Fresh Air - Looney Tunes animator Chuck Jones / Remembering singer Cassandra Wilson

Episode Date: September 18, 2026

The new film Coyote vs. ACME is based on the classic Warner Bros. cartoons featuring the Roadrunner and Wile E. Coyote. Today, we listen back to Terry’s 1989 interview with animator Chuck Jones. He created the characters, among others, and directed many Looney Tunes cartoons. He says they had specific rules for the characters: “The roadrunner can never harm the Coyote. The Coyote could only harm himself by buying these unfortunate things he gets from the ACME corporation.”Also, we remember singer and composer Cassandra Wilson who defied category but became a bona fide jazz star. Kevin Whitehead has an appreciation and we hear some of her interview with Terry. She died Sept. 2 at age 70. See pcm.adswizz.com for information about our collection and use of personal data for sponsorship and to manage your podcast sponsorship preferences.NPR Privacy Policy

This is Fresh Air. I'm TV critic David B. and Cooley. At this point, the Looney Tunes cartoon franchise has been around for almost a century. Warner Brothers launched the first cartoon under that name in 1930 and spent the next several decades supplying cinemas and then television with animated shorts that delighted adults as well as kids. The animators, who over the years included Tex Avery, Bob Clampett, Fritz Freeling, and Chuck Jones were brilliantly funny. was Mel Blank, who provided the voices for almost all of the characters, from Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck to Elmer Fudd and Pepe Le Pugh. Composer Carl Stalling supplied the memorable music for many episodes, and the combined canon included such 1950s classics as The Rabbit of Seville and What's Opera, Doc,

both of which were directed by Jones, with music by Stalling and voices by Blank. These cartoons and characters were widely adored by several generations, including mine. A streak of anarchy and a lot of violence ran through most of them. But as comedian Dustin Nickerson observed recently, after trying to introduce these classic cartoons to his young daughter, they haven't necessarily aged well. More than a few characters have speech impediments, he notes, and lots of them exhibit very aggressive behavior. Okay, you don't like that? Well, check it out. There's this skunk. She goes, what's he doing? Go, he holds women against their will.

Yeah, they try and get away, but Pepe won't let him. And all the other characters, what they're doing is they're trying to kill one another. You know how in your shows they're all friends? They're not in these ones. They're trying to murder one another. There's this coyote who wants to kill this bird. The Looney Tunes franchise also got little respect from Warner Brothers itself. A few years ago, the studio,

under new corporate management shelved a completed movie, Coyote v. Acme, before its release as a financial write-off. The film comedy was based on a 1990 New Yorker article by Ian Frazier, who imagined a lawsuit filed by lawyers representing one of the familiar Looney Tunes cartoon characters, while E. Coyote. Said Coyote, of course, is the persistent but hapless predator who was in constant feudal pursuit of his fleet-footed quarry. the Roadrunner. The Coyote never succeeded in his efforts, despite devising endless schemes

employing rocket skates, spring-powered shoes, and other devices purchased from the Acme Company. As his lawyers alleged in that New Yorker parody piece, quote, Mr. Coyote states that on 85 separate occasions he has purchased of the Acme Company, herein-after defendant, through that company's mail-order department, certain products which did cause him bodily injury due to defects in manufacture or improper cautionary labeling, unquote. The film version intermingled cartoon and human characters, like Who Framed Roger Rabbit, with the animated Wiley Coyote sharing the same screen as his human lawyer, played by Will Forte. The Coyote hires the lawyer after seeing him on a low-rent TV ad.

