Shards IV (greatly delayed)

Clearly, I need to work on my blogging.

Clearly, I am not a dedicated blogger.

It's good that I have only eight followers, because, clearly, I am not a good leader.

I will try to improve.

Some random things to type about, relative to the last two and a half months...

I am typing this from a lovely deck overlooking a lovely back yard and a lovely pool in Derry, New Hampshire, where I now almost reside. I am in the process of actually moving ALL the stuff of my life for the first time in twenty-five years, and the undertaking is mammoth. I have thrown NOTHING away, and, while I'm getting better at discarding little bits and pieces of my life, I'm still a hoarder. I have until July 31 to gather and store what needs to be retained. I have moved and stored all my books and my vinyl. You know, the important stuff. Now, for the rest of it.

I have created a mancave here in my new digs. I have ensconced myself in a corner of the first floor of my brother and sister-in-law's house, and turned it into a combination screening room, library, kitchenette, sleeping quarters and semi-office. And the bathroom is only a few feet away. Eventually, the plan is to build a real office out over the garage. I may never leave New Hampshire again.

An exaggeration, but it is very, very nice here.

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Just back from New Century Theatre at Smith College in Northampton where I directed my play TO FORGIVE, DIVINE as part of New Century's 20th Anniversary Season. I am co-founder of the theatre, along with Sam Rush. On July 18, 1991, we presented the first performance at New Century--my play JERRY FINNEGAN'S SISTER, featuring Chris Connell and Jenna Moscowitz. Jenna was in the audience for TFD last week and looked not a day over the 21 she was when she did the show. TFD, after battling through the smallish audiences over the July 4th weekend, played to big, responsive houses for the final five shows, and it was a wonderful experience, working with old friends Dave Mason, Sandra Blaney, Ed Jewett, Barb McEwen, and Catherine Bloch, and introducing the NCT audience to young Nora Kaye. Good show, I think.

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Been getting some significantly favorable response from some savvy actor friends about my new play, AULD LANG SYNE. In the well-respected tradition of not jinxing it, that's all I'll say about it.

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Anybody seen Kevin Bacon in TAKING CHANCE? Worth the rental. He's never been better, and the story, about a Marine colonel accompanying the body of a fallen soldier back to his hometown, is gut-wrenching.

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And then there's the just-released documentary on Joan Rivers, entitled JOAN RIVERS, A PIECE OF WORK, which I highly recommend. It is honest beyond belief and Joan is funny as ever as she scratches and claws through a year in the business, battling a system that reveres youth and sidesteps performers of a certain age. Check it out.

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Reading a couple of swell books on my Kindle: THE GIRL WITH THE DRAGON TATTOO by Stieg Larsson and THE MEN WHO WOULD BE KING, an examination of the life of DreamWorks SKG, by Nicole Laporte.

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I'm glad THE CLOSER is back and I don't give a damn how much you don't like Kira's Southern drawl because the stories are interesting and well written and the acting is terrific. So there.

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Among the vinyl I have successfully stored in my move is an album of John Kiley organ solos. Does anybody know who that is? Don't quote me on this, but I bet John played "Sweet Caroline" at Fenway before he passed away.

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Okay, I'll try to save something and perhaps come up with another entry within the next three months.

Shards III

I'm at Barnes and Noble again. I come here so that I can be in the company of human begins instead of staring at the four walls of my office all the time. However, sometimes the humans make me crazier than the four walls.

What some of the humans like to do, usually female humans who are at Barnes and Noble with mute friends or husbands, is grab a magazine from the rack, take it to a table, and read impertinent facts to the mute friend or husband. Interminably. Today, the female human who visited the magazine rack brought the current Red Sox Yearbook back to her table, which just happened to be right next to mine. And then she proceeded to broadcast to her friend the vital statistics, player by player, of most of the team members.

"Dustin Pedroia. Five-nine. A hundred eighty five pounds. Imagine."

Pause. Pause. Pause. Nothing from her friend. Then...

"David Ortiz. Six-five. Two hundred thirty five pounds." Pause. Pause. "Imagine."

