Malnutrition in America

Somebody needs to get this child a pork chop...

This is My Nightmare

I often dream of performing in a pseudo-psychedelic setting to an audience of admirers. I am always bringing down the pseudo house with my showstopping performance.

Today, I ran across my dream turning into my nightmare. And I actually remember this clip when it was first run on network television.

Here are Cher and Tina Turner, rocking out to a medley of Beatles tunes. With abandon, they are bumping, grinding, and dancing around with each other. It seems they are having a terrific time with this medley.

Except it is not a duet.

It is a trio.

With Kate Smith.

Remember “God Bless America?” Yes, that Kate Smith. Trying to sing Beatles songs along with Cher and Tina Turner.

This clip is over 5 minutes long, but you only need to watch about half of it to understand my current nightmare. Cher and Tina are groovin’ to the songs. Kate is totally, hilariously, outrageously out of place.

And because of that, she is being ignored.


When I dream dreams like this, I am similar to Cher. Or Tina. Or sometimes Tim Conway, wandering through the mess, snagging a canned laugh. But I’m always one of the successful ones, fully in charge, fully confident, fully at home in the world.

That’s in my dream. But in my life right now, I’m awkward, insecure, out of place.

In my life, I’m Kate Smith.

Trying to sing “Hey, Jude.”

Brideshead Repackaged

When the mammoth miniseries Brideshead Revisited premiered in the UK in late 1981, it's said that, across the nation, the chic younger set were showing up in trendy nightclubs carrying teddy bears. Nothing quite so precious happened in the states when the series was broadcast on Great Performances; university students were unlikely to be viewing anything on PBS in large numbers, much less this languid adaptation of Evelyn Waugh's 20th century classic. I was out of college by then, and when American TV critics started to single out the show as the finest series ever to be shown on television, I tuned in. (I won't necessarily concur that it's the Best Thing Ever On TV; perhaps later in these pages, I'll go on and on about my personal favorites. But surely Brideshead Revisited is in my top 5-10...).






A slimmed-down movie version of the story has recently hit the theaters, and I popped 'round to see it last week. There are many, many differences between the two, all of which have been commented upon by just about everybody. Though the original tale places Charles Ryder at its core, the film's dominating force is Emma Thompson as Lady Marchmain. One need only view this ad for the flick to tell exactly whom the movie believes is the center of this story of doomed romance, and the affect of Catholicism on an aristocratic family. I love Emma Thompson, who doesn't? I was privileged to see her onstage in LA when she was brought to town by her then-husband, Kenneth Branaugh, to star in A Midsummer Night's Dream and King Lear. She stole the former as Helena, and was completely unrecognizable in the latter, playing the King's Fool. The range of this woman is indescribable.








But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.












The original Brideshead made an international star of Jeremy Irons, playing the leading role of Charles Ryder, the outsider mixing it up with various members of the aristocratic Flyte family. The series should have made an international star of Anthony Andrews, too, but it didn't. I can't imagine why, other than to suppose that audiences were uncomfortable with his role as Sebastian, an alcoholic hedonist whose homosexuality clashes with his Catholic upbringing and causes his ruin. I for one could not take my eyes off this beautiful young man's performance, and when his character dropped out of the series about mid-way through, I found it difficult to keep my interest peaked. As Sebastian faded away in Charles's life, his sister Julia became the central antagonist, and I remember thinking, when the hell is Sebastian going to reappear?


The original miniseries was blessed with spectacular players all around, but its supporting cast was dominated by three world-class actors. Claire Bloom, playing the role currently being played by Emma Thompson, chose a much more subtle approach to this matriarchal monster. She created a loving, caring mother who, with nary a raised voice or eyebrow, kept her children subjugated to the strict Catholicism which was a central tone of the story. I admit that I preferred Bloom's characterization to the more brittle performance of Thompson in the film.







In the film version, Michael Gambon plays her estranged husband Lord Marchmain. In this instance, I preferred the movie's actor to the series's. Gambon has had a long and distinguished career, but cannot be considered a major movie star. He is a major actor, however, and his performance seemed pitch perfect to me. His job wasn't an easy one, I'm sure, for his predecessor in the TV series was Laurence Olivier, in one of his final roles. I never get tired of watching Olivier, even as I never forget that I am, in fact, watching Olivier. I almost never forget that I'm watching that terrific actor. But with Gambon, I was watching the character.