The kind of small-screen huckstering Bob Odenkirk's sleazy lawyer saw Goodman used to do on Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul. Have you ever set a big stack of TNT on the road hoping to blow up your nemesis, but the detonator itself explodes? Have you ever pulled the ripcord of your parachute and only a bunch of silverware comes out? It's not your fault. Acme is evil. It's a very clever, very funny movie, but was buried deep in the Warner Brothers Discovery Vaults, until it was rescued the this year by an independent distributor, which purchased the rights for $50 million and finally released it in theaters last month. Coyote v. Acme, written by Sammy Birch and directed by Dave

Green, has been shown in relatively few theaters nationwide, but already has made almost all that money back in the U.S., as well as an additional $30 million worldwide. Both the movie plot and the film's history are delightful stories of perseverance. So today on fresh air, we're saluting Coyote v. Acme and the long cartoon history it celebrates by listening back to an interview with Looney Tunes animator Chuck Jones. The cartoon that introduced the Roadrunner and his nemesis Wiley Coyote was Fast and Furious in 1949. It was directed by Chuck Jones and introduced the running gag that recurred ever since.

the Coyote ordering mail-order merchandise to try and ultimately fail to catch the elusive roadrunner. In later cartoons, that company was identified as Acme, which promptly delivered the faulty goods. That inspired the New Yorker article that inspired the movie Coyote versus Acme, and, in a way, Chuck Jones, with his Acme idea, also might be said to have inspired the entire rapid delivery concept of today's real-life equivalent, Amazon. Chuck Jones worked at Warner Brothers from 1933 until the studio closed down its cartoon division in 1963. He then formed his own production company and kept producing and directing until his death in 2002. Terry Gross spoke to him in 1989. Jones also wrote an autobiography called Chuckamuck. That title is borrowed from Duckamuck, which was the cartoon Jones made about

cartooning. In it, Daffy Duck finds himself at the mercy of a fickle cartoonist. Daffy opens the cartoon as a brave musketeer, but the cartoonist keeps changing the scenery on him to the most inappropriate settings, a farm, the Arctic, Hawaii. The cartoonist eventually erases not only the background, but Daffy himself. Would it be too much to ask if we could make up our minds? Hmm? Dashing through the snow, yaha ha ha ha ha, through the fields we go,

laughing all the way. Farewell to Cree, farewell to the sea, the wind will carry back our sad refrain. One last damn brace before we say, hmm. Buster, it may come as a complete surprise to you to find that this is an animated cartoon.

and that in animated cartoons they have scenery. And in all the years I... All right, wise guy. Where am I? You changed a lot of the characters who you worked with over the years. Can you describe when you first started directing Daffy Duck, who was always my favorite? When you started directing Daffy Duck, what was he like? And then maybe you could tell us a little bit of the character changes

that you brought to that... Well, it's a little difficult to isolate them exactly. as to what I contributed, but all the characters I felt were part of me, particularly Daffey and the coyote, because they made the kind of mistakes that most of us make only multiplied a bit. But Daffy is an interesting character, I think, because he would rush in and fear to tread at the same time, and he also could be fawning and overbearing at the same time.

And I think that happens with very many of us when we, sometimes in the reverse, when we go in to talk to the boss and asked for a raise. We were overbearing. When we get inside, we're fawning. But Daffy is both at the same time. At the beginning, he was just crazy, as was bugs, even in the first great, the wild hair that Texavri directed.

The character was really kind of mad, more like heart-pul marks, perhaps. And I was never comfortable with a character unless I could understand him, and I can't understand crazy people. So I always try to sort of pasteurize my characters to find out who they are. The who is the whole point about character animation

is not what. It doesn't what a character looks like or indeed how it's drawn. You sound like a method animator. Well, I guess so. I don't think that I can do it unless I cared about the characters. In your cartoon Duckamuck,

why did you choose Daffy Duck as the character that was going to be at the whim of the cartoonist? Well, I tried it later with Bugs Bunny and didn't work. Fortunately, I did when Buckham Buck first, then I did one called Rabbit Rampage. And he also had the same problem, and he's,

the person in this case turned out to be Elmer Fudd that was moving him around. But it didn't work because that's not the kind of a person that their Bugs is. Bugs is a comic hero, you see, as compared with a comic wimp, which would go back to all the great comedians starting with Chaplin and Buster Keaton

and all the rest of them. They were, they're all kind of semi-losers, aren't they? They're more like us. But I was Daffy because he would continue beyond where I would stop simply because I'd be afraid of what the community would think of me. Daffy continues. But when I was working with him, all I had to do is reach down inside of me and bring the Daffy up to the surface and spread it out and take a look at it and see what would I do if I had Daffy Ducks' courage. You told us a little bit about how you changed Daffy Doc and how you drew him a little differently, different characteristics you gave him.

