Sunday, December 7, 2008
What's Up with Turner Classic Movies?
As part of his introduction to the Charles Laughton movie, "Payment Deferred" (1932), Robert Osborne said that Ray Milland, with a part in the film, was seen in the credits as the more unfamiliar "Raymond Milland." But then the film came on, with the actor billed as ... Ray Milland.
The King's English
In the December 4, 2008, New York Times, there is an interview with First Lady Laura Bush. She is quoted thusly:
"I just like to think about the people who lived here [in the White House] before me," she said. "When both George and me walked through all of these rooms, these rooms downstairs as well as our residence, we're very aware of all the presidents before us."
When both George and me walked through all of these rooms? When both George and me walked through all of these rooms? When both George and me walked through all of these rooms?
Help!
"I just like to think about the people who lived here [in the White House] before me," she said. "When both George and me walked through all of these rooms, these rooms downstairs as well as our residence, we're very aware of all the presidents before us."
When both George and me walked through all of these rooms? When both George and me walked through all of these rooms? When both George and me walked through all of these rooms?
Help!
Some Rants from Movie Grouch
Occasionally, Old Grouch receives e-mail rants from Movie Grouch. With MG's permission, these are hereby posted for One And All to see, with swearing omitted.
(from April 2007)
I am still appalled from last night at MOMA, when I attended two Rainer Werner Fassbinder movies. Now, I know this is nothing on the order of the war in Iraq, or the grief of Virginia Tech families, but it is yet more evidence of the decline and fall of what we used to call Western Civilization. To emphasize: This is the Museum of Modern Art, with one of the most sophisticated film programs and audiences in the country, not some Cine 22 in the suburbs showing Lindsay Lohan movies. Ready? The man three seats to my right fell asleep immediately and began snoring, but only intermittently, so each time I was on the verge of tapping him, he would stop snoring. The woman behind me on the left was snacking or eating dinner and kept crinkling paper slowly and maddeningly. Two rows in front of me a young woman kept turning on her cellphone or Blackberry to check whatever, with the blue light painfully obvious, and she was either answering or reading, because she didn't turn it off. Ahead on the left, another young person kept turning her cellphone on and off, but finally another furious patron told her to stop it. I am not even including a couple of cellphones going off during the film, despite warnings on the screen that food, drink and cellphone use were not allowed. I could not simultaneously attack three different people for bad manners without seeming like a lunatic, so I just stewed in my own anger and reported the incidents to the House Manager at the end. He said that audience rudeness had been getting worse and worse and it was difficult to know what to do about it, especially cellphones and snacks. During the weekend showing of "Berlin Alexanderplatz," some a--hole in front of me actually brought his laptop into the cinema and worked away on something, with the bright light shining in my face, but at least he had the courtesy to turn it off when the house lights dimmed. And both the New York Film Society and the Film Forum wonder why their earned income has been nose-diving: Yes, it's because of DVDs and computers, but it also has to do with how unpleasant it has become to attend almost any event at any cinema. And this is NYC: Can you imagine if we were in Springfield, Missouri?! I am unable to remember the last time I sat in a cinema in absolute uninterrupted silence with the rest of the audience.
And here's a very recent e-mail from Movie Grouch, just received this past week:
Subject: Well, It Was Bound to Happen!
Today I asked our young female intern who was going to the local post office to get me a sheet of Bette Davis stamps, and she ACTUALLY ASKED ME WHO BETTE DAVIS WAS!! I explained but my heart wasn't in it.
(from April 2007)
I am still appalled from last night at MOMA, when I attended two Rainer Werner Fassbinder movies. Now, I know this is nothing on the order of the war in Iraq, or the grief of Virginia Tech families, but it is yet more evidence of the decline and fall of what we used to call Western Civilization. To emphasize: This is the Museum of Modern Art, with one of the most sophisticated film programs and audiences in the country, not some Cine 22 in the suburbs showing Lindsay Lohan movies. Ready? The man three seats to my right fell asleep immediately and began snoring, but only intermittently, so each time I was on the verge of tapping him, he would stop snoring. The woman behind me on the left was snacking or eating dinner and kept crinkling paper slowly and maddeningly. Two rows in front of me a young woman kept turning on her cellphone or Blackberry to check whatever, with the blue light painfully obvious, and she was either answering or reading, because she didn't turn it off. Ahead on the left, another young person kept turning her cellphone on and off, but finally another furious patron told her to stop it. I am not even including a couple of cellphones going off during the film, despite warnings on the screen that food, drink and cellphone use were not allowed. I could not simultaneously attack three different people for bad manners without seeming like a lunatic, so I just stewed in my own anger and reported the incidents to the House Manager at the end. He said that audience rudeness had been getting worse and worse and it was difficult to know what to do about it, especially cellphones and snacks. During the weekend showing of "Berlin Alexanderplatz," some a--hole in front of me actually brought his laptop into the cinema and worked away on something, with the bright light shining in my face, but at least he had the courtesy to turn it off when the house lights dimmed. And both the New York Film Society and the Film Forum wonder why their earned income has been nose-diving: Yes, it's because of DVDs and computers, but it also has to do with how unpleasant it has become to attend almost any event at any cinema. And this is NYC: Can you imagine if we were in Springfield, Missouri?! I am unable to remember the last time I sat in a cinema in absolute uninterrupted silence with the rest of the audience.
