Anticipating 2015. Or something like that.

-->

What I Look Forward To in 2015

Well, first of all, I look forward to 2016, which, of course, doesn’t bode well for what I look forward to in 2015.  And since, it seems, I recorded NOTHING in this blog in 2014, I would say I'm already on my way to a stupendous year.  Unless I'm not.  Anyway...

I look forward to BETTER CALL SAUL, because BREAKING BAD was one of the greatest television series I’ve ever experienced, and Vince Gilligan simply can’t screw this up, can he?  Can he????

I look forward to the opening of BLACK MASS in October and hope that my one line with Johnny Depp remains in the movie.  It should, because I interrupt a long scene at a table with Johnny as Whitey Bulger and his Triple O’s cronies and tell Whitey he needs to go outside to break up a fight.  I figure if they filmed the fight (and why wouldn’t they film the fight, it’s a FIGHT for God’s sake?!), then Johnny needs to go out to break up the fight, and he has no reason to go out to break up the fight unless he goes because I, the Triple O’s bartender, told him about the fight he has to go out to break up.  Anyway, I look forward to this.  When I did THE TOWN, we had the local premiere on a stunningly beautiful September night at Fenway.  Not sure how BLACK MASS can top that.  Unless we set up a wide screen at Triple O's.

I look forward to the 2015 season of the Greater Lowell Music Theatre, working on the wonderful FIORELLO with Mara Bonde and many other brilliantly talented singers; then overseeing ANYTHING GOES and all those great Cole Porter songs; then directing A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM starring Eddie Mekka.  Mekka, who played Tevye for us last summer, is an astonishing actor.  I mean that.  Anybody who saw FIDDLER knows this.  And my guess is there will be very few moments for audience members to catch their breath during FORUM, because Eddie is an avalanche of energy, and he was born to do this show.  So I look forward to that.

I look forward to finally driving across the country, which I’ve been wanting to do my entire life.  (Well, my entire life after I was, like, 27.)  I also look forward to talking myself out of doing this, as I do every year.  The problem with driving across the country is that if you don’t like it, you have to drive back.  I don’t worry too much about this, because, as anyone who knows me knows, I am a driving fool.  So…yeah, I look forward to this, even though, come August 15, I will have completely talked myself out of it.

Okay, that's enough to look forward to.  I'm not a glass half full kinda guy.  I like to keep my anticipations on the lame side.  I'm not really a glass half empty kinda guy, either.  In fact, I don't think I even have a glass.

There.  I've written in the blog in 2015.  Glad I got that out of the way. 

Summer Shards

-->

What just happened?

It seems like four minutes ago when I packed up the rumbling, rambling 2005 Sentra with the broken side-view mirror and aimed it at Northampton and New Century Theatre where I was about to direct LEND ME A TENOR.  Now it’s a week past the non-waiver deadline and I’ve director not only TENOR but also GUYS AND DOLLS with the Greater Lowell Music Theatre. 

And…wait, let me check—yes, it’s true—the Red Sox are in first place.  Clearly this can’t last.  I mean, they were PICKED for last by pundits in the contiguous 48 and beyond, and yet…well, it can’t last.  Right?  Right.  Good.  I feel better now.

I had directed LEND ME A TENOR a number of years ago at the Lyric Stage in Boston and it was one of the great experiences of my life.  So I went into this second TENOR, not with apprehension, but rather with a sense of “Well, that can’t happen again, so just enjoy the ride and hope for the best.”  Well, it did happen again, mainly because, as I’ve espoused so often to anybody who will listen, “Directing is Casting.”  And my second TENOR, like my first TENOR, boasted a cast from, if not Heaven, from at least very, very high up in the acting stratosphere.  Okay, Heaven.  I won’t name names because I am far too lazy, but my New Century cast grabbed Ken Ludwig’s bull by the theatrical horns and, with precision, clarity and comic instincts worthy of Phil Silvers (my hero), delivered a knockout punch.  Directing is very, very overrated.  The best directing is done in the casting session.  I am a good caster.

Before GUYS AND DOLLS, I traveled back to Noho to participate in the eastern Memorial Service for my recently-deceased pal and onstage collaborator, Phil Kilbourne.  It proved to be a wonderful evening with many old friends in attendance, and some brilliantly executed tributes during the ceremony.  Phil would have loved it.  Plus, I got to sing one of Phil’s favorite tunes, “Goodness, Gracious Me” with the inimitable Sandra Blaney.  And, yes, I looked up “inimitable” and, yes, it works here.

I co-founded New Century with Sam Rush and have co-founded The Greater Lowell Music Theatre with Lee Grande and Phyllis George. Now, with Managing Director Donna White on board, and the enthusiastic backing of Paul Marion, Marty Meehan and lots of folks at UMass Lowell, we are a fully-functioning theatre.  Seems the only way I can get work is to start a theatre and work there.  Whatever.  GUYS AND DOLLS was our third show, and first full-scale (almost) production.  I say (almost) because we are not able as yet to bombard the audience with flying set pieces and turntables and all those nutty things those rich Broadway folks can do.  But we told the story by putting onstage some fantastic performers (see my casting riff above) and telling the Loesser/Burrows/Swerling/Runyon tale with what I hope was perceived as aplomb.  You can see a song from the show HERE:

GLMT will be back.  You can find our web site HERE.

If you want to play along, either as a performer, or in some kind of backstage capacity, or if you’d like to make a donation…let me know via the web site.

Okay, that's it for now...Wait, let me check…yes, they’re still in first place.

IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE NEW YEAR'S EVE FOR "AULD LANG SYNE"

The Stockbridge Theatre at Pinkerton Academy in Derry, NH is what high school auditoriums dream of becoming when they grow up.  It sits on the sprawling campus of what I thought was a private school but which I learned is...Derry's public high school.  I'm not sure they hold assemblies in Stockbridge because it's designated as a "theatre," and perhaps it's used exclusively for performance-oriented presentations.  But if it IS used for assemblies, then they'd be smart to stop using the word "assemblies" and substitute it with something like "assemblages," "synods" or "coronations."  It is very...grand. 

I was in the Stockbridge Theatre on Saturday night, January 26, attending the New Hampshire Theater Awards presentation.  (I'm going to stop here and tell you that I am spelling "theater" and "theatre" without thought as to which is proper in which case.  I don't have time for that today.  It's pronounced the same way either way, so...go with it.)  My new play, AULD LANG SYNE, was up for a number of awards as a result of the very fine production staged last June by Gus Kaikkonen and the Peterborough Players.  I'm not big on awards until I'm nominated for one.  Then I'm an awards junkie.  Not only was AULD nominated all over the place, I was also nominated ALONE in the professional category as "Best Original Playwright."  This meant, it seemed, that I could go to the awards ceremony KNOWING I WAS GOING TO WIN, taking all the pressure off.  Well, that's what it would have meant had I been anybody else but me.  Since I am nobody else but me, however, I spent the three weeks between the announcement of my nomination and the awards ceremony trying to figure out a way they could keep me from getting the trophy.  I thought there might be some deeply footnoted rule that allowed the adjudicators to withhold the award if it deemed nobody was worthy of it.  You're laughing.  (Well, some of you are.)  But I was only half-kidding when I mentioned this concern to people.  Try to write plays for a living and see how confident you get.