What about Bugs Bunny? What are some of the changes? changes you brought to Bugs' life? Well, I think one of the nice things about there were three units there. After 1946, in fact, all the films that Warner now owned were directed by Frist Failing or Bob McKimson or me. Bob Klam had left in 46 and Texan around 44. So we had these wonderful sessions. When I would get an idea for a film or my writer and I would get an idea for a film, we'd call

in the other directors and writers, and we'd sit down and have this session, which we called a yes session, which meant for two hours nobody could say anything negative. If you couldn't contribute to the idea, your job was to shut up. But usually, the ideas are pretty good when they came in. The result of this was that we were all involved with each other's picture, although each director had absolute control of what went into his own pictures. But there was no internecine warfare. We liked each other, and we wanted each other to succeed. But if I gave a great gag to Fris Freeling, and he used it. And it appeared on the screen and got an enormous laugh.

Naturally, I wanted to go out and throw up. But because that's human nature, that's Davy Duck in me. When you did your recording sessions, the voice sessions with Mel Blank, what kind of suggestions would you make to him about the characteristics that he should try to be getting at through his voice? Well, for one thing, I would have completely laid out the picture, all the key drawings that I would be giving to the animators had already been done. And I already have finished the exact dialogue.

Mel never sat in on story things or anything like that. And in no way could we let any actor Mel or anybody else had lived because we had to make pictures exactly to six minutes. So the dialogue was all carefully planned to fit into an exact six-minute format. So when I was ready for the actor, usually Mel, about an hour before we were to record, I'd call him in. The marvel of Mel was that he was such a brilliant actor, that he could get immediately get the idea of what you were talking about.

All the great characters of the Warner Brothers cartoons are all animals. They're animals with the traits of people, but they're not people. They're ducks and rabbits and skunks. What are some of the advantages of using animals instead of people for the cartoons? Well, we had ample precedence to go on. I mean, going back to Asap's Fables and Kipling and even Mark Twain did several things about animals. and of course Beatrix Potter and so many others. But the main thing is that it's easier to humanize animals

than it is to humanize humans. And as you know from seeing Snow White and the poor princes and all the Disney films, it's very difficult to animate human beings. And when we did animate them, they didn't look very much like human beings. I mean, Elmer Fudd doesn't look any more like a human being than Bugs Bunny looks like a rabbit.

Bugs is obviously not a rabbit. Rabbits look more like, and the average rabbit looks very much more like a... pillow than anything else. However, I think that taking a rabbit and making him as heroic as Bugs Bunny is a light more easy than it is to take a human being and make him like bugs with Bugs' characteristics. You always believe that in a cartoon world that you have to create certain rules of the universe and the characters always have to live within those rules. Give us an example through, say, the Roadrunner Wiley Coyote cartoons, because you created those

characters. Tell us a little bit about the universe that you created them in. Well, there are several things that happened in all comedy. The more you channelize, the more you narrow your character down,

the better it gets. For some reason, take Charlie Chaplin, when he once got that little costume, look how much he was restricted in what he can do. He could only be the little tramp. And he also limited the little tramp in pretty much into into living in a city.

Well, we felt that when we got the roadrunner and coyote going, it was evident that they both lived in the southwestern American desert. And so you immediately say to yourself, that's where they live, that's where they got to live. And the fact that the roadrunner is a roadrunner means that he should stay on the road. And there were a number of other rules about that, that the roadrunner can never harm the coyote.