Olivier won the Emmy award for his performance, but I think the stronger work was being done by his contemporary John Gielgud, in the smaller role of Edward Ryder. His performance as the disengaged, distant father of the main character was for me a highlight of the series. Gielgud's brief scenes with Irons are hilarious, comic gems, and remain some of the best of his long career.






As for the current film, well, comparisons are odious, aren't they? How fair is it to compare a 14 hour series with a two and a half hour movie? Out of necessity, Charles's infatuations with first Sebastian, then his sister Julia, are condensed into the same time frame, turning the relationship into a more traditional romantic triangle. I don't have a problem with that. Neither do I have trouble with the lack of focus on the Oxford years or the other members of the Flyte family. Something's gotta give.















In the central role of Charles Ryder, Matthew Goode is a dead ringer for his predecessor Jeremy Irons. His understated work is a strong counterpoint to the flamboyant presence of Ben Whishaw as Sebastian. Whishaw's performance is much more effeminate than his predecessor's, but I think it worked quite well. It is the film's only performance which stopped my mind from making ongoing comparisons with the miniseries, and erased all thoughts of Anthony Andrews's previous interpretation.






























Though Brideshead the miniseries remains near the top of many people's hit lists, the film is unlikely to make the same claim. But I enjoyed the movie immensely, and if you're interested in Waugh between the Wars, and can divorce the film from the series, it's worth the effort to revisit Brideshead.

George Furth

1932-2008

Beginning his career as an actor, Furth played the odd-ball nerd with the nervous twitch on film and television in the 60s. Here he is in a typical over-the-top pose from The Monkees. He appeared in notable feature films such as Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Shampoo, and Blazing Saddles. He found his lasting fame as a writer, penning plays and musicals throughout the 70s and 80s.

His Broadway credits include two substantial hits, and at least one substantial flop. Along with Stephen Sondheim, he created the landmark concept musical Company, for which he won the Tony. His later collaboration with Sondheim, Merrily We Roll Along, flopped heavily and closed after 16 performances.

He wrote several straight plays which made it to Broadway, most notably Twigs. A tour de force comedy in which a single actress plays a mother and her three daughters, the production was Michael Bennett's only successful direction of a non-musical play, and turned Sada Thompson, considered one of the most competent stage actresses of the period, into a Tony winner. Furth reached Broadway several more times with minor works, and penned the book for The Act for superstar Liza Minnelli's return to the Great White Way.

I've written previously about the Kennedy Center's productions of both Company and Merrily We Roll Along, and about the original cast album of Company as well. In the spirit of that groundbreaking musical, and in celebration of George Furth's contribution to the American Theater:

I'd like to propose a toast.

Eerie Resemblence

OK, I know I swore that these pages would be Olympics-Free during all the jingoistic hoopla, but I just can't help myself. Am I the only one who noticed this? Take a gander at this pic from the Opening Ceremonies:

The above picture reflects Chinese soldiers entering with their flag. You might think they were executing some kind of dance. Until you see this, a pic of soldiers in 1930s Germany:

China is starting to give me the creeps...

Mash Note to John Edwards

Dear John,

You're so dreamy!

You have always been a heartthrob just waiting to burst. Never mind that wife and those kids. Hey, they even made you sexier! And all that talk about family...HOT!!!

Heaven knows, you deserved a little outside recreation while your wife battles incurable cancer. Hey, I know a little something about watching a beautiful, elegant woman fighting to extend her life with treatments devised in hell by the Marquis de Sade. I watched helplessly while my mother underwent such horrors. What a downer that must be on the libido! Who can blame you for acknowledging your inner hound, and betraying your wife by gettin' some on the side? After all, you were voted the sexiest politician of 2000 by People magazine! It was practically your Civic Duty to prove them correct, and cheat on your wife.



Nobody in their right mind would expect you to keep it in your pants while your wife underwent chemo, radiation, or whatever other nasty things they did to her to try to keep her alive a little longer. Hey, those treatments are icky!