My God.
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Gotta tell you, they REALLY pissed off Jack Bauer a couple of weeks ago when they shot Renee through that apartment window, thus ending her two-year (excuse me, two day) stint on the show. Haven't the bad guys on 24 learned that it's just not a good idea to piss off Jack Bauer?

For those of you missing Renee, she has resurfaced as Annie Wersching in this month's Esquire. She is the featured player in the "Funny joke told by a beautiful woman" page. the joke isn't funny. It doesn't matter.
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You know, you guys, when you drive by in your car and you see me running up by the Edson Cemetery or Shedd Park, and you honk your horn and I wave back as if I don't know who you are, it's because, most of the time, I don't know who you are, because I cannot see through the glare in your windshield. Nothing against you. It's just your windshield. But thanks for caring.
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Disappointed in DATE NIGHT, which is one of the few movies these days I went out of my way to see. (It's easier, ain't it, to just wait for the DVD?) I couldn't be a bigger fan of Steve Carrell or Tina Fey. Each is at the top of his/her game these days. But the movie, with so much star potential, just kinda fizzles in its preposterousness. These are clever actors, and writers, and they are put through typical romcom/action movie moments through most of DATE NIGHT, and it wears thin fast. I wanted to like it. I really did. But I didn't. Sorry.
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I did, however, really like Roman Polanski's GHOST WRITER, with Ewan McGregor and Pierce Brosnan. Say what you want about Polanski, he knows how to make a thriller that keeps you guessing right up to the last frame of the movie. CHINATOWN. ROSEMARY'S BABY. Good stuff. Even idiots can make good movies.
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I am currently leading my fantasy baseball league, which only means this is a fleeting moment of glory. There must be something very wrong about my being at the top of the league this early in the season. Reminds me of a photo the Globe took somewhere in the early sixties, at the first of June, with the entire Red Sox team, lead by manager Johnny Pesky and first baseman Dick Stuart, smiling into the camera, and with the photo captioned "Look Who's In First Place, Fellas!?
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ABC'S MODERN FAMILY is the best new TV comedy in years. Performances are wonderful, the writing is incisive and witty and the comedy unrelenting. Ty Burrell, late of Kelsey Grammer's underrated sitcom BACK TO YOU, plays a young Dad and he is brilliant. And, best of all, Ed O'Neill is back on TV, in a vehicle that maybe even Al Bundy would appreciate.
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So this year I'm losing 24, DAMAGES and LOST. That's a lot of TV to take away from a guy in one season. Maybe somebody will pick up DAMAGES, which still has some life in it. The only really bad thing about the end of 24 is that there's no way they can do something spectacular like kill off Jack Bauer. Because they're already planning the movie.
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I've just finished reading Charles Van Doren's A HISTORY OF KNOWLEDGE, which I truly enjoyed. A thoroughly readable analysis of ideas over the course of human history. For a guy (me) who has trouble understanding Facebook, Charlie kept me involved and informed throughout the book. Kinda makes me think a little more of him after learning all about his escapades on the TV quiz show "21" in the fifties. See the Redford movie. You won't regret it.

Sox Opener--Fantasy Versus Reality

Well, the first fantastic element of the Red Sox Opening Night game was that it was a night game in early April and none of the players in the dugouts was wearing those silly looking earmuffy things they wear in April and October. The weather was magnificent. Who'd a thunk it? All that bitching and moaning (in which I participated) about the ridiculousness of opening at night on April 4 was countered by a God who, on Easter Sunday, displayed a great sense of humor. "That'll teach you guys," He seemed to say.

For me, it was the first time I'd watched an Opening Game in HD. This is an experience. Heidi Watney in regular definition is one thing, in HD, something else entirely. I think I'll just leave it at that.

The kid with the Herb Brooks speech? Kinda not a good idea. I mean, okay, good...he memorized a lot of words and somebody told him which ones to emphasize and a lot of people (Ellen Degeneres) thought it was cute and a lot of people thought it was classless. I just worry about the kid going back to kindergarten and dealing with fingerpainting time and milk break. I mean, doesn't everything after last night have to be pretty much down hill from here on?