The coyote could only harm himself by buying those unfortunate things he gets. from the Acme Corporation. And the more rules you apply, you never hear any other sound except the beep. And I found that with going back then to Bugs Bunny.

Bugs Bunny is such a powerful character and he's a comic hero other than a loser. He's such a powerful character that he could become a terrible bully. So we always started Bugs. In every picture we started him

in a natural rabbit environment, minding his own business, a quiet living rabbit, something like Rex Harrison, perhaps, before he got involved with my fair lady, ladies. And then someone comes along and tries to deprive him his foot or his life or he's sending a woman a rocket or something,

and then he has to fight back, you see. And once engaged in the war, then he's happily engaged. But without that, he would just be a bully. And there were some characters like heckle and jackal and even Woody Woodpecker at some time seem to go out and just heckle people for no particular reason. Mugs never did that. And this is vital and necessary if you wanted the character

to be believable and for people to care about him. I grew up on the Warner Brothers cartoons and the older I'd get, the more jokes I'd get, but I never realized I was missing anything when I was young, you know, because I always liked them.

And now as an adult, I see things that I didn't see when I thought I was getting all the jokes when I was an older kid. Did anyone at Warner Brothers ever give you an argument that certain things there would go over the heads of the audience?

Yeah, yes they did. But we didn't pay attention to them. We always had going battles on with our producers, so they would issue edicts like, don't make any pictures about bullfights, bullfights aren't funny. Well, that immediately would say, well, obviously the guy has always been wrong,

so we made a picture about a bullfight, and it turned out fine. No, we had very little problem. Fortunately, our producers were not very bright. I remember one seeing a short film that was a combination of kind of pornographic cartoons that some of the Disney animators drew

in their off hours and it ended up getting into circulation. Did you guys ever do anything like that in Warner Brothers? Yeah? Yeah, everybody did. In fact, sometimes in a Pappy Lepewue picture, I'd put a little salacious one frame and one-twenty-fourth of a second.

I'd actually put it in the picture. And then I'd ask the office manager to come in. I said, there's a little glitch here. There's a certain hop at this point. I don't know what it... I can't figure out what it is. Then I'd bring it to a stop in the movie Ola and, you know, that thing when you look through, and there it would be, you know. Well, I knew nobody could ever see it because it was 24th of a second, but then he would go into shock, you know.

And we always had a frame to replace it just in case, but I enjoyed doing that. It kind of put him in his place. So did he make you take that out, or did those frames stay in? No, no. No, I told him it was too late. It would cost money to take it out, and nobody would ever see it. But I had already inserted it. It wasn't there anyway. But I did it to see if I couldn't put him into, as we used to say, reduce him to moccasins. Or any of your scenes or any of your language ever censored? No.

No, that was left to the brilliant people in the networks. And they take out things that make the whole thing incomprehensible. Did that happen a lot that you felt your cartoons were butchered when they got on TV? Yes, they were, both at CBS and ABC, to name a few of the guilty ones. What's curious to me is that they feel it was necessary to chew up those cartoons, but Nickelodeon, which is a program that's supposedly designed for children, sees no need to do that. I'd imagine that the cartoons that had gotten the most objections

because of the violence with the Roadrunner cartoons since they're all chase. Well, that's absurd, though, because the Roadrunner never harmed the coyote. The coyotes was only a victim of his own ineptitude. So the idea that there was any violence involved there is ridiculous. Did you ever think of yourself as doing a pop kind of surrealism? I did some, they tell me, but I never did anything. You know, by sitting down and saying, I'm doing this for a reason. What I was trying to do was to develop the characters that I understood

and to have fun doing it. That was the whole secret of Warner Bros. cartoons. There's a bunch of people who happened to come together from varied walks of life, all of whom were enormously interested in making films that were fun to do. Chuck Jones, speaking to Terry Gross in 1989. He died in 2002. Coyote v. Acme, the little movie that could, is still chugging along in theaters nationwide.

