Maria Banson writes Maria Banson is a Certified Sommelier and American Wine Expert living and working in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, award-winning director of stage and screen Enrico Banson. A “semi-retired” actor and classical musician, Maria enjoys listening to Verdi operas and singing "Libiamo" while drinking Special Club Champagne… or old Brunello.
In addition to her work on restaurant floors, Maria is the author of Brunello Bombshell, a newsletter about the relationship between wine and movies and their shared impact on pop culture. Maria is currently studying for the Advanced Sommelier Exam with the Court of Master Sommeliers.
Scenes From The Third Act
The scene was only 65 seconds long. But those 65 seconds encapsulated a lifetime of yearning, the quixotic pursuit of scholarship, and the validation I so desperately wanted from the person I needed it from most.
When I popped open Netflix that day, I had no idea that a movie about an aspiring sommelier would remind me of the pains and joys of my relationship with my father.
In the movie Uncorked, the plot follows Elijah Bruener (played by Mamoudou Athie) as he struggles with familial obligations while studying for the Master Sommelier exam. Loosely based on the life of DLynn Proctor (who also served as an Associate Producer on the film), it becomes clear that Elijah struggles with being a present and capable child to a parent who demands excellence.
I watched the movie for the first time at 12:01 AM the day it was released because it featured a predominantly Black cast and put a BIPOC character front and center in a world that has been historically dominated by wealthy white men. I had no idea how much it would hit home for me.
The moment I will never forget happens almost two-thirds of the way through the movie, at a point screenwriters call the beginning of the “third act”.
Elijah and his father Louis (played by Courtney B. Vance) are sitting in a posh bar in Memphis watching an NBA game. There’s small talk about this player and that, a statistic or two thrown around… and then the bartender approaches.
At this point, Louis’ disdain for wine is fact. He orders a “Jack, neat. And throw in a little extra, too, because slavery”.
Elijah gives his father a little side eye before engaging the bartender in conversation about Australian Shiraz. Some back-and-forth ensues, a Spring Mountain Cabernet Sauvignon is offered as a potential bottle, and then Elijah reveals that he’s looking for something peppery and smoky to pair with his steak. The bartender suggests a 2010 Penfolds Bin 389 - a 50/50 Cab/Shiraz blend with the aforementioned peppery and smoky qualities that will be perfect with a steak.
Elijah is pleased to have convinced the bartender to give up a bottle that any wine enthusiast would treasure. Louis looks at his son with a 50/50 blend of intimidation and awe.
Elijah picks up on this. He explains to his father that the wine he just ordered is an epicurean’s delight, with notes of ginger and a smooth, chocolatey finish that are irresistible. Still trying to process the interaction he just witnessed, Louis slowly blinks and realizes that his son possesses a depth of knowledge that wildly exceeds his expectations.
And then, without hesitation, Elijah brings the conversation back to the NBA. The comfort zone. One of the only places of common ground he shares with his father. Elijah knows that he has just poked a hole of vulnerability in Louis’ figurative wall of defense. Instead of bulldozing beyond his father’s intimidation, Elijah offers him a figurative olive branch. A path toward more connection.
65 seconds from start to finish. A wine moment with very little wine pictured on screen that will stay with me for the rest of my life.
In 65 seconds, I realized that my pursuit of excellence in the wine world would be worth it if I could share a moment like that with my own father.
Like Louis in Uncorked, my father is both a larger-than-life presence and the smartest person in every room he enters. Being first-generation Mexican-American and the only son, he was forced to grow up fast and take care of his parents and two sisters. My father excelled in school, finding comfort in the academic rigors at Stanford University as he prepared for law school.
The one thing he could talk about with his father at length? Baseball.
And then he met my mother. She left her Ph.D. program in pharmaceutical chemistry when they got pregnant with me. Together, they had four kids within five years.
My childhood home was idyllic on the outside and ruthlessly competitive on the inside. My father was the instigator, pitting my siblings and I against each other for top accolades in sports, academics, chores… family dinners involved impromptu quizzes on U.S. history and ringing the “um bell for the dumbbell” who dared to speak with a common sentence filling word.
The day I told my father I wanted to be a musician was the first day I broke my father’s heart. The day I beat my father at “Jeopardy!” was the second.
He still reminds me that I would make a fantastic lawyer.
And every time he says something like that, I brush it off and we go back to watching the Dodgers game together.
As my father enters the third act of his own life, I often catch glimpses of that 50/50 blend of intimidation and awe in his eyes when I talk about my career in wine. When we’re out at a restaurant together, he now hands me the wine list with pride and asks me to pick the best bottle. (I’m very proud of the fact that I’ve had an opportunity to pour some fantastic Barolos for him, especially considering that he drank nothing but California Cabs for decades.)
And yet, the first thing out of his mouth after I passed the Certified Sommelier exam was, “Did you get the top score?”.
In 65 seconds of a movie, I saw my life on screen. The complexities of my relationship with my father were laid bare on film.
All I wanted to do after seeing that scene was to prove to my father that even though life has taken my career into a different direction than either of us planned, I am still fighting the status quo with academic rigor, and I am still his little girl.
What I would give to share a bottle of Barolo and a Dodgers game with my father.