Okay, I'm typing way too much, so I'll get to the meat of the matter.

The show, a very elaborate affair, began ten minutes late, but when it did it flowed pretty smoothly.  Scott Severance, the host and writer of the script, kept things moving briskly and the various sketches and songs peppered into the performance were pleasant and well-delivered.  There were many awards, and the focus of the evening, to be truthful, was on the Community Theatre and Youth Theatre awards.  The Professionals were a quieter crew but, at least from my standpoint, we were as involved as the other folks as the awards were dispensed.

After AULD lost a couple of design awards, I started to sweat again, thinking that my writer's nightmare of being nominated alone and not winning was going to come to fruition.  But then Kathy Manfre, who played "Mary" so beautifully in AULD LANG SYNE, was announced as Best Actress.  Then the fabulous Gordon Clapp, Emmy-winner from NYPD BLUE and "Joe" in my play, also won.  Gordon was in LA and I texted him about his and Kathy's victory.  He responded immediately and asked "Are we gonna sweep?"  Next, it was my turn and, thankfully, the award as "Best Original Playwright" was handed to me, and in my speech I was able to thank the two actors who were just honored with awards of their own.  As I made my way back to my seat with my little statuette (a plastic New Hampshire) in my hand, I listened as Gus Kaikkonen was named Best Director, also for AULD LANG SYNE.  About twenty minutes later, after a delightful medley from BATBOY from one of the local theatres, AULD LANG SYNE was announced as Best Professional Production.

So....nice.

When you're a playwright/director, as I am, it's always a bit frightening handing your brand new work over to a director who is not you.  Gus Kaikkonen insisted that I sit in and contribute to all the rehearsals in Peterborough, and was most generous with his suggestions and his art.  Kathy and Gordon loved the play, and it showed.  Gordon, in fact, ad-libbed a couple of lines in rehearsal that are now in the script.  Good actors do that.  I love good actors.  And these two actors are very, very good.

It was about four below zero when I got back to my Sentra, my award and Gordon's award in my mitts.  But I did not mind the cold.

I often wonder why I do what I do.

Nights like the one I experienced on Saturday help me to remember.

Now...all I have to do is find a producer to take this on the road....

 Kathy Manfre and Gordon Clapp in AULD LANG SYNE

by Jack Neary

produced by Peterborough Players

directed by Gus Kaikkonen

So my new thing is watching old television series in their entirety.  No, I don't have that kind of time, but when it gets too stormy to run in hilly Derry, I get on the stationery bike and watch these shows.  Thus far, over the past few years, I've watched all of THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW, THE DICK VAN DYKE SHOW, I LOVE LUCY (except the hour-long Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour shows), F-TROOP (yes, F Troop), THE PHIL SILVERS SHOW (Bilko, You'll Never Get Rich, whatever you choose to call it) and...drum roll, please, AMOS N' ANDY.

So let me get that one out of the way immediately, because I know it's by far the most controversial on the list and I know I ought to be ashamed of myself for enjoying it as much as I did.

But I did.

Hounded immediately by the NAACP upon its 1951 debut, the series echoed the wildly successful radio series of the same name written and performed by the characters' creators, Freeman Gosden ('Amos') and Charles Correll ('Andy').  Initially, Gosden and Correll were going to provide the voices for newly-cast African American actors in the TV series, but eventually sanity prevailed and the actors were allowed to speak their own dialogue.  Thank God.

Controversy swirled and the series was cancelled after 78 episodes.  It re-appeared in syndication for a while, but then protests re-emerged and, again, it went away.  The series has never found its way to legitimate videotape or DVD distribution, but bootleg DVDs of 72 of the 78 episodes can be located if you look for them.  I did look.  And I found them.

And here's what I found:

I laughed.  A lot.  Just as I laugh at any well-written, well-performed situation comedy.  The plot line rarely varied, but the plot line of Kingfish getting himself in a mess of trouble, involving his friend Andy to make things worse, and Amos helping them both to see the light at the end, provided a platform for good comedy throughout the episodes I saw.  Add a whiny wife and ball-busting mother-in-law for the Kingfish (who oversaw the worthless activities of the Mystic Knights of the Sea lodge), and you have the basis for hours of hearty laughter.

So the writing was good.  If I am correct, the show was written often by the team who eventually ended up writing LEAVE IT TO BEAVER, which was ALSO a very well-written show, regardless of how much abuse Barbara Billingsley has taken over the years for wearing high heels in the kitchen.

But I save my wildest accolades for the actors.  These actors who deserve far, far, far more recognition for what they brought to early TV than they have received.

Tim Moore, who played the conniving, bombastic Kingfish, was a master of working the camera for comic effect.  Spencer Williams, who I believe went on to be a film director after the series, played Andy's blissful ignorance blissfully.  (No, NAACP, Andy wasn't stupid because he was black, he was stupid because he was STUPID.  List the stupid white sitcom characters in your head and stop when you get to 100.  There'll still be more.)  Alvin Childress was the sane and intelligent Amos, whose performance in the Christmas episode is sweet, charming and memorable.  The ladies--Ernestine Wade and Amanda Randolph (her sister, Lillian, was the maid in WONDERFUL LIFE) are perfectly cast foils for Moore, and exude honesty and professionalism in every scene they play.  The closest thing to a negative stereotype is the character of Lightnin', played by Nick Stewart (who also billed himself sometimes as Nick O'Demus--whatever).  There's no getting around the fact that the writers used this lazy character to get laughs from his slowness, and they would never get away with that today.  Maybe they shouldn't have gotten away with that back then, either.  But they did.  Until the show was cancelled.  So maybe they didn't.

Finally, though, I want to throw my Red Sox cap in the air for an actor named Johnny Lee, who played the ambulance chasing lawyer Algonquin J. Calhoun.  The commitment this actor made to bringing the comic writing and his character to life is epic in this series.  I'm not sure what else this man did in show business after this series (although he earlier did voice one of the lead characters in another no-longer-available piece of material, Disney's SONG OF THE SOUTH), but he electrifies the screen every time he appears in this series.  I didn't know who the hell he was, and I should have.  He is that good.

So...sue me.  I liked the AMOS AND ANDY television series, and I do wish the actors from the show were more fondly remembered.