We'll end our animated salute to Coyote v. Acme with another Looney Tunes clip. This is from Daffy Duck for President, a 2004 cartoon based on the 1997 children's book of the same name, written and illustrated by Chuck Jones. And... What's up, duck? What's up, is it?

I'll tell you what's up. When I'm president, I'm going to pass a law that'll outlaw rabbits. That, my poor, unfortunate, soon-to-be-condemned species, is what is up? Very ingenious solution to a long smoldering problem. But there's just one slight technicality. The president can't pass laws. The president can't pass... What?

That's ridiculous. The president can do anything. Anything he wants. He's just like a king. Only better. He's better, all right, but he's no king. Says so right here. You're outnumbered, good buddy, by the founding fathers.

Founding fathers. Ha! Bunch a muleing infants, no doubt. What does they know? Hmm? The Constitution. Let's see here. Mm-hmm.

Oh, yeah. The president is responsible for enforcing the laws. Congress makes the laws. You mean I've got to run for Congress? Well, cheer up, Doc. There's been a lot of funny Boyd sent to Congress, but you may be the first duck to be elected. At least you're not a lame, duck.

Coming up, jazz historian Kevin Whitehead has an appreciation of Cassandra Wilson, the jazz singer, songwriter, and producer who died earlier this month. We'll also play an interview with her from our archives. I'm David Bean and Cooley, and this is Fred. This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bein-Cooley. Singer Cassandra Wilson died in her hometown of Jackson, Mississippi on September 2nd at age 70. She first attracted attention in the 1980s, singing tricky

songs by jazz composers Henry Threadgill and Steve Coleman. Soon, she was recording albums of her own, where she featured a wide variety of material and became one of jazz music's breakout stars, performing on screen in the movies Jr. and the score. Jazz historian Kevin Whitehead surveys Cassandra Wilson's 30-year recording career. Skylaw. Have you seen the valley spring where I would journey over the shadows and to a blossom? Cassandra Wilson, circa 1986, early in her recording career, on a tune she'd revisit, Hockey Carmichael's Skylar. She was then in her early 30s, showing all the markers of her mature style. The love of a drowsy tempo, a dusky tone quality, the dramatic lows her contralto voice could reach,

and a sultry persona. Also the way she'd swallow an occasional syllable. Wilson heard jazz singers growing up, but began her performing career accompanying herself on guitar and Mississippi coffee houses. She moved to New York in her late 20s and fell in with saxophonist Steve. Coleman's circle of progressives who wrote their own music as she did. That crowd played on her early albums, which mixed standards with original tunes. This is Cassandra Wilson's subatomic blues with Steve Coleman on alto.

Cassandra Wilson, from her second album, 1987's Days Away. Another Wilson song on that one showed her admiration for bebop singer Betty Carter's rapid-fire articulation and Abby Lincoln's philosophical lyrics. Graham Haynes backs her on Cornette on If You Only Know How. Do you recall when every day was the brand news every rainbow a bag of gold, and it was easy? If you wanted, did we forget out a song for him to? Funk and hip-hop were also part of the mix early on.

Wilson's label pushed her to make a swinging album of standards, the very fine blue skies from 1988. By now, Wilson had come into her own as interpreter of lyrics. With her low vocal range, her high notes aren't so very high, but still have a soaring quality. Her phrases might float over the beat. The music started and was I'd, I held my breath and said,

May I have the next one? In my frightened arms, poker dots and moonbeams. Starry on a puck-nows dream There were question about the dancers As we floated over the floor Terry Lynn Carrington on drums The album Blue Skies was a jazz hit

And a successful, straight-up jazz career Was Wilson's for the asking. But Cassandra Wilson had bigger ideas. In the 1990s, working with producer Craig Street, She made music seemingly designed to resist categorization as jazz or anything else. Take her chant Redbone, a character sketch of a hard-living, hard-paying woman that mixes blues and gospel themes, Cuban percussion, and a squirrelly pedal-steel guitar. Guitars would be central to Cassandra Wilson's sound ever after.

