Support for NPR and the following message come from the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, investing in creative thinkers and problem solvers who help people, communities, and the planet flourish. More information is available at hewlett.org. This is Fresh Air. I'm David Bianculli. Neil Sedaka, the singer and songwriter whose recording and performing career stretched from the 1950s to the current decade, died last week. He was 86 years old. Neil Sedaka was born in Brighton Beach in 1939 and displayed his musical talent early on. His mother bought him his first piano at age seven, and at age nine he got a child prodigy scholarship at Juilliard and was hand selected by classical pianist Arthur Rubenstein to perform on live radio. But Sadaka was drawn elsewhere. Another young kid interested in pop music, Neil Diamond, lived across the street from His girlfriend in high school, Carol Klein, turned out to be a pretty good songwriter too, once she broke up with Sadaka and renamed herself Carol King. By then, young Neil had teamed with another budding songwriter, Howard Greenfield, who wrote lyrics to Neil's music. Their first break and first hit came in 1958, when Connie Francis was looking for a song to appeal to teenagers. Neil Sadaka was only 19 at the time, and she loved the song's innocence. Stupid Cupid became a top 20 hit for her. I can't do my homework and I can't be straight. I meet him every morning but I'm half past eight. Stupid Cupid. I'm acting like a lovesick fool. You've even got me carrying his books to school. Stupid Cupid. Hey, hey, you set me free. Stupid Cupid, stop picking on me. Connie Francis later had an even bigger hit with another of their songs, Where the Boys Are. Neil scored his own hit, a top ten on Billboard, the next year with O'Carroll. And even though the lyrics were written by Greenfield, the message for Neil Sedaka was personal. He was singing about his ex-girlfriend, Carole King. O'Carroll, I am but a fool. Darling, I love you. Oh, you treat me cruel. You hurt me. And you make me cry. But if you leave me, I will surely die. Sadaka scored another top ten hit with Calendar Girl in 1960. Breaking Up Is Hard To Do in 1962 was his first number one hit. But after the British invasion arrived and music tastes changed, Neil Sadaka vanished from the charts for more than a decade. Then, in 1975, he enjoyed a major renaissance. Elton John signed him to his record label, and Sadaka had two number one hits that year. One was a soft ballad, Laughter in the Rain. Ooh, how I love the rainy days and the happy way I feel inside And the other was Bad Blood, a duet with Elton himself. Bad Blood, the woman's a-born to lie Makes promises she can't keep with the wink of an eye That same year, Neil Sadaka and Howard Greenfield, who had written their first hit songs together back in the 50s, collaborated again on a song that became a number one hit for the Captain and Tennille, Love Will Keep Us Together. If you listen closely to the end of that song, the captain and Tennille snuck in a quick tribute, singing Sadaka's Back, followed by applause. Sadaka is back. The current century delivered no new hits, but Neil Sadaka remained active. In 2009, he released a children's album featuring playful revised lyrics to his most famous songs. The collection was called Waking Up is Hard to Do and included the novelty numbers Where the Toys Are and Lunch Will Keep Us Together. His original songs and his own story were featured in a jukebox musical called Laughter in the Rain in 2010. Neil Sadaka performed until recently at a Studio City restaurant, popping up monthly for Intimate Sunday performances. Today, we'll remember Neil Sadaka by listening to an interview Terry Gross conducted with him in 2007. Now, when you were in your teens or just out of them, you had a knack for writing songs that would appeal to teenagers, maybe particularly to teenage girls because the songs often had the message they wanted to hear, like they're growing up and becoming very desirable. Did you think about that consciously? Did you think of yourself as writing songs for teens? Well, we were the teenagers of New York, coming from the Brill Building School of Songwriting. And yes, we were writing for the teenage market. The early lyrics or collaboration with Howard Greenfield, who was a marvelous lyricist and who could concise... It was almost the art of writing a three-minute song. song, and we could tell a whole story in three minutes. Happy Birthday, Sweet Sixteen, from the beginning to the end, is a little novelette. Did you always start with a lyrical hook as well as a musical one? I always wrote the melody first, and I would prepare two or three melodies for Howie and play him that day, and whatever mood he might be in, he would choose one of those. And then it was a give and take. If the lyrics didn't fit, I would change a melody or a motif, and then he might change some things to accommodate me. It was a very close collaboration. Now, were you in the Brill Building or the building near the Brill Building? 