Last year on this date in this blog, I proclaimed I would blog daily throughout 2012.

That was the last blog entry I made in 2012.

I'm not quite sure how that happened, although I'm pretty sure that once it got to be, like, April or May, when I became aware that I hadn't written anything, it turned into something of a challenge to me to remain blog-free to the end of the year.  I know this is warped, but...somehow...I feel I have accomplished something by doing...or not doing...this.

I was busy.  I'll give me that.  In 2012, I directed middle school kids in ALICE IN WONDERLAND; directed middle school and high school kids in ALADDIN; adapted and co-directed THE THREE LITTLE PIGS for 20 kids; directed an entire family of four in THE DRAMATURG, which I wrote for the Boston Theater Marathon; directed high school kids in HOW TO SUCCEED IN BUSINESS WITHOUT REALLY TRYING; directed more middle school kids in SEUSSICAL; directed two adults, Anne Scurria and Barry Press,  in my new play AULD LANG SYNE at New Century Theatre; traveled to Virginia to see a terrific production of my play THE PORCH, directed by my friend Sara Gomez at the Winchester Little Theatre; directed about 70 adults in THE MUSIC MAN IN CONCERT for the new Greater Lowell Music Theatre, which I co-founded with Lee Grande and Phyllis George and produced in conjunction with Paul Marion and UMass Lowell; visited the Hovey Players' wonderful production of THE PORCH; adapted and directed THE TORTOISE AND THE HARE for 20 more kids; directed more high school kids in four short plays in the fall, and more middle school kids in my LUNCH MONEY.  And somewhere in the middle of all that I served as playwright at the Peterborough Players who produced AULD LANG SYNE, featuring Gordon Clapp and Kathy Manfre, directed by Gus Kaikkonen.  I also think I wrote two one-minute plays for the Boston One-Minute Play Festival.  I re-launched the new STAGEADAPTATIONS web site and published THE BIG SNORE, CINDERELLA, LUNCH MONEY, NIGHT OF THE BULLY and THE PORCH.  And I put a great deal of energy into working, on spec, with a friend, on the book of a musical based on material by one of the late, great Broadway composer-lyricists of all time.  I submitted this draft for consideration just before Christmas.

So I forgot to blog.  Too many kids to direct.

This year, no promises.

So it's January 1, 2012. I plan to blog daily, 366 times this year.

Okay, to quote William Goldman via Dustin Hoffman in ALL THE PRESIDENT'S MEN, that's total bullshit, but at least I haven't missed the first day. I don't have a good feeling about writing tomorrow, but you never know.

Anyway, this time of year invariably takes me back to a period in my life which I recall warmly. Well, mostly warmly. There was that horrible five minutes which I've been meaning to discuss for the past 33 years, but the experience was, generally speaking, a pleasant one. I was playing a snowflake in SCROOGE AND MARLEY, which I believe is Israel Horovitz's excellent adaptation of that Christmas show everybody complains about doing but always does. 1979, I think it was. I was a child. The production was being staged at what was called back then Theatre By The Sea in Portsmouth,NH. By "snowflake" I mean I was one of those non-Equity people who played a businessman in scene one, a caroler in scene two, a Fezziwig reveler in scene three, and on and on, costume change by costume change, throughout the show, for probably 45 bucks a week. Wait. That's a little high for a non-Union actor in New Hampshire in 1979. Let's say 40. I was making about five bucks a costume change.

But I had a nice time. I was reacquainted with an old friend from the Garrett Players in Lawrence. We car pooled and it was fun, except on the day he decided to show me how he could get through the Portsmouth toll booth on 95 without paying. That was frightening. But he was a good guy and it was fun to work with him again. I made some new friends among the other snowflakes, and got to sing a little harmony in scene two. Working in theatre at Christmastime, doing Dickens. What's to complain about, really?

Well, there's that five minutes I mentioned above.

So it's dress rehearsal day. A long one. Probably 10 hours out of 12. We had gone through tech the day before, but it was a mammoth show and the dress wasn't running as smoothly as it should the day before opening. But it was nothing out of the ordinary. Anybody who works in theatre knows that dress rehearsals of technically difficult shows have their ups and downs. But you stop and go and fix things and eventually you open and run and get paid and go home. Show biz.

So it's somewhere in the middle of the second act. Probably the scene change into Dick's living room, or whoever the hell owned the living room Scrooge visits in the Present. No, not Dick. The Nephew. Yeah. Dick's from the Fezziwig scene. Snowflake Senility. Anyway, it's a big scene change and a lot of the actors are involved in it. I am not. I had been, during tech the day before, but the stage manager, who had me moving a chair from one spot to another, made a change during the final run of the tech and gave the chair move to one of the Equity actors. No biggie. It was just easier for that guy than it was for me in terms of where we were on the stage.

Well, we get to this change in dress and it's a train wreck. Nothing works. The stage manager, who is a very tall, bearded, unkempt individual who looked like he took tickets at Woodstock, screams HOLD!!!! So we held. He yelled loudly. It was our best option. He started to fix the change.

Well, that's not really true. What he did was he proceeded to tell us how we screwed up the change. "Jack, you were supposed to move the chair from left to right! Come on, for Christ's sake!"

"Uh...Bill (wild guess, could have been Bob. Or Mike. Or Asshole. I'll call him Bill.)...you changed that yesterday. Peter is moving the chair."

"You are moving the chair."

I was concerned that Peter wouldn't register this conversation, so I wanted to keep things correct and avoid another train wreck." "No, Bill, you changed the move from me to Peter yesterday..."

"I'm looking at my book where is says, 'Jack moves the chair.' Do you have a book? Do you have that written in your book?"

"You told me to..."

"DO YOU HAVE THE STAGE DIRECTION WRITTEN IN YOUR FUCKING BOOK, JACK????"

"No."

'THEN MOVE THE FUCKING CHAIR AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

In my entire theatre life, before that time or since that time, I have never heard a stage manager talk that way to an actor. It was the most humiliating, embarrassing, and WRONG thing I've ever experienced in a rehearsal. And I've been in a lot of rehearsals. So we ran the scene change again. When it came time for me to move the chair, I went to the chair and reached for it. At the same time, the Equity actor who had been assigned to move the chair after the move had been taken from me, waved me off and moved the chair himself. He also moved it on opening night. And he moved it for every performance of our three-week run. Every performance. All I want to say here is that, if anybody ever runs into Asshole, or Bill, please tell him that I was in place, poised, prepared to move that chair for every performance, but never did, because the actor he had assigned to make the move, did it himself. But I was there. Every time.