Old school country blues was another part of the mix. Most of one album was recorded in a Mississippi train depot, and an adjoining box car. She got more attention covering radio pop she'd heard growing up, songs like Last Train to Clarksville, Tupelo Honey, and Jimmy Webb's country pop classic

Wichita lineman. Cassandra Wilson in 2001. Her slow, understated, murmuring numbers had a great sense of mood, and she did a few of those. By the new century, she'd become a bona fide jazz star, filling big halls and looking the part.

One album was called, glamored. Her last husband was a minor movie star. In her final decade, Cassandra Wilson quietly withdrew. Her last record, the lavishly produced album of Billy Holiday Covers, coming forth by day, came out in 2015. That year, she moved back home to Jackson, Mississippi, where she was born. While her groups went through some changes over the years, her distinctive vocal style was there from the first, and she stuck to it with confidence. And much as she defied category, Cassandra Wilson was the defining and dominant jazz singer of her time. She was a real original who left us much good work to remember her by.

jazz historian Kevin Whitehead. He's the author of New Dutch Swing, Why Jazz, and play the way you feel. His piece commemorated jazz singer, composer, and producer Cassandra Wilson, who died last week. She was 70 years old. Coming up, we listened to Terry's 1988 interview with Cassandra Wilson. This is Fresh Air. This is Fresh Air. We're remembering jazz singer Cassandra Wilson, who died earlier this month at the age of 70.

Wilson was influenced by jazz singer Sarah Vaughn, Abby Lincoln, and Betty Lincoln. Carter, but she didn't follow strictly in that tradition. Her singing was spiced with funk, hip-hop, and blues. Terry Gross spoke with Cassandra Wilson in 1988. She told Terry she first got noticed at a club in New York City called the Jazz Forum. And that used to be a place where young musicians would go to sit in, you know, when they came to town. It's like the place people tell you, you know, when you come into town, if you want to sit in or if you want to get into some music, meet some musicians, I'll go to the jazz forum. And there I met a great pianist, Sadiq Haikim, who's no longer with us.

And he sort of took me under his wing, and he really liked me and introduced me to a lot of musicians and actually got me my first gig. As you started getting more serious about singing and singing professionally, what are some of the things you wanted to learn and some of the things you wanted to change in your own style as you got deeper and deeper into it. For a while, I did want to become more technically accurate, you know, in terms of my voice. I always felt that

that was like a weakness that I had not actually singing chords, you know, actually singing changes. If you notice when a lot of singers improvise, they tend to deal within a very simple universe, you know, when it comes to improvising. And that's one thing I always wanted to work on,

and I still work on to this day, is learning actual changes, you know, singing changes and hearing more complicated types of intervals. You sing some standards, but not many, at least not on your albums. Are you trying to sing some but to emphasize original material? Yes, I'm heading in that direction. I would like to get to the point where I do all original material. I enjoy doing standards, though.

I really get a lot of fun out of it and enjoyment out of it. So, you know, there are people who tell you, well, if you do standards, then you should do all standards. And there are people who tell you that if you do original music, you should do all original music. And I just pretty much paid attention to my intuition in terms of that. and everything that I, the standards that I choose, I think, fit inside of, you know, the whole body of work that I do. You sing, let's face the music and dance on your latest album.