And here's a very recent e-mail from Movie Grouch, just received this past week:
Subject: Well, It Was Bound to Happen!
Today I asked our young female intern who was going to the local post office to get me a sheet of Bette Davis stamps, and she ACTUALLY ASKED ME WHO BETTE DAVIS WAS!! I explained but my heart wasn't in it.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
Return of Variety? God Forbid!
Last night, Rosie O'Donnell presented a live special on NBC-TV which was a promised return to the long-gone variety series that once populated the TV screen. When Old Grouch was a wee lad, he very much enjoyed "The Ed Sullivan Show" (seeing the original cast of "Camelot," for instance, and the American TV debut of The Beatles), "The Garry Moore Show" (where Carol Burnett was a regular for a while, along with Durwood Kirby, Marian Lorne, Don Crichton, and, later, Dorothy Loudon), "The Hollywood Palace" (where older stars like Eleanor Powell often appeared), and many others. Old Grouch went off to boarding school for three years and then college for four, so a lot of TV was missed during that period, but there were other series like "Sonny and Cher," "Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour," "The Smothers Brothers," "The Dean Martin Show," "The Judy Garland Show," "The Andy Williams Show," and others.
The formats were fairly simple -- a charming host or two; resident singers and dancers; guest comedians, skits, and sometimes some acrobatic acts. Ed Sullivan's show was a bit more like a classy vaudeville bill, with opera stars, Broadway stars, ballet dancers, circus performers, Topo Gigio, comics, nightclub performers, etc. You saw it all, and learned a lot about culture.
I remember noticing, at some point in the mid-to-late Sixties, that singing stopped being live. When stars -- even the hosts -- began to sing, they would lip-synch to a pre-recorded track. I know this has been done forever in movie musicals, but on TV it took on an ethereal, fake quality. (Some people claim they can't tell when something is dubbed; I've always been able to sniff it out, even in Hollywood films, when they loop in one word or one sentence. It's always obvious to me.) This post-dub direction changed variety shows for me, making them less spontaneous.
The New York Times interviewed Carol Burnett about Rosie's return to variety, and Carol wished her well. But when you remember Carol's series ... let me correct this ... when I remember Carol's series, I remember warm colors, inviting sets, people talking to each other ... it was a family, even throughout all the comedy.
Last night, Rosie's variety show was a shrill, pushy affair, bathed in the alienating colors of red and black. Let's face it -- Rosie is a lot to take. When she was modest and pretending to be straight back during her daytime show, she was a sweet booster of talent. Now she is strident and irritating. There was no warmth; no people just talking to one another. During dance or performances, cameras were zooming around, lights were flashing, and it was the same old crap we see on TV during any awards program. You know what folks? We are trying to watch talent. Let us see them. SLOW DOWN. Keep the camera in one place for 30 seconds so we can orient ourselves, get a sense of how they move, how they inhabit their bodies and work their magic.
Rosie said she was going to avoid the political, but then she raised her arms to the skies in gratitude to the election of Barack Obama (we agree, but it was out of place on this show), and then she had cutsy-pie references to being gay (she and Clay Aiken, she mused, had something in common -- they were both "GAY-briel Byrne fans." Ho, ho, ho, another crummy Seth Rudetsky joke. Will someone kill off that evil queen's career? He sets strides by homosexuals back to the Middle Ages.
Rosie O'Donnell's special last night was a depressing affair, particularly to those of us waiting for a warm variety format. And by the way, the product integration number sung by Jane Krakowski to "You Gotta Get A Gimmick" from Gypsy, was just lower than low. NBC programming head Ben Silverman is a handsome guy, but his product integration innovations are putting entertainment into the toilet. We hate commercials, okay -- no matter where, no matter how.
For the record, Rosie had Alec Baldwin (lost at sea), Conan O'Brien (stupid pie-in-the-face bit), poor Ms. Krakowski, Liza Minnelli trying too hard (as usual), Rachel Ray, some white dancer twins who were ripping off Savion Glover, some smooth black dude doing a repetitive song, and an over-the-top finale that was headache-inducing.