I hope, Bill, that you stopped playing a stage manager soon after that show, because you were not then a stage manager, and I doubt seriously you'd ever be a stage manager. Not a real stage manager. Let me put it this way--every time I visit a McDonald's drive-through, I look closely in the window. I am confident that, someday, the person handing me my Big Mac will be you.

Okay. 365 to go.

I have found myself, over the past couple of years, watching entire series of old TV shows.  It's a fascinating, if time-wasting, exercise that offers glimpses not only into the creative process of these old shows, but also into the social context in which these shows were produced and presented.

My first complete series was THE ANDY GRIFFITH SHOW.  First of all, let me say that I think Andy Griffith is brilliant.  From his youthful parody recordings such as his country-telling of the ROMEO AND JULIET story, through his early Hollywood career making films like NO TIME FOR SERGEANTS and the outstanding A FACE IN THE CROWD, through his short Broadway stint in DESTRY RIDES AGAIN to his long-running television shows (don't forget MATLOCK), Griffith had an uncanny ability to find the pulse of the public and treat it with worthy entertainment.  

Ron Howard had to have learned film-making discipline from his many years with Griffith.  Jim Nabors' career was launched and catapulted through Griffith's insistence that he was a star.  Don Knotts became a television icon when Griffith wisely stepped back to serve as Knotts straight man when he realized his sidekick was getting all the laughs.  

Griffith simply knew how to make audiences happy.  His first television series--not really a sitcom, but rather more a subtle, sweet, episodic lesson in morality, friendship and understanding--ran from 1960 to 1968, when it morphed into MAYBERRY, R.F.D.  It made the mandatory transition from black and white to color in 1966.  Often, the storyline involved Howard, who played Sheriff Andy Taylor's son Opie, and who would invariably choose or be lured into doing something wrong--like sling-shooting a bird to death--and, in the final scene, would sit on the porch of the Mayberry house and learn right from wrong from Dad.  Griffith's Taylor, always gently firm, knew how to get his point across without hammering it home.  Whatever Opie learned, we learned.  And we tuned in the following week because we cared about the characters and believed in the truth the series evoked.  

The characters were memorable--Aunt Bee, Gomer Pyle, his cousin Goober, Floyd the barber (played by Howard McNear, who suffered a stroke after the first couple of seasons, was brought back by Griffith after he recovered, and was, if it's possible, funnier after the stroke than he was before it), Ernest T. Bass (the irrepressible Howard Morris) and so, so many others over the years.  Most unforgettable, of course, was Knotts' Barney Fife, possibly one of the five most iconic television characters in history.  There wasn't a second of Knotts' lunacy as the bumbling deputy that wasn't honestly rendered by the actor, who deservedly went on to win a slew of Emmys. 

It's difficult to pick a favorite episode of the over 200 produced, so I won't even try.  However, a favorite moment, which occurred many times in the life of the series, was the late-in-show porch sit with Andy, strumming softly on his guitar, harmonizing a hymn with Barney.  True, heartfelt, without embarrassment or apology, Griffith told his story.

Next time--Amos and Andy.  Yes.  That's what I said.
 

9/11 Fund Raiser for Veterans

Wanted to let you know about an upcoming event. I've been playing in a September baseball game with a group of friends, many of them from Lowell's Sacred Heart Parish, for 30 years. This year, the game falls on September 11, and we'd like to commemorate our 30th Anniversary by honoring the memory of the victims of 9/11, and our Veterans. Below is the event's official letter. Hope you'll consider helping out:

Dear Friends,

As you are aware, the tenth anniversary of the tragedy of September 11^th is upon us. The City of Lowell and Community Teamwork, Inc. Senior Corps programs will commemorate the 10th Anniversary of September 11th at a flag raising ceremony on Friday, September 9th. The observance recognizes the impact of terrorism on the surviving family members and friends of those who lost their lives or suffered otherwise on that day.

In addition, as a way of thanking those whose lives have been changed forever by the service they have given to our nation since that time, CTI’s Senior Corps programs are partnering with local Senior Centers to collect supplies that have been requested by local area veterans’ services. All items will be donated to benefit local veterans who are struggling.

To assist in this noble effort, a group of friends, many lifelong Lowellians and many from the former Sacred Heart Parish, are raising funds to support the CTI’s Senior Corps and our veterans. The interesting story about this group of friends is that for the past thirty years, they have gathered on the Sunday after Labor Day at ballparks across the City for a game of baseball. In fact, 2011 marks the 30^th anniversary of the game. Of course, the speed and level of play has diminished over the years but the spirit of the players has not. A pre-game ceremony is planned to honor our Veterans, and Micky Ward will throw out the first pitch.

It seems fitting that as a way to give back to their community, and to show their gratitude to local service men and women that the players dedicate this year’s game to the heroes who now need our support.

The players seek to raise $5000 to be donated to CTI’s Senior Corps to be used to purchase much needed items for veterans living in Lowell. The funds will be raised in a number of ways including donations from players, friends and families, and from sponsorships from local contributors.

We know that you share our commitment to the spirit, pride, selflessness, generosity, courage and service of the men and women of our military forces. We respectfully request that you consider participating in our efforts by contributing an affordable amount to help our seniors help our heroes.

Thank you in advance for your support and contribution. Click below. You'll be taken to PayPal, where you can use your credit card to donate by entering an amount designated for "CYB."

Sincerely,

The Sacred Heart Church Yard Boys

I've been wondering what it would take to get me back on this blog. For some reason, I haven't been able to get my brain around anything worth typing here. Not that anything I've typed up to this point is worth the cyberspace it occupies. But I've been busy, working, and every time I considered blogging, I was just too damned tired or stressed or pissed off or frustrated or annoyed or discombobulated to get down to it. There was just nothing prompting me to get back up on the blogging horse.

Until last night.

Last night, for the first time in six years, I had a Burger King Whopper.

Six years ago, I lost 42 pounds over the course of about eight months. I did this by not eating crap. A lot of the crap I was eating at the time was Burger King Whoppers. I'd get out of a rehearsal or a performance late at night, probably having skipped dinner. I'd head home. A glance to the left off the Lowell Connector drew my baby blues to the glaring Burger King lights on Chelmsford Street. And toward those lights I would go, tummy gurgling in anticipation of another late night Whopper.

And with the Whopper comes the Fries. Everybody knows that.

I would make this Burger King pilgrimage often. Once or twice a week. And think nothing of it. Well, I'd think of it, because the belt buckle was gnawing at the burgeoning folds at my waist but…I devoured the Whoppers anyway.

Because the Burger King Whopper, you see, to me, is not really crap. The Burger King Whopper is, to me, the Greatest Food In History.

I'll tell you why.