1619. So it wasn't the Brill Building, it was the one next to it. Yes, but we refer to it as the new Brill Building, the young writers, as opposed to the Irving Caesars in 1650, the old writers across the street. This is like the rock and roll Tin Pan Alley building as opposed to the Tin Pan Alley, Tin Pan Alley building. Exactly. So this is an office building where a lot of young songwriters were working under contract, churning out songs. Who else was writing there when you were there? I'm always asked, people are fascinated with the Brill Building. I brought Carol King who I was dating in high school. Howie Greenfield and I were the first writers to be signed to Alden Music at the Brill Building. And then I brought Carole King and Jerry Goffin. The others were Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, Jeff Barry and Ellie Greenwich. Neil Diamond came for a time, Paul Simon. It was a very illustrious group, and it was excellent training. We came into an office, a cubicle. It was a tiny office from 10 in the morning till 5 in the afternoon, five days a week, and we wrote songs for a living. And it was, you know, one day you could come up with nothing, but the next day you were able to piece it together. Were you all competitive with each other or friendly? Well, you know, competition is good, and creativity, you bounce off other creative people. I think people are inspired by other musicians. So it was a good atmosphere. And at the end of the day, all of us would go into Al Nevin's office and play the songs. And they would say which artists are coming up for sessions, whether it be the Righteous Brothers or the Chiffons or so many groups. And the best song won out. Most of the songwriters there were writing for other singers. And you wrote songs that other singers recorded, but you wrote a lot of songs that you recorded yourself. Were you originally hired to write for other people? I came in as a writer the first six months, and two of my songs were recorded. Connie Francis did Stupid Cupid, and before that, Atlantic Records, Ahmed Erdogan and Jerry Wexler took my songs and recorded them with Clyde McFatter and Laverne Baker. but about six months to a year into the contract, I was 19, and I had a great desire to record my own songs. And I was brought into RCA Victor, Steve Scholz, who was the top A&R man. He had just brought Elvis Presley from Sun Records to RCA. And I auditioned for him with a song called the diary, and he signed me to a five-year contract. And Terry, I was very fortunate between 1958 and 1963, to the shock of my family after studying at the Juilliard, I sold 40 million records in the five years. So I did. I'm sure your parents were happy about that in spite of their classical aspirations for you. My mother, in fact, was not happy at the beginning. But, you know, I bought her her Ming Stoll, so she was very, very happy after that. We're listening to Terry's 2007 interview with songwriter and singer Neil Sedaka. He died last week at the age of 86. Terry asked him about the syllables he sang in his songs, which became his trademark. How did it become a trademark, and how did you figure out what syllables to use, whether it should be wella wella or doobie doobie? Well, it started early in the career, and it was kind of someone singing along. Perhaps they were just getting into the song, and they didn't get into the lyric yet, so they were going, down do we do down down, before they began the actual song. And it was, how did I choose the syllables? The most important thing in songwriting was the marriage of words and music. And the syllables had to fit the particular melody. And I was very keen on that marriage of lyrics or syllables set to music. What was the first song you did that on? I think it was O'Carroll. I did double voice. But Breaking Up is an interesting song because I think I'm the only artist who has recorded his song twice. I did it first as a rock and roll song in 1962 and then I re Breaking Up Is Hard To Do 15 years later as a slow gin mill song And by the way, both of them were huge successes. What made you decide to do a slower and more adult version of the song in 1975? Lenny Welch, a great singer who had a hit called Since I Fell For You, was a friend and asked if I had any follow-up to Since I Fell for You. And I was fooling around at the piano one day and discovered that Breaking Up Is Hard To Do worked as a slow song. And I presented it to him. He loved it and recorded it as a ballad. And it was an R&B hit. And