Did you arrange that yourself? How did you decide to interpret that song? That is one of the songs that many great singers have sung before. Actually, Henry Threadgill suggested that tune. He suggested that tune to me, and I was shocked. that he suggested it because Henry's not really the type of musician who gets into the standard repertoire but he really liked that song. Everything just kind of happened you know in terms of the arrangement we got into a rehearsal with it and I heard it very up you know and very bright

and finally heard it like with a trumpet solo out front and that's the way it happened. and romance, let's face the music and dance before the fiddlers have fled, before they ask us to pay the bill, and while we still have the chance, let's face the music and dance. Oh, soon we'll be without the book I'll name a different tune,

and then there may be teardrops to share, but while there's moonlight and there's moonlight and there's a little bit. There's moonlight and music and love and romance. Let's waste the music and dance. I want to ask you about another piece on your latest album. The piece is called Apricots on Their Wings. It was composed by Henry Threadgill. Can you talk a little bit about the origins of this song?

I really don't know what the... Oh, okay. Well, Henry told me that it was... I never understood the lyrics. I mean, and I just had to one day I came out and asked me, I said, you know, what does this mean? And he said, well, it's kind of a nonsensical type of a lyrical thing. You know, the word sounded pleasant to him,

and they worked well together lyrically. So he put them together. How important is it as a singer to really understand and even relate to the lyrics that you're singing? Well, it depends on the material. For something like apricots, I just got a lot of joy out of the melody of that tune and just the way it moves.

So it was always just, I somehow intuitively could feel what it meant and, you know, just from dealing with the sound of it. You do some nice scatting on the beginning of that piece. Was that improvised or was that composed beforehand? No, I was completely improvised. Do you like scatting? Oh, yeah, I enjoyed very much. In fact, I don't really call it scatting. I think that scatting is like a...

That's taken from a bebop era where vocalists tended to try to imitate horns. But what I do, I really don't try to imitate horns. I just improvise and create sounds that are distinctive to the voice. And sometimes it just so happens that they do sound like instruments, but that's like not the initial approach, you know, to sound like an instrument. I like the idea of being a voice. You said before that some people tell you to just sing standards or to sing no standards. Right.

Everybody's got an opinion, you know. It's like, oh, you should do this. Have your musician friends discouraged you from singing standards? Yes. In a word. Some musicians really think of singers as just being pretty props to put in front of musicians and they don't really respect them that much. I don't know.

And that's why I think standards get that kind of reputation, because they're associated with the things that singers do? Have you found that kind of stuff to be true? Yeah, I think that is true. But there's a suspicion of singers and standards? Mm-hmm. I think the distrust of singers comes from something that... It's based on something that historically is true.

Singers tended to move into the music without very much of a depth of knowledge in music theory. And so I think as a result of that, musicians just tend to, like, disrespect singers because sometimes when they get up there, they don't know, you know, a lot of them, they don't know what they're doing. They're not really functioning as musicians inside the group. They're functioning as simply singers. And do you want to function as a musician inside the group?

Oh, I do function as a musician inside my group, inside of any context that I am, because basically that's what I am, a musician who sings. Cassandra Wilson, speaking to Terry Gross, in 1988. She died last week at the age of 70. I don't know where we're going. I've no idea how this fell in. From the beginning I've been swimming in the current of your skin. The autumn rains turned into thunderstorms, the waters rose.

I was drowning in your arms. But when I woke up in the morning, I was breathing. I was breathing. Oh, I was alive. I saw another country in your eyes. This is fresh air. This is fresh air. Our film critic, Justin Chang,

recommends the monster movie Hope, which takes place in a South Korean border town that becomes the site of an alien invasion. It's the latest from the director, Nah Hong Jin, who's known for his thrillers such as the Yellow Sea and The Wailing. Hope is now playing in theaters. Here is Justin's review. The South Korean filmmaker Nah Hongjin has directed four feature films over the past 18 years. They're terrific, if not for the faint of heart.