Loved Pedro, as does Pedro. But that's all right. He did take a month and a half to walk from left field to the pitcher's mound, but he's just so damned lovable, he could get away with it. Fortunately, I had recorded it so I could fast forward. Not sure how I would have reacted if I'd had to watch it in real time.

Same deal with the anthem and Steven Tyler. Sue me. I fast-forwarded. Not Neil Diamond, though. Watched that whole "Sweet Caroline" thing. I think the way the owners cater to the pink hats is damn near offensive and this exhibition was right up there, but...had to watch. Don't know why. At least they edited the song. And I did like his Brooklyn Dodger plea on his jacket.

Pesky is great, though perhaps they should sit him in a box seat and bring the camera to him. I do envy his head of hair, though. Man.

Nice game. Turned out the way it needed to turn out. Scary, but we made it.

Oh, the fantasy stuff.

A friend in NY asked me to join his fantasy baseball league, so last night was the first night I participated. It took me a week or so to figure out what the hell I was doing, and when the Sox game started, I found myself in the very, very odd position of wanting the Sox to win, but wanting Jeter and Posado not to suck. Because they are on my fantasy team. As it turned out, I had a pretty good night. Both these guys did well, as did Pedroia, who is also on my squad. I don't know how I'm going to feel as the season progresses. I know, ultimately, I will choose rooting for the Sox over rooting for my Yankee players to shine. But last night's baptism of fire was a good way to introduce myself to the fantasy format.

I'm going to the game on Wednesday. I understand it'll be in the 70's again.

Fantasy, to be sure.

Something's Comin....

So I've been directing the annual musical at Dracut High School for...I think twelve years now. WEST SIDE STORY, which I'm directing now, is my thirteenth. I don't want to think about that. So I won't.

What I will think about is the astonishing opportunity Dracut High School, and particularly the Head of the Music and Theatre Department there, Leon Grande, offers the students on a yearly basis. I've told Lee more times than I imagine he's interested in hearing that the DHS job is one of the most pleasant of my working year. Always. That doesn't mean it's an easy gig. Far from it. The kids can attest to that. I mean, when I started out with ANYTHING GOES 13 years ago, I had a full head of hair.

That's a total lie, but it reads well, so I'm going to leave it in.

The job is pleasant for me because of the care Lee takes in providing his students with the chance to work with the greatest musical theatre creations of the 20th Century. The material we've worked with over the years is classic. FIDDLER ON THE ROOF, LES MISERABLES, SOUTH PACIFIC, GUYS AND DOLLS, THE MUSIC MAN, WEST SIDE STORY...these are the best of the best, and exposing young theatre students to this remarkable catalogue of musical theatre is important not only for them and their theatre education, but it's also crucial because it ingrains this exceptional, vitally American, musical art into the minds and hearts of these kids who, forgive me, are exposed on a daily basis to music that really isn't music. Come on...it really isn't. Anyway...as we try to guide them through the machinations of the extremely challenging Leonard Bernstein music and Stephen Sondheim lyrics of WSS, it's heartening to know that they will remember this time, and they will remember and care about the music, the lyrics, and the show.

Don't get me wrong--these are high school kids. They have other things to do and care about than the annual musical. Lee and I and Phyllis George, the choreographer, must, on a daily basis, confront conversations like this:

"Jack...I don't think I can come to play practice tomorrow..."
"You mean rehearsal?"
"Yeah. I think I have a dentist appointment."
"You think you have a dentist appointment?"
"It's an appointment. My Mom told me that's what it was. I think it might be a dentist appointment."
"Why do you think that?"
"Because I have a toothache."

You get the idea. It's another world and Lee deals with it much more effectively than I do. But what I've grown to learn over the years is, despite the fact that the kids are distracted by EVERYTHING for the first nine weeks of rehearsal, they are listening to us, and, when their parents and other relatives show up on Opening Night, the kids will ACTUALLY DO WHAT WE HAVE ASKED THEM TO DO during play practice.

I mean, rehearsal.

Lee is retiring after next year's show, and the families of Dracut can only hope he'll be replaced by a person who cares one tenth as much as he does about his students, and musical theatre.

WEST SIDE STORY. April 8,9, 10, Dracut High School.

Nausea, thy name is Greengrass.

So I must stop going to Paul Greengrass movies.