then I would do it as an encore in my concerts. and the audience reaction was so good that I decided to re-record it as a ballad. And you made some changes on it. It's not just that the tempo's slower, the chords are really different. Well, of course, it's more sophisticated. And when you have a ballad hit, it's a career move. It's a much better career vehicle. And when you're doing it as a jazz piece, you automatically change some of the chords to make them sound like a standard, like you're listening to a Dinah Washington record. Okay, so let's hear Neil Sedaka's two versions of his song Breaking Up Is Hard To Do, the first from 1962, the second from 1975. Both versions are featured on his new CD, the definitive collection of Neil Sedaka. Come a, come a, down, doobie-doo, down, down Come a, come a, down, doobie-doo, down, down Breaking up is hard to do Don't take your love away from me Don't you leave my heart in misery If you go, then I'll be blue Cause breaking up is hard to do Remember when you held me tight And you kissed me all through the night Think of all that we've been through And breaking up is hard to do They say that... be careful of what you say. And, you know, I think that it's very difficult. These kids are on in front of millions and millions of people. It's a very difficult thing. But I must tell you how I got on. Everyone was saying, oh, Neil, you must be a celebrity judge. I said, oh, there are so many people trying to get on. And my publishers called and said, perhaps if you called personally to the show, you have a better chance. And I picked up the telephone, spoke to a Susan Slema on the staff. I said, hi, this is Neil Sedaka. I watch the show. I'd love to be on as a celebrity judge. And she said, are you kidding? Who is this? I said, no, it's Neil Sedaka. She said, sit there. We're having a meeting. She called me back in an hour and said, you'll be on in two weeks. And the five finalists will be singing all Neil Sedaka songs. I was over the moon. What impact did it have on your career? The catalog went through the roof. All of the old records started to sell. Amazon.com was ringing off the walls. And Solitaire by Clay was one of the biggest, I think the second biggest seller of that year. We were talking about how you grew up playing classical music and how your mother early on would have preferred that you play classical music. In those early days, were you torn into directions pop versus classical? No, I was a very serious piano student. I started playing at age eight. At nine, I entered the prep school of the Juilliard when it was on 125th Street and Claremont Avenue. I studied with the great Edgar Roberts. and when I was 13, I discovered that I could write songs. I wasn't very popular in school. I wasn't a jock and wasn't one of the popular kids playing Chopin and Bach. So I was fascinated by the reaction I got. I was invited to all of the teenage parties and that was a very big deal in those days. if you can play your own songs or hits of the day. So it was a twofold, actually a twofold study of songwriting and going to Juilliard every Saturday. And then I went to the college, Juilliard College, studied with Adele Marcus. And when I was 19, I had to make a decision which direction to go. and you know the money is being from a very poor family my father was a taxi driver in Brooklyn for 30 years and worked very hard and I think every teenager wanted to be a rock and roll star that would be very exciting to any kid of that age so I did pursue it but I never dropped the classical music because I still basically love it, and those are my roots. In an autobiography that you wrote a few years ago, you write about a song, Mr. Moon, that you wrote when you were in high school and that you performed in high school, but the principal didn't like the song. You describe it as having been a little risque for school. I was dying to hear how it went. Well, I was a freshman at Lincoln High School, and, as I said, not one of the popular kids. And I had started writing rock and roll. It was the beginning of rock and roll. And I wrote a song called Mr. Moon and sang it at one of the Ballyhoo shows in the auditorium. And there was to be two performances. The first performance, the kids started to jump and dance and bump and grind. And it was a sensation, except when Abraham Lass, the principal, called me into his office and said, you know, Neil, we can't have that kind of behavior. We'd like you to do something else, another kind of song for the second performance. And there was a petition signed by the students that they wanted Neil to do Mr. Moon again. And we won, and I did it again. It was not a dirty song in any way, but it was kind of a bump and grind, you know, that old rock and roll tempo, which was very new at the time. Could you do a few bars of it? Oh, my goodness, I was 16. Mr. Moon, guide your love back to me. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. Sounds very, very fragile now. Very timid. Neil Sedaka speaking to Terry Gross in 2007. After a break, we'll continue their conversation. Also, Ken Tucker reviews the new album by The Paranoid Style, and Justin Chang reviews Hoppers, the new Pixar movie. I'm David Bianculli, and this is Fresh Air. If you're a super fan of Fresh Air with Terry Gross, we have exciting news. WHYY has launched a Fresh Air Society, a leadership group dedicated to ensuring Fresh Air's legacy. For over 50 years, this program has brought you fascinating interviews with favorite authors, artists, actors, and more. As a member of the Fresh Air Society, you'll receive special benefits and recognition. Learn more at WHYY.org slash Fresh Air Society. Support for NPR and the following message come from the William and Flora Hewlett Foundation, investing in creative thinkers and problem solvers who help people, communities, and the planet flourish. More information is available at hewlett.org. This is Fresh Air. I'm David B. Cooley. We're remembering Neil Sedaka, the singer and songwriter who died last week at age 86. He co-wrote his first hit song when he was 19. And even before that, in high school, he was busy composing pop songs. When Terry spoke with him in 2007, she asked him about his high school years, which he wrote about in his memoir. Yeah, you know, you write in that memoir, you write, by first grade, I was known as the school sissy. I practiced walking and gesturing in a masculine fashion in front of the mirror. So it made me think you were probably picked on a lot. Yes, that was one of the reasons that I wanted to be recognized. I wanted to please people. I think in many instances, artists who begin as, you know, are neglected and are made fun of, I think that they pursue these careers to be noticed, to be accepted and to be revered. So I showed those football players. Yeah. Well, did it make you self-conscious when you started performing about whether you should look more macho as a performer? I studied in front of a mirror. I had a sister, Ronnie, who I adored, and she was my hero. She was 18 months older, beautiful, popular, and, you know, I had to stand in front of a mirror, I'll be totally honest with you, and learn how to move in a more macho way, how to carry my books. It was a metamorphosis. You know, I think in that era, every teenager was standing in front of a mirror. And some people were learning to dance in front of a mirror. Some people were pretending they were singing into a microphone in front of a mirror. And other people were just trying to figure out how to fix their hair or look better. But don't you think like every boy and girl is standing in front of a mirror then? Yes, but I must correct you. I didn't use the word sissy. I use the word effeminate because I was raised by six women we were believe it or not 11 people in a two apartment in Brighton Beach My mother, my sister, my five aunts, and my grandmother. So these are the people who I emulated. So it was a marvelous upbringing because I was spoiled by all these women. Now, a few years ago, you recorded an album of Yiddish songs. called Brighton Beach Memories. You grew up in Brighton Beach. Yes. Were these songs that you grew up hearing? Yes. My mother played the Barry Sisters records. These were the great old standards. V'yachin z'lechkein, shen v'di levuna, my yiddish mama. I heard them at bar mitzvahs and weddings and family picnics. and I decided at this stage of my career that I wanted to do things for my own heart, for my own spirit, not particularly looking for commerciality. And I got some wonderful reaction. I did an all-Yiddish concert at Carnegie Hall a couple of years ago for the folks being Jewish Theater in New York. and it wound up to be a very exciting album. I performed with a few klezma groups in California and Chicago, the klezmatics, and it was my roots and I'm very proud of where I came from. I think you have to remember where you came from and this was very special. I want to play a track from the album. Let me ask you to choose one of your favorites. I'd love to hear Yiddish or Mama. I do it half in English and half in Yiddish. And it reminds me of my mother who passed away last year, Eleanor Sedaka, who lived to 89. She lived a great life. But I think it was originally done by Sophie Tucker years ago. And it's a very moving, very emotional song. Well, let's hear Niel Sedaka's recording of My Yiddish Mama from his album Brighton Beach Memories. My Yiddish Mama There's a better world in the world My Yiddish Mama I wish she was bitter when she fell How beautiful and light is in the house When the