not too much. Not too long after that, I started writing when I was 14. And my melodies always came out like old-timey country stuff. And at the same time, I was trying to please my dad. I wanted to sing some of his favorite songs that he listened to the radio on. And so I learned an entire Hank Williams Sr. album, a live record with all the stage patter in between. And I used to repeat the patter. In between the songs, I did everything but skip when the record would skip. I learned it verbatim. Your father died when he was 55. He had a massive heart attack on the front porch of your home. How old were you when that happened? I was 24 and my first record was a month away from being released. Oh, so he never heard it? No, I borrowed a. I don't know. A tape recorder from another family. And I had a quarter-inch tape and I took it to the house. And I played that record for him. And the last song on the record was Paradise. So when that song came on, he got up and walked into the dining room. It was dark in there. And he sat in the dining room while Paradise played. And he came back in the room afterwards and I asked him how come he left and left the room when I called it his song because he knew it was his story. And he said he wanted to pretend it was on the jukebox. But I think he just didn't want to see me see him with tears in his eyes. He wasn't in like. It wasn't like he was in. a sick man like in the hospital or anything. He had a massive heart attack sitting out on the front porch watching the cars go by. So when you returned from. being in the military and serving in West Germany, you moved to Chicago. You moved from a suburb outside of Chicago to Chicago and you became a mailman there. What neighborhoods did you deliver mail to? Oh, no. I became a mailman in the suburbs. Oh, it was in the suburbs. Yeah, I never moved into Chicago. I stayed in the suburbs until I moved to Nashville. Oh, I didn't realize that. I was only like. I was 10 miles directly from the lakefront. That's how close Maywood was to the edge of Chicago. We grew up on Madison Avenue, which is the dividing line between North Chicago and the North Side and the South Side. So we grew up going both Cubs and Sox games. So did you still live with your parents when you came back from the military? No, I got married while I was in the service. And I married an Italian-American girl. She was my high school girlfriend. And we lived in. Melrose Park, the Italian community that bordered Maywood. How long did the marriage last? Oh, that one lasted. Yikes. I like the way you say that one lasted. Well, I've been married three times. Right. Yeah, that was 13 years. Mm-hmm. That's pretty long. So, um. Thanks. Congratulations. Congratulations. Well, you've been married to your wife now for over 20 years. Yeah, 23. Yeah, yeah. So, um, was being a mailman a good job for somebody who was writing songs in their spare time? It was great, because, um, there's really not much to do when you're a mailman. I mean, maybe some mailmen make it into an actual job, but once you're out there on the same streets every day and you recognize the house as you know you're on the right street. you just go out there and stick the mail in the mailbox. In other words, I used to liken my mail route to a library with no books. It was like my imagination was free to roam the whole time I was on the mail route. I wrote a lot of my first record walking on the mail route. Was that maybe a good thing that your body was kind of occupied with walking the mail route, but your mind was free to think about lyrics without having to sit in a chair? Yes, your mind didn't want to be thinking about the weather and the dogs. It's a jungle out there, really. I was never so happy as the day I left the post office. The dark. What time were you delivering mail? Dogs. Oh, dogs. Oh, the dogs. Yeah, the ones that bite. Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah. Were you bitten? Yes, yeah. I got bitten in the best possible place. Uh-oh. Ripped my pants, and I had to go over to the ER. That was really embarrassing, having a mailman outfit on with the ass, or your pants tore out, you know, and the dog bite. You looked like a cartoon. Yeah, I think I've seen that cartoon. And there you go. I was the cartoon. So, I want to close with another song from your new album, and I can't decide whether to play Boundless Love or I Have Met My Love Today. Do you want to choose one from those two? Well, yeah, Boundless Love, I got an interesting story about. Tell me. I wrote that with three buddies of mine, David Ferguson, Dan Auerbach from Black Keys, and Pat McLaughlin, the fellow I mentioned earlier that we wrote for about 30 years now together. Anyway, the four of us thought it would