I still remember watching Nah's 2008 debut, The Chaser, and thinking I'd rarely seen a more brutally relentless thriller, or a darker statement about the elusiveness of law and order. His next one, the Yellow Sea, was even better, a gripping mob movie that was also a wrenching portrait of a Korean-Chinese immigrant on the run, a man without a country. Nah is a master of tone and genre, and there's a genuine moral undertow to his movies,

even as they balance comedy, tragedy, and bone-crunching violence. Nah's latest movie, Hope, is a big step up in ambition, if maybe a step down in finesse. It's been divisive, passionately praised and witheringly dismissed, sometimes in the same breath. It's a sprawling, big-budget monster movie set in a remote South Korean town

that comes under attack from giant shape-shifting aliens. That made it an admittedly odd choice to premiere in competition at the recent Cannes Film Festival, though I was grateful for the genre movie diversion, and floored as usual by the robustness of Nah's action chops. Even Hope's dumb stretches, and it has them for sure, are touched by brilliance. The movie blurs the lines between Schlock and Art. It begins in a town called Hope Harbor, located near the border with North Korea.

The surrounding countryside is full of barbed wire and undetinated landmines. The residents are used to being on high alert. Yet their most dangerous enemy hails not from across the border, but from the skies. Extraterrestrial monsters have descended and laid waste to the town. The local police chief, played by Huang Zhongmin, arrives late on the scene, and it's through his eyes that we see the destruction after it's already happened. But we don't see the monsters right away. For roughly the first hour of this more than two-and-a-half-hour movie,

Nah steers us through a dim labyrinth of damaged stores and homes, building up our nervous anticipation scene by scene. Like the Steven Spielberg who made jaws, Nah knows that the less we see, the scarier things are. Indeed, it's a bit of a disappointment when we finally do get a clear look at the monsters, who resemble creatures out of a zombie apocalypse video game circa the early 2000s. But this isn't a deal-breaker. The CGI may be third-rate, but Hope has some of the most exhilaratingly sustained action scenes I've seen in years.

Naa has a strange ability to juggle nerve-shreading realism with an outlandish, almost slapstick level of violence. Watching his characters tear through the streets with a monster in a hot pursuit is like watching the Steve McQueen classic Bullet, a Mad Max movie, and a Looney Tunes cartoon rolled into one. And there's an extraordinarily beautiful sequence in the woods, in which the pursuit takes place on horseback that has the majesty of a western. There are lengthy stretches of downtime, during which we get to know the people of hope. Most of them prickly types with salty mouths and big guns.

The character development is minimal, but the performances stick with you. Chang Hoyon of Squid Game fame is terrific as a plucky police deputy, who's a demon behind the wheel. And Cho-Insung is hilarious as an irascible hunter who stares down one of the aliens and turns out to have more lives than Wiley Coyote. As for the aliens themselves,

Nod deliberately keeps us in the dark and off balance in terms of who they are, where they come from, and what exactly they want from planet Earth. It's worth noting that they are played by well-known Hollywood actors, including Michael Fastbender, Alicia Vecander,

and Taylor Russell, though it's hard to recognize them under so many layers of CGI, especially given the incomprehensible language they speak. Part of me wondered if Nah were making a wry commentary on the inequities of Blockbuster filmmaking by pitting his Korean ensemble against a bunch of better-known Hollywood stars. But then in the final minutes of hope, a truly bizarre narrative reversal occurs. Let's just say that the movie squeezes an entire film's worth of backstory into five minutes, and suggests there's more to these extraterrestrial beings than we might have thought. The movie ends on a laughably abrupt cliffhanger, but one with a

touch of self-awareness. Nah has already said in interviews that he's planning a sequel. Will the next movie clear up some of our confusion? We can always hope. Justin Chang is a film critic for the New Yorker. Hope is now playing in theaters. Hope is the thing with feathers Perches in the soul And sings the tune without the words It never stops it all And never stops at all

On Monday's show, Riannon Giddens She plays and sings music from the black string band tradition dating back to slave times She's the artistic director of the Silk Road Ensemble She won a Pulitzer for co-writing an opera and played banjo on Beyonce's Texas Hold'em. Giddens will play banjo, fiddle, and sing on our show. I hope you can join us.

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