mamas do How beautiful the world is When God takes the earth to come In water and fire Voltege la fin farirkin This is Neil Sedaka from his album Brighton Beach Memories. It came out a few years ago. Now, earlier we heard two different versions of your song Breaking Up is Hard to Do. One from the early 60s, one from the mid-70s. When did your string of hits in the 60s end? People always say that for the American pop songwriters and singers, their careers were really interrupted or ended by the British invasion. Is that too simplistic or do you think that's an accurate description? That's an accurate description, Terry. There was also a natural progression of five years of hits. The Everly Brothers, Connie Francis, Fats Domino, Brenda Lee. We all didn't have more than five years. But as you said, the British invasion, the great Beatles and Rolling Stones came. I wanted to write that style, and I did write that style, but my public wouldn't accept it, and the record company wouldn't accept it. So, for 11 years, I took a back seat, took stock of myself, raised a family, had my two children, and wrote for a publishing firm and had some great artists record my songs. Andy Williams, Johnny Mathis, Peggy Lee, Shirley Bassey. But, you know, once you get a taste of being in front of the public, you never get over that. and it was 11 years later in 19, around 1974, 75, actually that I lived in England. I moved my wife and children to England because in England they respected the original rock and rollers in America and it was there that I met Elton John who was starting a record company, Rocket Records in America. And he was a big fan of my early records. And he knew that I was recording with a group called the 10 CCs in Stockport, England, marvelous group at the time. And I made two albums with them. And both of them were successes in the UK. And Elton said, you know, I think I could launch you again in America. And I said, well, that would be remarkable. Elton had me record an album called Sadak is Back, which was a remarkable comeback for me. And I always thank Elton for that. Was Laughter in the Rain on that? Yes. Yeah, that was a really big hit for you. Well, after 11 years, to have a number one record was a remarkable comeback. And Love Will Keep Us Together was on, and The Immigrant, and that's when the music takes me. I was very proud of the collection. So how much are you still writing songs now? I write once or twice a year. I wrote some new songs that I'm working on for a children's album. And I actually rewrote. Since I have three new grandchildren, my son and his wife got after me and said, you know, you're Papa Neil now. You have to write some children's songs. So I came up with the idea of changing the lyrics to some of my original hits. So I did Waking Up Is Hard To Do. I did Where The Toys Are. Don't trip over your toys. Put them away neatly. and so perhaps I'll be Papa Neil on television. Who knows? I'm trying to think of a really torchy version of Where the Toys Are. Well, it's really been a pleasure talking with you. Thank you so much. Same here, Terry, and it's a wonderful program. Congratulations. Continued success. Neil Sedaka speaking to Terry Gross in 2007. The co-composer of Where the Boys Are, Breaking Up is Hard to Do and Love Will Keep Us Together, died last week at age 86. in the fridge and let lunch keep us together. Mmm. Hot dogs, mac and cheese, french fries and ketchup I'll drown. When the others say they're stuffed, who's still chowing it down? I will, I will, I will, I will. Coming up, Ken Tucker reviews Known Associates, the latest album by The Paranoid Style. This is Fresh Air. This is Fresh Air. The Paranoid Style is a Washington, D.C.-based rock band led by Elizabeth Nelson, whose dense, clever lyrics have marked her as a superior pop music composer. Nelson's writing also has appeared in print, in publications like the New York Times and the Atlantic, and in liner notes for historical reissues of acts such as Bob Dylan and The Replacements. The Paranoid Style's new album is called Known Associates, and rock critic Ken Tucker says it's the band's most rocking record yet. All the flames gathered in your heart All the names, Rodgers and Hammerstein, Rodgers and Hart All the rage when you don't even know where to stop You start from the heart And then you take it to court I believe we've crossed paths I believe we've played cards That voice you hear flatly declarative, wry, and verbose, belongs to Elizabeth Nelson, lead singer and chief songwriter for The Paranoid Style. Five albums into their career, the band exudes a cocky confidence in its ability to use rock songs as vehicles for both social commentary and personal angst. On Shut Up and Deal, Nelson deploys a sarcastic country music melody to usher you into