be a good idea to get together and try and write some songs. I think, specifically, we were going to write them for Dan Auerbach's solo project. He's got two solo records out now. And we wrote six songs in two days. And I didn't think any of the songs were for me. I thought we were writing them for Dan. And one of the songs was the song Boundless Love. And Dan didn't record it when he went in to do his solo project. So, I looked at it when I was trying to gather songs up for the Tree of Forgiveness. And I liked the song, except I didn't think it was enough of me in it, like John Prine in it. So, I called up Dan and said, I'm going to John Prine this song up. And he said, what do you mean? And I said, well, instead of the word food, I'm going to put frying pork chops in. And I said, and I got the whole thing. I want to replace the whole second verse with my old heart is like a washing machine that bounces around until my soul comes clean. So, Dan laughed. And that's what I did, is I just John Prined the song up. And it came out really pretty. And now I consider it kind of my song for my wife, Fiona. Boundless Love. Well, let's hear it. And John Prine, it's been a great pleasure to talk with you. Thank you so much. Thank you, Terry. I woke up this morning to a garbage trap. Looks like this old horseshoe's done run out of luck. If I came home, would you let me in? Fry me some pork chops and forgive my sin. Surround me with your boundless love. Confound me with your boundless love. I was drowning in a sea, lost as I could be when you found me with your boundless love. Sometimes my old heart is like a washing machine. It bounces around until my soul comes clean. And when I'm clean and hung out to dry, I'm going to make you laugh until you cry. John Pryne, speaking with Terry Gross, recorded in 2018. A new collection of John Pryne's music is out today. It's called Found Dogs and includes alternate takes, acoustic solo performances, and five previously unreleased Pryne originals. Let's close with the last song, which was released two months after his death in 2020. It's called I Remember Everything, and it was recorded in his living room. I've been down this road before I remember every tree Every single blade of grass Holds a special place for me And I remember every town And I remember every town And every hotel room And every song I ever sang On a guitar out of tin I remember everything Things I can't forget The way you turned and smiled on me On the night that we first met And I remember everything Every night Your ocean as a blue How I miss you in the morning light Like roses miss the dew That's John Pryne singing I Remember Everything, written with his longtime friend and writing partner, Pat McLaughlin. Coming up, Justin Chang reviews the new film Fjord, starring Sebastian Stan and Renata Reinsveig. This is Friendship. Fresh air. The new drama Fjord takes place in a small Norwegian town in which a recently arrived couple, played by Sebastian Stan and Renata Reinsveig, suddenly stands accused of abusing their children. The film, which won the top prize at this year's Cannes Film Festival, is the latest work from the Romanian director Cristian Mungio, known for his acclaimed dramas like Graduation and Four Months, Three Weeks and Two Days. Fjord opens in theaters this week, our film critic Justin Chang has this review. The gifted Romanian writer-director Cristian Mungio makes tense, realist thrillers that lay bare his country's history of corruption and authoritarianism. In Beyond the Hills, he took aim at intolerance within the Romanian Orthodox Church. In his 2007 masterpiece, Four Months, Three Weeks and Two Days, he laid bare the cruelties of the communist dictatorship in the late 1980s. That film won the Palme d'Or at Cannes and announced Mungio as a major international talent. A few months ago, Mungio won a second Palme d'Or for his new drama, Fjord, which in many ways marks something of a departure. It's his first movie shot outside Romania, but even in a fresh setting, his eye for institutional oppression and hypocrisy is as sharp as ever. Sebastian Stan and Renata Reinsveig give superb reviews of the film, including performances as a married couple, Mihai and Lisbeth Gjorgiu, who have just moved from Romania to a small town nestled among the fjords and mountains of Norway. They have five children. The oldest is in high school, the youngest still in diapers. They're also strictly observant Christians. In this scene, which features mostly English and some Romanian dialogue, they're singing hymns at home with some church friends when they get a visit from a friendly neighbor, Mia. And her teenage daughter, Nora. It was there by day I received my sight And now I am happy all the day