It's not that he makes bad movies. He makes relatively decent movies. Like UNITED 93, THE BOURNE UTIMATUM and even, I bet, GREEN ZONE, which is a movie I saw, sort of, the other day.

I say "sort of" because, while I did make it all the way through the film, I really couldn't watch all of it. No, it wasn't the violence, although there was that. I have no problem with excessive violence in movies as long as the story is told. It wasn't the story or the acting or the politics of the film. The WMD issue in Iraq is certainly an issue worth examining and GREEN ZONE does just that, with villains and heroes clearly placed in the political world established by the film.

No, it's not any of the above that made much of GREEN ZONE (and UNITED 93) difficult to watch.

It's the damn HAND-HELD CAMERA!

For God's sake, Greengrass, buy a dolly! Set up a shot in one place and put the camera down and leave it the hell alone! My God! You shouldn't go to the movies and get nauseous because your eyes are bouncing up and down in their sockets. And nausea is what ensues if you have my stomach and you try to watch GREEN ZONE. Every single scene is filmed by a hand-held camera, and when the movie is over, if you didn't know what the word "jostle" meant beforehand, you know it then. Thank heavens I didn't opt for the popcorn and soda before the movie, because each would have ended up on the deck of the AMC Cinema at the Liberty Tree Mall.

The first time I experienced this sensation was when I saw THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT. I left that cinema (Showcase, West Springfield, MA) feeling sick, and I couldn't figure out why. Then I read the newspaper reports about all the people who fell ill at that film and I knew I was a victim of the same hand-held camera technique that Greengrass INSISTS on using.

Yeah, I know TV is now overrun with the same kind of camera work. Even the sitcoms have a lot of hand-held camera action. But it's different in a mammoth movie theatre. The reaction is visceral. And unpleasant. So Greengrass, either use a stationary camera or change your name, otherwise, you've lost me.

Oscar Observations, not that anybody cares

A few random thoughts after watching the Oscars last night...

How did I ever watch this show before DVRs? Commercials and uninteresting (to me) awards are skimmed over effortlessly, or with only the effort it takes to depress one's thumb on the appropriate button on the remote. As long as you're able to hold off watching for a couple of hours, you can then watch the whole thing in 90 minutes or less. That dance sequence, for example, in my house, lasted twelve seconds.

What happened to Farrah Fawcett in the We Are The Dead section? Didn't she pass this year? Yeah, she did. About four minutes before MJ. She made movies. Where was she in the tribute?

What was George Clooney so pissed off about? The first couple of shots of him were funny, because it appeared as if his gloominess was jocular. Then, after about the twentieth shot of old George frowning, it became troublesome. We don't want George to be unhappy! This was his opportunity to be Nicholson (and where was he???). George, knowing he was gonna lose the Best Actor award to Jeff Bridges, could have yucked it up, totally relaxed, all night. But, nope...he just sat there seemingly annoyed. I'm worried. I hope everything is all right. Maybe he has too much MONEY!

Mo'Nique, who provided us with the most harrowingly brilliant performance of the year, fooled everybody by coming up with a dignified, contained, brief acceptance speech. Good for you, Mo!

Jeff Bridges, on the other hand, acted as if he'd just shown up at the affair by accident. I just don't understand why a lot of American actors (not the Brits--they're always prepared!) are so casual about the time they're given accepting these things. It's one thing to be loose as a goose, Dude. But, come on--review a few Tom Hanks speeches and be prepared! Like Sandy! Bullock was totally in control and terrific in her acceptance speech, even when she almost lost it when she was thanking her mother. And Waltz, too, was great accepting. Jeff! You let us down!

Now, tell me this...before she went out there, did Streisand find one of the Price Waterhouse guys and demand to know the winner of the Best Director award before announcing it? Or did she just have the cojones to go out there and practically give it to Kathryn Bigelow BEFORE she even revealed the winner? Would have been damned uncomfortable if she had opened the envelope and it said, "James Cameron." Fortunately, it worked out. Until Kathryn's speech. She, like Jeff, was overwhelmed and unfocused. Hate that. Her ex-husband was kind of obnoxious when he accepted for TITANIC, but I don't think he bumbled about as she did.