In my first summer out of college, I worked as an actor at Theatre By The Sea in Matunuck, Rhode Island. Let me amend that. I was not primarily an actor. I was primarily a member of the Junior Company at Theatre By The Sea. There were about twenty of us--show biz hungry 20-somethings so early in our careers that we believed the torture TBTS management inflicted on us was par for the course. In fact, it may have been. Perhaps all summer theatres worked their apprentices like plow horses and pack mules. Perhaps all summer theatres called whatever they dubbed their Junior Company kids to the shop at 8 am, without breakfast, worked them non-stop until noon, then didn't serve them lunch, worked or rehearsed them from 1 to 5, then didn't serve them dinner before they shoved them onstage to appear as happy chorus cowboys and farmers in OKLAHOMA before summoning them again for a couple of hours after the show to do some more grunt work in the scene shop before bed. Yeah. All summer theatre was like this. Absolutely. That's what we told ourselves, anyway. Because we were working in theatre, and working in theatre is HARD. Right? Right!

Please notice in the paragraph above the effort I made to emphasize the lack of FOOD offered to us by TBTS. There was a restaurant attached to the theatre, yes--but we had to PAY FOR THE FOOD IF WE WANTED TO EAT IT. And few if any of us could afford that. We all PAID A FEE to be a part of the Junior Company, so there was no salary.

(Wait, that's not entirely true. I was cast as the Puerto Rican Delivery Boy in Neil Simon's THE GINGERBREAD LADY at the beginning of the season, the only JC member so blessed. As a result, I received my first check as an actor. Seven dollars and fifty cents. I don't consider that a feather in my cap, however, because of the life price I paid. You see, I was a fair skinned Irish kid who could do Simon riffs with a decent Latino dialect, so in order to play the Puerto Rican, I was also asked to blacken my blond strands by RUBBING SHEETS OF CARBON PAPER INK INTO MY HAIR. Anybody who knows me now or takes a look at my headshot knows how successful THAT experiment was.)

Bottom line: we had no food. Or if we did it was only the food we could muster up by trying to grab a half hour to walk or bicycle to the general store about two miles down the road to get some Wonder Bread and boiled ham, which we would fashion into sad sandwiches to stuff into our skeletal faces on our way to the next shop call or costume parade or photo session.

I know--the Whoppers--I'm getting to it.

Anyway, we did six or eight shows a week, I forget how many. But one of our show days, on Saturday, featured a matinee and evening performance. And in between shows, probably because there was some kind of Rhode Island child abuse law, TBTS fed us. Once a week. Just once.

Every Saturday, after the matinee, before the evening show, the truck drove up, opened and dropped the rear flap, and handed out the red, orange and white paper bags containing our sustenance. The same menu week after week.

Burger King Whoppers.

Never before, or since, have I tasted anything so desperately divine.

And last night, for the first time in six years, because I was late for a rehearsal and had to grab a fast dinner, I glanced off the highway, saw the Burger King lights, went there, and had myself a Whopper.

God Almighty, it was good.

Not quite as good as it was between shows of OKLAHOMA.

But damn, damn good.

Cinema Shardiso

So I saw THE FIGHTER recently. Not a bad movie. Not a great movie, by any means, but not bad. I think the movie would have had more teeth if it had gone whole hog and admitted it was about Dicky and not Micky. I'm from Lowell, but I have had no interaction with any of these guys, so my observation is simply as a moviegoer. And if the movie had been about Dicky, then it could have turned on that phone call when Dicky discovered that Micky had listened to him about the approach to the Vegas fight. That happens, Dicky is redeemed, he cleans himself up, the movie is about him. On the other hand, I'm sure Dicky's story was a bit under-told, and perhaps his redemption might not be as viable as Micky's achievement. I don't know. Still, Bale wins the Oscar, over Jeremy Renner, who received the only Oscar nomination scored for a better movie, THE TOWN.

I am from Lowell, though, and I have to say this...

Watching THE FIGHTER prompted me to watch HIGH ON CRACK STREET, the searing, 59-minute documentary that is a crucial part of the plot of THE FIGHTER. Because it's a short film, you won't find it on Blockbuster or Netflix. But you can find it very easily online, and you can watch it for free on your computer.

So if you see THE FIGHTER....

...and then you see HIGH ON CRACK STREET...

...and you are from Lowell...

...then you can't be very happy about the way Hollywood has depicted your city.

Sure, both stories, interwoven as they are, are legit and worth telling.

But, my God...are these films the city's cinematic legacy?

Sure, Ricky Gervais' THE INVENTION OF LYING showed scenes of Lowell at its nicest. But it did not acknowledge the name of the city. So that doesn't count.

I've written a play about Lowellians, entitled THE PORCH. Perhaps sometime, some theatre in Lowell will stage it. So far, one has rejected it. Too bad. I think folks in the area would appreciate its message of hope and friendship. But I can't help at the moment.

I'm just sayin'...

There are Lowellians out there living sane, productive, and INTERESTING lives, and they have stories to tell. Paul Marion and other local writers pen wonderful material about the city.

But the rest of the world sees us in THE FIGHTER and HIGH ON CRACK STREET and...

I'm just sayin'...
----------

I think I saw THE SOCIAL NETWORK and I think it was pretty good. I just can't remember all that much about it. I'll watch it again. If it takes Best Picture, that's fine with me. Besides, I am a huge fan of director David Fincher, whose SEVEN is one of my all-time favorite films.
----------

Jeff Bridges is terrific in TRUE GRIT but it looks like he hasn't shaved or bathed since before CRAZY HEART. I don't think you should win back-to-back Oscars without changing your clothes. Good, solid movie, though, from the Coen Brothers, who stepped a little away from their customary quirkiness to tell an old fashioned western story extremely well. Hailee Steinfeld? Superb.
----------

Colin Firth is probably going to win the Best Actor Oscar, but, for some reason, as good as he is in THE KING'S SPEECH, I had a little trouble getting past the technical acting-out of the stammering George VI. That's not fair, I know, but...that's my reaction. What I took away from that movie was the nuanced, moving, brilliantly subtle work of Geoffrey Rush. My God, is he good in this movie. Can't win the Oscar, though. Not with Christian Bale as competition.
----------

Michelle Williams turns in a star performance in BLUE VALENTINE, which also features Tewksbury's Maryann Plunkett as Williams' mother in the film. Williams scored an Oscar nom, her second, for her work. But, for my money, the standout performance in BLUE VALENTINE belongs to Ryan Gosling, who breaks your heart as a man who just wants to be a husband and father, but who doesn't have the life skills to provide for his family. Just a beautiful job of acting.
----------

I kind of have a feeling I saw INCEPTION, but I'm just not sure if it was a dream. I'll have to look for the ticket stub.
----------

Okay, are you sitting down--I still say that the best film I have seen this year is TOY STORY 3. It is meticulously structured, hysterically funny, occasionally scary, and downright moving. There is a moment late in the film that I still can't believe happened, it was so fresh and surprising. It will be Best Animated Feature but...I think it needs to be considered as best of the year.