a tough lyric about the cynical compromises people make to succeed in life. Shut up and deal. Shut up and deal. Shut up and deal. Walk around town like you invented the wheel. You're getting on my last nerve, baby. Shut up and deal. As a band, the paranoid style most often gets its creative spark from the tension between the guitar's garage rock roughness and Nelson's chatterbox eloquence. On the song A Barrier to Entry, the band steals the hook from the Riviera's 1963 surf music smash California Sun as Nelson sings about the kinds of limits music snobs and cultural gatekeepers try to impose on our ideas of pop greatness. You case the joint, you class it up Dime store hooch in a silver cup You take a job as a waitress serve the land a gentry Where one quarter through the century it a barrier to entry The terms are binding, you've had bad luck The gears are grinding, you refuse to get stuck You know a guy named Bruce, you know a guy named Henry You still dig sonic youth. It's a barrier to entry. Speaking of thumbing her nose at music snobs, in a recent piece she wrote for the literary magazine Southwest Review, Nelson says Linda Ronstadt's 1977 cover of the Rolling Stones' Tumbling Dice is, quote, my favorite recording of my favorite song of all time. She makes a case for Ronstadt as a great singer of rock and roll, a notion with which I could not disagree more. Ronstadt, a great pop ballad singer? Yes, indeed. A great rocker? Come on. But Nelson is such a provocative critic that I happily entertain her arguments. In this same essay, she says her favorite song she's ever recorded with the paranoid style is this one she wrote for Ronstadt called It's a Dog's Breakfast. Stranded for all your best efforts Remanded, they'll see you back in Texas You were reckless beyond your years You were frightened beyond your fears You thought about buying a Lexus It's a dog's breakfast Shorthand for all you should have been learning Send a telegram out to the nearest attorney The bail bond's been set It never hurts to know the bailiff All the people you rode with All the people you sailed with Tell the truth They kind of expected this It's a dog's breakfast Taking a cue from Nelson on Ronstadt, it occurs to me that there's a case to be made for Elizabeth Nelson as the best rock lyricist of this moment. Her range of subject matter is prodigious, her technical command of imagery and form is impeccable, even when she's breaking the rules by cramming more words into a line than it would seem able to bear. Take, for example, the joyfully rushed cadences of white wine whatever, a manic romp or what Nelson calls a pure brawl that invokes everything from Roxy Music to Jean-Luc Godard. White, fine, whatever. Keeping profits in mind, keeping working folks apart. The root of oppression is the expression of their art. Babe, what's your name? Is that even germane? Are you Northern Virginia or Virginia Plain? White, fine, whatever. You're a little bit tawdry, you're a little bit tart, you're a little bit country, a little Jean-Luc Godard. White, wine, whatever. Known Associates is the Paranoid Style's most hard-rocketing record, even as Elizabeth Nelson extends the reach of her influence. Seems like everyone's got a podcast, but Nelson's, also called Known Associates, shows her to be a fine interrogator of fellow musicians and writers. Nelson and the paranoid style are the most persuasive argument I know for the ongoing vitality of rock and roll. Ken Tucker reviewed Known Associates by the paranoid style. Coming up, Justin Chang reviews the new Pixar film, Hoppers. This is Fresh Air. This is Fresh Air. Our film critic, Justin Chang, says the new animated film Hoppers is the strongest Pixar movie in years. It's a science fiction comedy about a college student who wants to protect the local wildlife and stumbles on an extremely high-tech way to do it. The movie opens in theaters this week and features the voices of Piper Kurta, Bobby Moynihan, and Jon Hamm. Here is Justin's review. We're long past the days when the Pixar brand was a reliable indicator of quality, when every other year or so would bring a new masterwork on the level of The Incredibles, Ratatouille, and WALL-E. In recent years, the Disney-owned animation studio has succumbed to sequelitis. I didn't much care for Inside Out 2 or the Toy Story spinoff Lightyear, and even ostensible originals like Soul and Elemental have felt like high-concept disappointments. So it's a relief as well as a pleasure to recommend Pixar's wildly entertaining new movie, Hoppers, without reservation. Directed by Daniel Chong, from a script by Jesse Andrews, this eco-themed sci-fi farce may not be vintage or all-time great Pixar, but its unhinged comic delirium is by far the liveliest thing to emerge from the company in years. The