Really thought Steve and Alec were superb. Nice material, well-delivered. Some guy in the Herald today dumped all over them and said that the show should have been hosted by Neil Patrick Harris and Ben Stiller. That kind of criticism shows a decided lack of awareness of what show business and comedy is about.

Tina Fey and Robert Downey, Jr. Hysterical. I'm sure Fey wrote that bit. Is she or is she not at the top of her game? God, they were funny.

I didn't expect that Taylor guy to be so poised. Of course, out there as he was with poor, frightened Kristen Stewart, it was pretty easy to look poised.

I know Meryl's been nominated a million times, but how about Randy Newman? I think he's been nominated every year since Walt Disney died.

I'm still worrying about Clooney. Has anybody called him today?

Sandra Bullock needs a big, big sandwich. Man, did she look skinny. But sharp. SHARP!

Not a big HURT LOCKER fan. More of a fan of INGLORIOUS BASTERDS and UP IN THE AIR.

Maybe that's why George was dyspeptic. UITA won nothing, by my calculations.

I hope that's it.

Why Me?

So I'm driving on the Daniel Webster Highway the other day. I'm not sure how old Daniel would feel, with the highway named after him all cluttered up with strip malls, gas stations and discount furniture outlets, but...hey, I suppose if you get a highway named after you, you should just shut up and be grateful. Anyway, I come to the stop lights at the Barnes and Noble in Nashua. I pretty much live at Barnes and Noble because that's where I get most of my work done, so I'm stopped, waiting to make the left turn to the road that leads to the bookstore, when I see the driver's side door of the incredibly huge NEW pickup truck in front of me open. Then I see the booted foot of the driver. We are stopped, remember, so this is, to this point, a manageable life situation.

Then, however, inevitably following the foot, comes the rest of the driver, and in his grubby little mitts is a piece of paper, maybe letter size not not letter stock--perhaps a paper towel. And it is burning. Fully and indisputably BURNING. Said owner of said foot then steps out of the cab of the BIG NEW truck and places the burning piece of paper on the ground.

Have I mentioned the wind?

There's wind. A lot of it. And when the paper hits the ground, BURNING, the wind takes the paper for a ride.

So I sit there in my Nissan (not a Toyota, thank God) Sentra, watching this BURNING piece of paper as it wends its windy way UNDER MY CAR.

I start beeping my horn, figuring the idiot who put the BURNING PAPER on the ground would see what was going to happen, get out of his BIG TRUCK and stomp on the paper.

But, no...Einstein just gets back in the truck. Where nothing is BURNING. Anymore. I assume.

I start to swerve my Sentra out of the way. Swerving was absolutely called for at the moment. I watch 24. I know what happens when open flame hits gas lines. I don't feel like blowing up on the Daniel Webster Highway.

I beep and honk some more. The BURNING PAPER gets closer and closer to the front of my car. IDIOT TRUCK GUY stays in BIG TRUCK. I lose sight of the BURNING PAPER. I figure it is under my car. I begin to consider leaving my vehicle. (I have done this before, but that's a story for another time.)

Fortunately, though, the light changes, and I am able to follow the IDIOT IN THE BIG PICKUP TRUCK through the intersection before his friggin' piece of BURNING PAPER gets under my car.

I know you won't read this, IDIOT BIG PICKUP DRIVER--but did you ever consider just stomping on the paper as you placed it on the ground? Did you see my Sentra four feet from you? Do you watch 24? Were you able to afford a television after you purchased your BIG STUPID PICKUP TRUCK?

AND HOW THE HELL DID A PAPER OF THAT SIZE--OF ANY SIZE--START BURNING IN YOUR PICKUP?

The only positive thing I could take away from this, other than the fact that I didn't get blown to smithereens, is that if I had been blown to smithereens, I think I would have taken IDIOT BIG STUPID PICKUP TRUCK GUY with me.

I don't trust BIG TRUCK GUYS. Never have. I don't believe they need trucks THAT BIG.

But if you do have a BIG TRUCK, and if you do, for some reason, start a fire inside the truck, KEEP THE DAMN FIRE TO YOURSELF, OKAY?