Shards of the Season

Songs of the Season I will listen to until they're over, regardless of whether I am parked in front of my house and it's freezing:

White Christmas - Bing Crosby
Jingle Bell Rock - Bobby Helms
Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree - Brenda Lee
A Holly Jolly Christmas - Burl Ives
Do You Hear What I Hear - Bing Crosby
The Little Drummer Boy - Harry Simeone Chorale
O Holy Night - Andy Williams
Mele Kalikimaka - Crosby and the Andrews Sisters

And that's it. I did not forget Nat Cole's The Christmas Song. It's beautiful, but it won't stop me from turning off the ignition.

-----

And speaking of Do You Hear What I Hear - how come that's the title of the song? It's not the tag of the first stanza of the song. That's Do You See What I See. It's not the tag of the final stanza of the song. That's Do You Know What I Know. It's not repeated any more often than any other Do You Whatever What I Whatever in the song. Who decided Do You Hear What I Hear was going to be the title? Should I worry about this? Should you?

-----

And here's the deal about The Little Drummer Boy. First of all, with the Harry Simeone version available, there was really no need for anybody else to record the song. However, some people did. Some people keep doing it. Hey--that's their right. Be aware, though, you people who make up your mind to sing this song, that you damn well better know how to Parump A Bump Bum. There are a number of versions out there in which the Parump A Bump Bum is atrocious. Very few humans can pull off the Parump a Bump Bum required to make this song work. I think Crosby comes close in the version of The Peace Carol/Little Drummer Boy he sang with David Bowie on that Christmas TV Special he filmed in England about five minutes before he died. I think he lucked into a correct reading of Parump a Bump Bum because he was so embarrassed singing the song with David Bowie that he kind of turned his brain off and pretty much threw away the phrase, making it strangely effective. Truth be told, though, damn few singers can execute the phrase properly. My recommendation: leave the song alone. There's a perfect version out there already.

-----

I see Die Hard turning up in lists of people's favorite Christmas movies. Okay. I'll buy that. I'm just pretty sure Sister Gonzaga would not have chosen it as the movie to show us back in the eighth grade at the Sacred Heart before sending us off for Christmas vacation.

-----

If you're looking for a holiday film and you're kinda over some of the all-time favorites, I strongly suggest you get a copy of Ricky Gervais' 90-minute finale of his THE OFFICE. Gervais and Stephen Merchant decided to end their brilliant BBC series after only a couple of seasons, and fashioned this piece to tie up loose ends of the two most prominent stories the series featured--Gervais' David Kemp's attempt to live and love, and the "it has to happen but how?" romance between Tim and Dawn. And they set it at Christmastime. Frankly, the show is painful to watch, as Gervais and Merchant put Kemp through humiliations that would destroy most people--funny, but painful--but the astonishing two endings of the above-mentioned storylines make all the pain worthwhile. (Spoiler Alert) The moment when Tim and Dawn finally come together is as moving and as tastefully handled as anything you've seen in film or on television, ever. You can probably watch this without having viewed the two full seasons of Gervais-Merchant's THE OFFICE. But it is best appreciated knowing who these people are, and how they got to be at the point and time covered in the finale.

-----

So the holiday season is sometimes a depressing one. Let's face it. Not everybody is filled with joy and cheer and the Yuletide is not always as gay as the song would make it out to be. But please, people, those of you who insist on putting those enormous blow-up Santas and Snowmen and Rudolphs out on your lawn--for the love of God, get up in the morning, go out to the lawn, and RE-BLOW THE DAMN THINGS UP! If a guy is having a tough time dealing with the season, for whatever reason, if he's down in the dumps and weeps uncontrollably as he drives to work while Mariah Carey blares out that all she wants for Christmas is him, there is NOTHING more emotionally deflating than seeing all these elves and reindeer out of air and sprawled on the lawn, waiting to be revitalized for the afternoon commute. COME ON PEOPLE! BLOW UP YOUR LAWN SANTAS! KEEP CHRISTMAS ALIVE!

-----

Merry Christmas

The Luck of the Wall Socket

I am in the Barnes and Noble café in Nashua, NH. As usual. Trying to work. Sometimes it's easy. Sometimes less so. Most times, I can achieve a level of concentration here I can't reach in a more private atmosphere. Today, at least at this moment, is not one of those times.

I'm in the only seat I could get near a wall socket. A seat near a wall socket is crucial at Barnes and Noble, because I have to plug in my computer. Yeah, I have a battery, but the computer is about four years old and the battery doesn't last all that long. So the wall socket is a must.

Unfortunately, today, I am sitting next to a couple of 20-somethings, a man and a woman (boy and a girl?), who are in the very first stage of chatting each other up. Emphasis on the chatting. And the conversation is as inane as any conversation I've ever heard. The most prevalent words emerging from their lips are the words "like" and "awesome." The conversation has evolved in the last thirty minutes from dogs watching him kissing his "ex" in bed (he made sure he emphasized the "ex" part) to his receding hairline, which is not really receding, which he knows, but which, since he brought it up, she feels compelled to defend. Points for him. (He's 26, tops, and he just used the phrase "If I could do it all over again…") You can, asshole! Twice!

Sitting on the table in front of her is a paperback entitled, "Personal Development for Smart People." From what I've heard of the conversation, she hasn't had a chance to begin reading yet.

Okay, he just said, "That was my first tattoo." She called it "cool." He thinks the lines are too thick. She doesn't agree. She thinks it's fantastic. He has absolutely NOTHING to worry about in terms of action later in the day. Or night.

Two more "likes," a "sucks" and a "basically." Classic.

I just took a quick glance in the guise of a look to the clock or something. She is wearing jeans and a shirt, each of which is full of carefully calculated holes.

As I said, this guy is In Like Flynn.

For those of you who enjoy century-old baseball references.

I'd really like to get down to work on this new play I'm writing, but I can't. I know--I should go home and lock myself in my room and concentrate. But I can't. I do my best writing in the cafe at B&N. That's just the way it is. I have to wait for these two to shut up, or else wait until another wall socket opens up so I can move.

These two shutting up is not going to happen. Not for a while. She just looked at her watch, gushed, and asked him if he knew what time it was.

He said, "I dunno. 11:30?"

It's 2:30.

She gushed again.

This guy knows exactly what he's doing. I think he told her he's an Emergency Medical Technician. Even if it's not true, it's gonna get him through this day. And night. I guarantee it. He's so smooth there's no question she's paying for dinner, too.

If they make it to dinner.

Maybe he parked his ambulance outside. That'd be quicker.