And please know that there are many of us out here who will refuse to listen when people call you a cad, a sleaze, a slime-bucket, and/or a douche. At least you've finally revealed an explanation for those $400 haircuts: you wanted to look good for your mistress!


Actually, "mistress" is probably the wrong word. From what I understand, this lucky gal was sleeping with so many guys at the same time that the paternity of her child is in question. I guess I should call her your "slut." Except that's not really exact, is it? I also understand that this woman was highly overpaid to produce videos for your campaign. Since she was receiving money for services rendered, I'm sure we would all agree that she was not your "mistress," nor your "slut." She was your whore. And I for one am not bothered by the fact that you were screwing her while your wife was busy barfing up her insides due to her cancer treatments. As I already said, what a downer that must have been for you!

John, I can't really argue with people who might label you a liar, an adulterer, and a hypocrite. I've just checked my dictionary, and you are all those things. But you are also a hero. You've proven to the world that Democrats can lead lives just as shameful as Republicans. And you've also proven that inside any man who mouths off repeatedly about the importance of duty, family, and integrity, there is a shithead prick dying to get out.

Call me.

Olympic Fever

Expectation regarding the Summer Olympics has been building for weeks, fueled by the already incessant media attention. With the spectacular over-indulgence of the Opening Ceremonies happening tomorrow, the fever is spreading. Will Chinese authorities attempt to censure international coverage? Will athletes drop dead from breathing the smoggy air? And most importantly, will the US teams win in all areas? If not, what's the point of it all? At least, that seems to be the focus of the coverage I have seen so far. This is nothing new. The main reason I avoid watching the Games is not because I don't enjoy them. It is because I cannot abide the coverage of the games, with the endless yakking by commentators, and the outrageously pro-American (and thus, anti- everybody else) slant of the coverage.









The last games which held any interest for me were the '84 summer games in Los Angeles, largely because I was living there at the time. These were the games in which the American gymnasts stole the show, winning gold for the first time in Olympics history, and generally putting the sport on the national map. I don't take anything away from those guys and gals (Mary Lou Retton was the darling that year), and back then, I could even name all the gymnasts on the team. (All the men, anyway. I can't imagine why...) But the Soviets were boycotting the games that year, in retaliation for the American boycott of the Moscow games four years earlier, so the gymnastic competition was much easier. The '84 Olympics also marked the return of the Chinese to the competition, who had been absent 32 years.




But even with all the Olympics hoopla in LA that year, I remember the games mostly because of the auxiliary international arts festival which surrounded the competition. Theatrical troupes from across the globe were invited for a weeks-long festival of theatre and dance.






Being the English speaking snob that I am, I had little interest in seeing something in a different language (I know, I miss a lot of good theatre that way, but pardonez-moi), so the shows I attended that year were mostly classics, presented by well-known companies. There was one dinky little play, whose name I don't recall, which took place in a foxhole during a war. Can't remember another damn thing about it.


American Repertory Theatre was in town, and Linda Lavin was headlining as Lady Sneerwell in School for Scandal. I also have a strong memory of seeing her in Six Characters in Search of an Author, but I can find no mention of that production on the 'net. I surely saw what remains my favorite production of Comedy of Errors, starring the Flying Karamozov Brothers (they're jugglers, of all things, but not bad actors either).














The highlights of the festival for me were the two shows brought by the Royal Shakespeare Company. Derek Jacobi was with them for that tour, and he gave two terrific performances. His Cyrano was preserved on video, and if you ever have a need to see the play, this is the one to watch. Jacobi's natural flamboyance really shines in this one. His other performance was as Benedick in Much Ado About Nothing, and I think this performance was even better. Sadly, it's not preserved on video.












I wonder if there is an arts festival accompanying the Beijing games? Probably not. These days, the games themselves are more theatrically staged than anything a playwright could dream up. I'm told, repeatedly, that all eyes will be on Michael Phelps, to see if he can match or beat Mark Spitz's record of seven gold medals. I myself won't be watching. I doubt I'll follow the games at all. Because of my disinterest, you will find no more mention of the Olympics in these pages. Nope, I'll be switching the channel, or reading a book, or renting a movie. I won't be watching the games.

...um...does anybody know if those Hamm twins are competing this year?