movie stars Piper Curta as the voice of Mabel Tanaka, a plucky 19-year-old college misfit and environmental activist who lives in the woodsy suburban town of Beaverton. Mabel is more of an animal lover than a people person. She inherited a love of nature from her late grandmother, and she wants nothing more than to protect her favorite place, a forest glade. The town's popular mayor, Jerry, amusingly voiced by John Hamm, is trying to ram a highway through the area. But to Mabel's alarm, the busy beavers who made the glade a haven for local wildlife have inexplicably vanished, and they seem to have taken all the other forest critters with them. While investigating this disturbing situation, Mabel stumbles on a high-tech experiment that's being conducted by her biology professor, Dr. Sam, voiced by Kathy Najimy. At first glance, Mabel mistakenly assumes they're experimenting on a real live beaver. We just need to be careful. This technology must never fall into the wrong hands. What is this? Mabel? Dr. Sam, you're experimenting on animals? I'll handle her. Nisha, no. I don't know what you think you saw, but I can... Oh, you people are sick. No, no, no. There's a simple explanation. What have you done to him? Mabel, you're holding a robot. What? Dr. Sam calls the program Hoppers because it allows a single human mind to enter, or hop, into the body of a robot animal, which can then pass itself off as an actual animal and communicate with real creatures in the wild. Against Dr. Sam's wishes, Mabel hops into the robot beaver and makes her way deep into the forest, where she hopes to convince a real beaver to return to the glade and bring all the other animals back with it. What Mabel discovers in the forest, though, is not at all what she expected. She encounters a community that includes birds, bunnies, raccoons, a very grumpy bear, and of course other beavers, including the friendly, somewhat naive beaver king, George, endearingly voiced by Bobby Moynihan. The movie takes the idea of the animal kingdom quite literally. The enormous vocal ensemble includes the late Isaiah Whitlock Jr. as a royal goose, and Meryl Streep as the most imperious monarch butterfly imaginable. George has no idea that Mabel isn't a real beaver, and he quickly takes a liking to her, even though her efforts to learn why the animals left the glade have a way of getting her and everyone into hot water. None of this may sound too odd, especially coming just a few months after Zootopia 2. But Hopper's is just getting started. The movie gets funnier, stranger, and more surreal as it goes along. The mind-bending, body-swapping premise has obvious shades of Avatar, which Andrews' script knowingly shouts out early on. There are also references to classic horror films like The Birds and Jaws, and for good reason. Hoppers asks the question, what would happen if animals were fully aware of what humans have done to the planet, and suddenly in a position to do something about it? In the final stretch, the film almost becomes a body snatcher movie, with a level of creepiness that may scare the youngest in the audience, though my nine-year-old laughed far more than she screamed. I laughed a lot, too. Hopper's is full of funny throwaway lines and oddball non-sequiturs that I expect I'll hear a hundred more times when it finally makes its way into our streaming rotation. The movie occasionally flirts with darkness, but even Pixar's daring can only go so far. And its environmental advocacy ultimately lands on an unobjectionable message about how humans and animals can coexist. That may sound conventional, but it's borne out beautifully by Mabel and George's unlikely friendship, which happily continues even after Mabel is no longer a beaver. There's something fitting about that. For Pixar, Hoppers is nothing short of a return to form. Justin Chang is a film critic at The New Yorker. He reviewed the new film, Hoppers. On Monday's show, the hidden history of blackface and how amateur minstrel shows featuring white people in blackface permeated American culture in the North and the South. Even President Roosevelt was a fan. We talk with Ray Lynn Barnes, author of Darkology. I 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 slash 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 Roberta Schirach. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham, with additional engineering support by Joyce Lieberman, Julian Hertzfeld, and Charlie Kyer. Our interviews and reviews are produced and edited by Phyllis Myers, Anne-Marie Baldonado, Lauren Krenzel, Teresa Madden, Monique Nazareth, Thea Chaloner, Susan Yacundi, Anna Bauman, and Nico Gonzalez-Wisler. Our digital media producer is Molly Zeevee-Nesper. For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm David B. Incouli.