I wonder if she's gonna buy the book.

Uncle Crumbs

A couple of months ago, I introduced you to Eddie and Timmy. I had just moved in with them and my brother and sister-in-law in Derry, NH, where I set up my man cave and began perpetrating whatever it is I do on society from there. Let me reacquaint you with the boys.

This is Eddie. Eddie is the shaggier of the brothers. A little lankier, a little longer than Timmy. If the two brothers walked into a doggie saloon, Eddie would be the one the girl doggies would slobber over. He'd lope up to the bar, casually order a Milk Bone (which he wouldn't have to pay for), and fake chew on it as he eyed the doggettes up and down the bar to select which he would grace with his charm for the rest of the evening.

And this is Timmy. Timmy's the stockier one, the fireplug. Timmy would be Eddie's wing man as they ambled into the doggie saloon. Timmy would not be concerned that the doggettes were slobbering over his smoother-looking brother, because Timmy knows, 1. He's the brains of the outfit and 2. Eddie's hand-me-downs are gonna be just fine for his purposes.


Eddie and Timmy, after about four months of allowing me to share their domicile, have adjusted to my presence. That is to say, they know my place in the household. I am the guy who tosses doggie treats at them all hours of the day and night. I am the guy who, when preparing his dinner in the kitchen, brings a little can of PikNik Original Shoestring Potatoes with him and who, as he stirs his soup or manages the franks in his George Foreman Grill, will sprinkle PikNik Original Shoestring Potatoes on the floor near the stove to keep Eddie and Timmy occupied while dinner is being prepared. I am the guy who, after he eats his breakfast in his man cave, will be very careless with the toast crumbs and the New Kellogg's "Simply Cinnamon" Corn Flakes (free with rebate for a limited time), so that the carpet in the man cave is replete with bits and pieces of toast and flakes ready for the little doggie vacuums to consume.

I am...Uncle Crumbs.

There are advantages to being Uncle Crumbs. For one, it means the dogs like me. True, it's kind of pathetic to be appreciated for your food scraps, but one takes what one can get in this life. Yes, I know that when Timmy scratches on my door mid-morning (Eddie never does the scratching. That's the wing man's job.), I know he's not visiting to shoot the breeze or catch up on the latest reading of one of my plays, but rather it's to see whether I've gone back to Lightly Sweetened Multi-Grain Cheerios, which he and Eddie find inferior to the new Cinnamon Corn Flakes. I mean, they will eat the discarded Cheerios, but, come on (they think), not only do the Flakes taste better, there's the damn rebate! But it does mean they visit, which is a good thing. I fear that if I cleaned up my act and stopped spilling my breakfast on the floor, I'd never see them again. But that won't happen. I'm something of a slob. They know it. They'll always be back.

September 15, 2010: A Night on THE TOWN

About a year ago, I was called in by CP Casting to read for an upcoming film to be directed by, co-written by, and starring Ben Affleck. As I recall, I initially read for the role of a Charlestown gangster leader whose flower shop fronted for his operation. I read the scene and was called back another time to read it again. Eventually, I was called in to read for another part, Arnold Washton, one of the guys guarding the stash of concessions cash collected at Fenway Park after a four-game series with the Yankees. In other words, if I got the part, I would be guarding a lot of fake Hollywood dough. My first few auditions were for the CP folks, my last one--a callback for "Arnold," was for Ben Affleck. I remember I walked into the audition room and stepped boldly to the table where Ben was sitting. I held out my hand, and it occurred to me that Ben was not expecting this. It also occurred to me that his not expecting this meant that he was going to consider me an asshole and not consider me for the part. I went through with the handshake, though, even though Ben's ball point pen stayed clumsily in his hand as he shook mine. Never ambush a movie star who's wielding a ballpoint pen. It's just not done.

Anyway, I read the scene for Ben, and I thought the reading went less successfully than the reading I did for the CP people but...that's the way it goes. As I walked out of the room, the woman who runs CP asked me if I would be available for a table read. A bunch of folks were going to sit around and read the script, see how it sounds. I said sure, of course, but that table read never came to pass for me. I was to read the part of the Charlestown gangster, a major supporting role, and, as it turned out, they didn't need me. But it was fun to be asked.

Anyway, I do get the part of "Arnold," and I do the shoot, which lasts two days and I think I covered all this in an earlier blog entry. Fast forward to last night, Tuesday, September 14, 2010, when the finished film is to be given its Boston premiere at Fenway Park, which is the location of the final heist of the film. I was amazed that they planned this. It's outdoors, in mid-September, and it's not a football game. It's a movie. Could it be anything but cold, uncomfortable, and possibly even wet?

Turns out, none of the above. A beautiful late summer day turned into a gorgeous late summer evening. My friend Sandra and I got into town early (I am a huge traffic beater, whenever I can swing it), and planned to have dinner before the premiere. We parked in the main Fenway Lot (FREE PARKING PASS!!!!!! ANYBODY WHO'S BEEN TO FENWAY KNOWS WHAT THIS MEANS.) and I looked across the street to the Cask and Flagon. Now, again, anybody who has gone to a Red Sox game knows that you just don't go to the Cask and Flagon before the game. Mainly because you can't get in there. To paraphrase Yogi--"Nobody goes there. It's too crowded." But I could see that there was plenty of room inside, and even though the C&F ain't the height of New England elegance, I thought we'd give it a shot, because I'd never get in there again. We found a table near the window which looked out on to Gate E, which happened to be the Gate those of us folks privileged to be invited to the premiere were supposed to use. We figured we could sit and watch the stars go by.

Well, we did sit and we did watch, but no stars went by. Unless you consider Jerry Kissel a star. I actually do. I think he's one of the best actors in Boston. But when you're looking for Jennifer Garner, Jerry Kissel just doesn't cut it. Still, it was fun to anticipate things that never happened. Eventually, we left the Cask and Flagon and became just another couple of non-stars waiting to get into the park. Finally, Gate E opened and we stepped inside, only to be greeted by scanners and pat downs and all kinds of "keep the terrorists away from the movie people" security. No big deal, but I did have a lot of change (I never go to Boston without dozens of quarters), and it was embarrassing filling up the plate that was whisked through the scanner. Took me twenty minutes to get everything back in my pocket. But I did, and we followed the throng up the ramp to Section 26, which overlooks the third base line.

Walking into Fenway, no matter how many times you've done it, or how old you are, is a thrilling experience. It is just one, big, damn, beautiful place. (To look at, not to sit in, but that's another story.) But rarely does one walk into an essentially empty Fenway, to see a mammoth motion picture screen mounted on scaffolding, and spanning the entire third base line.