Because it was I that I heard Nice to meet you. Hello. Hi. Are we interrupting? No, please come in. Come in, Mia. Come and greet your new neighbors. Hello. We brought some gifts for the newcomers. The townspeople are welcoming at first, and Munju uses wide shots and long takes to immerse us in this open, bustling community. But things get unfriendly fast for the Gjorgius. One day, a school administrator notices that their eldest daughter, has bruises on her back. and overhears her and her brother talking about having been disciplined by their parents. A call is made to Child Protective Services, and with dizzying speed, the five Georgiou children, including the baby, are taken away from their parents and placed in foster care. The rest of the film follows Mihai and Lisbeth's efforts to get their kids back, pitting them against an unyielding Norwegian legal system. In the testimonies that emerge, we learn that one of their children had expressed anti-LGBTQ opinions in class. This raises the question of whether the Georgiou's were targeted for abusing their children, which they vehemently deny, or for refusing to adopt the progressive, secular humanist values of their new home country. For all the acclaim and awards it's received, Fjord has proven remarkably divisive for a Munju movie. Although the story was inspired by a widely publicized case from 2017, involving a Romanian-Norwegian family that endured a similar ordeal, some critics have accused the film of reducing the European welfare state to a straw-man villain, an overreaching government entity that denies parents due process. Others have claimed that such responses merely prove Munju's point about the intolerance of the left, and how tribalism and racial and religious discrimination can arise even in ostensibly inclusive communities. For my part, I found Fjord to be a blatantly yet skillfully manipulative drama that craftily withholds as much information as it reveals. Munju traffics in ambiguity, sometimes to the point of coyness. The episodes of alleged physical abuse are strategically obscured or kept off-screen. A plausible alternate explanation for Elia's bruises emerges, but it's never confirmed. Fascinatingly, the kids themselves are not the only ones who are affected by the drama. The kids themselves never come right out and say whether they've been physically abused, and their silence on the matter feels dramatically evasive, but also, from a parent's perspective, eerily fitting. It's as if the film were saying that, with or without state interference, our children begin to become unknowable, drifting away from us the moment they're born. I thought a lot about my own kids while watching Fjord, and the outrage I'd feel if they were taken away from me. I also sifted through my complicated feelings about my own distant evangelical Christian upbringing. Stan and Reinceve's performances, full of tightly controlled sorrow and fury, make it easy to feel for Mihaly and Lisbeth, and to believe that they're genuinely good, loving parents, whether or not you share the rigidity of their beliefs. And I suspect that, deep down, it's that rigidity that Munju takes the most issue with. It's no accident that the most sympathetic character here, is that friendly neighbor, Mia, who turns out to be an attorney, and agrees to represent the parents in court, noting at one point that she feels a moral obligation to defend the minority. Mia, for her part, isn't religious. Yet she's one of the few characters here who fully embraces the biblical commandment to love thy neighbor. Justin Chang is a film critic for The New Yorker. He reviewed Fjord. On Monday's show, Mahershala Ali. In his new film, Your Mother, Your Mother, Your Mother, he plays a devout Muslim father of three, who also is a professional killer, and suddenly is left to care for his children after his wife dies. Ali won Academy Awards for Moonlight and Green Book, becoming the first Muslim actor to win an acting Oscar. Hope you can join us. To keep up with what's on the show and get highlights of our interviews, follow us on Instagram at NPR Fresh Air. You can subscribe to our YouTube channel, at youtube.com/ThisIsFreshAir. We're rolling out new videos with in-studio guests, behind-the-scenes shorts, and iconic interviews from the archive. Fresh Air's executive producer is Sam Brigger. Our senior producer today is Theresa Madden. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Roberta Shurock, Anne-Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaloner, Susan Yakundi, Anna Bauman, and Nico Gonzalez-Whistler. Our digital media producer is Molly C.V. Nesper. Our social media video producer is Hilary Kissinger. For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm David Bianculli.