There seemed to be a Red Carpet rolled along the stands next to the Red Sox dugout on the first base side, with a group of movie posters lined up with the carpet. The folks were pokily making their way to their seats, which were mostly in Section 26, handily tucked between two posts so that everybody could see the screen. Ultimately, people sat in Sections 25 and 27, but only where the posts wouldn't interfere. Sandra and I took our seats in Row 6, #s 8 and 9. As we did, we were handed an official THE TOWN blanket, which Warner Bros. provided gratis, in case autumn stealthily intruded during the screening. The blanket was black, and had "The Town" sewn into it, in red. Things did not get under way according to the schedule, and there was a lot of sitting around and "Howayahs!" shared by the folks in the stands, many of whom, it seemed, knew each other. Now that everybody and his brother is making gangster movies in Boston, the need for gangster types among the local thespian crowd has grown precipitously. They were all having a hell of a time. Sandra became very deft at taking photos without looking into the lens.

Finally, at about 8:40, all the stars had arrived and taken their seats, and Fenway suddenly went black. That's quite an experience if, as I am, you're used to the place in stunning brightness. Then, just as suddenly, a spotlight hit Ben Affleck, who stood in front of the screen and graciously thanked the Boston film community for the good experience he had working in Charlestown and thereabouts shooting the movie. He didn't introduce the stars with him (it was just too dark), but did let us know that Jeremy Renner, Blake Lively, Rebecca Hall, Chris Cooper and Jon Hamm were present, as was Ben's friend Matt Damon. Alas, no Jennifer. (I've been a big fan since ALIAS.)

At the conclusion of his really terrific speech, the film began. At first, it seemed like it was simply going to be an evening of people recognizing themselves and their friends on screen and doing the WHOOP! thing, but, though that did happen occasionally during the evening, by and large the audience watched the film with interest. It is beautifully shot, and the sound and sight systems set up for Fenway were excellent. The story may have a hole or two, but the performances, the humor, and the incredible (I use that word intentionally) special effects and action sequences make it a damn good show. I think it will do very well, and unless five other actors do bang-up work in supporting roles between now and Oscar time, I think Renner gets a nomination. If the film is a huge hit, look for Affleck, too, to get a nod, as director.

When the film ended most eveybody hung around a bit to watch the credits, and those of us with small roles were very happy when our names did appear. I had done two days on the film, and had one line as I was tied up by Affleck as he robbed Fenway. My line did not survive the cut, but ten seconds of me looking frightened in medium close-up did, and for that, I'm grateful. And there was my name. Up there on the screen. For the first time.

All in all, a truly cool evening.

And, oh, by the way, that part I had initially read for and was called back for--went to the great character actor Pete Postlethwaite. Why they'd want to use him instead of me....

And my parking space was sooooo good....I got outa town in no time.

August 27, 2010 Movies: The Unexpected

This is a Good News/Bad News thing. I saw a couple of movies this week, one in a theatre, one via Netflix Streaming. My expectations were knocked sideways with each film.

First, the Bad News.

I really like Steve Carell (Wait, while I go to the Internet and check, once again, on the l's and the r's in his name.) Okay. Carell. I remember his earlier work on THE DAILY SHOW. And I remember how blown away I was with his performance in LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE. Who knew the guy had acting chops like that? And then there's THE OFFICE. I am now watching a lot of OFFICE reruns. The show itself is brilliant. Brilliant in a different way from Gervais' brilliant British version, but brilliant nonetheless. Brilliant in a decidedly American way. So the first time through these shows, it was the show--and the beautifully written and performed arc of the Jim/Pam relationship--that made the show work for me. Now, on my second time through, I'm recognizing how remarkably honest and funny Carell is in the show. Episode by episode he brings everything he's got to the table, and that's a lot. He is at once silly and ridiculous and pathetic and charming and...sad. Gervais does all this as well, it is true, but...Carell (and the OFFICE writers) need to be recognized for this wonderful character. Okay. All right. I love Steve Carell. I thought both he and Tina Fey were very good in DATE NIGHT, though I thought the writing let them down. Okay. All right. But the other day, in a theatre, I saw DINNER FOR SCHMUCKS.

Here's how I think the pitch meeting for DINNER FOR SCHMUCKS went down.

PITCHER: Are you ready? Guy wants a promotion. His boss says okay. But the guy has to bring an idiot to dinner so the boss and his cronies can make fun of the guy. DINNER FOR SCHMUCKS. Whatdya think?

PRODUCER: Are you sure this will...

PITCHER: Schmuck is Steve Carell.

PRODUCER: Make the movie!

And that's where the creativity stopped. The movie is a long exercise in badly considered and executed "comic" situations and hideously unfunny jokes. I am terrible at remembering specifics about movies, so I am unable to regurgitate the jokes for you here but, trust me, the writers are sophomoric and talent-free when it comes to getting to the heart of the comic matter. And the very talented (I think) and very witty Zach Galifianakis is wasted in a stooge role that is offensively underwritten. It takes a lifetime to get to the dinner, and when we do, we are treated to more of the same lame humor and patented "guy movie" cliches we sat through to get to dinner. My question: Did Carell and Paul Rudd and Galifianakis actually read the script before committing to the movie? Or did they, like the producer, just sign on with the pitch? I'm guessing the latter. Because all of those actors are much, much, much better than the material in DINNER FOR SCHMUCKS.

And then there's TRANSSIBERIAN.

(No matter how many times I type that title, the spell check always goes into Panic Mode, but as far as I can tell, that's the way it's spelled.)

This is a thriller I don't think anybody saw. Made in 2008 by writer/director Brad Anderson (THE MACHINIST, NEXT STOP WONDERLAND), it's a story about an American couple (Woody Harrelson and Emily Mortimer--yeah, playing an American), who are taking the Transsiberian Express from Beijing to Moscow after doing some social work in China. Along the way, they encounter an "interesting" young couple who attracts them in varying ways, and the results are far from pleasant for Woody and Emily. The plot involves the Russian drug trade and the shady way in which the Russian police force goes about its business. Eduardo Noriega and Kate Mara play the mysterious strangers on the train, and Ben Kingsley plays a Russian detective. The Lithuanian shoot stands in for Siberia, and the film is beautifully rendered.

More than all this, though, is the fact that TRANSSIBERIAN is a terrific thriller, and terrific thrillers are hard to come by. Most of the time, the plot line in current thrillers is transparent almost from the first reel. This movie, like Polanski's THE GHOST WRITER, is a current thriller that involves the viewer carefully, and then, about halfway through the movie, just grabs the viewer and takes him on an unexpected ride full of twists and turns that lasts until the very last frame.

TRANSSIBERIAN had the misfortune of opening the same weekend as THE DARK KNIGHT, the biggest opening in film history, and thus accounts for its relative obscurity.

But it's still out there, available to see, and I recommend it without reservation.