Somebody else please give variety a try!
The formats were fairly simple -- a charming host or two; resident singers and dancers; guest comedians, skits, and sometimes some acrobatic acts. Ed Sullivan's show was a bit more like a classy vaudeville bill, with opera stars, Broadway stars, ballet dancers, circus performers, Topo Gigio, comics, nightclub performers, etc. You saw it all, and learned a lot about culture.
I remember noticing, at some point in the mid-to-late Sixties, that singing stopped being live. When stars -- even the hosts -- began to sing, they would lip-synch to a pre-recorded track. I know this has been done forever in movie musicals, but on TV it took on an ethereal, fake quality. (Some people claim they can't tell when something is dubbed; I've always been able to sniff it out, even in Hollywood films, when they loop in one word or one sentence. It's always obvious to me.) This post-dub direction changed variety shows for me, making them less spontaneous.
The New York Times interviewed Carol Burnett about Rosie's return to variety, and Carol wished her well. But when you remember Carol's series ... let me correct this ... when I remember Carol's series, I remember warm colors, inviting sets, people talking to each other ... it was a family, even throughout all the comedy.
Last night, Rosie's variety show was a shrill, pushy affair, bathed in the alienating colors of red and black. Let's face it -- Rosie is a lot to take. When she was modest and pretending to be straight back during her daytime show, she was a sweet booster of talent. Now she is strident and irritating. There was no warmth; no people just talking to one another. During dance or performances, cameras were zooming around, lights were flashing, and it was the same old crap we see on TV during any awards program. You know what folks? We are trying to watch talent. Let us see them. SLOW DOWN. Keep the camera in one place for 30 seconds so we can orient ourselves, get a sense of how they move, how they inhabit their bodies and work their magic.
Rosie said she was going to avoid the political, but then she raised her arms to the skies in gratitude to the election of Barack Obama (we agree, but it was out of place on this show), and then she had cutsy-pie references to being gay (she and Clay Aiken, she mused, had something in common -- they were both "GAY-briel Byrne fans." Ho, ho, ho, another crummy Seth Rudetsky joke. Will someone kill off that evil queen's career? He sets strides by homosexuals back to the Middle Ages.
Rosie O'Donnell's special last night was a depressing affair, particularly to those of us waiting for a warm variety format. And by the way, the product integration number sung by Jane Krakowski to "You Gotta Get A Gimmick" from Gypsy, was just lower than low. NBC programming head Ben Silverman is a handsome guy, but his product integration innovations are putting entertainment into the toilet. We hate commercials, okay -- no matter where, no matter how.
For the record, Rosie had Alec Baldwin (lost at sea), Conan O'Brien (stupid pie-in-the-face bit), poor Ms. Krakowski, Liza Minnelli trying too hard (as usual), Rachel Ray, some white dancer twins who were ripping off Savion Glover, some smooth black dude doing a repetitive song, and an over-the-top finale that was headache-inducing.
Somebody else please give variety a try!
Monday, November 24, 2008
Is Old Grouch "Mr. Scrooge"? - Meditations on "White Christmas"
It appears that Old Grouch was "right on" about his prescient flutters regarding the current stage production of "White Christmas" here in New York City (see rant down below). Today's Daily Variety calls it "somewhat mechanical ... staffed with mostly second-tier talent." The review likens it to another "vat of rehydrated egg nog," the Radio City Christmas Spectacular, in that it is an excuse for a lot of flashy production numbers. The book scenes are cited as "mummified," with "drippy dialogue"; the vocals are called, "polished, if not quite dazzling. ... This kind of forthy, populous presentation may floor them in the hinterlands, but New York theatergoers can see more accomplished ensembles in five-night Encores! runs." Hey, I just saved over $100! I'm getting a massage!
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
More Questions
Can we confine New York Times Arts & Leisure section stories and critics' reviews to a couple of columns? More wind than hurricane season!
Why do young people want to read a book and listen to iPods at the same time?
Why are people having children that they hand off to nannies for 10 hours a day?
Why, when people are out for walks with their children or their pets, are they on the cellphone with someone else?
Why, when some dogs are being walked and they look up in happiness at their owners, do the owners never notice?
Old Grouch is out of town till 11/18, so you'll have to wait for more Grouchy Posts till shortly thereafter.
Why do young people want to read a book and listen to iPods at the same time?
Why are people having children that they hand off to nannies for 10 hours a day?
Why, when people are out for walks with their children or their pets, are they on the cellphone with someone else?
Why, when some dogs are being walked and they look up in happiness at their owners, do the owners never notice?
Old Grouch is out of town till 11/18, so you'll have to wait for more Grouchy Posts till shortly thereafter.
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Phraseology Phailings
Jeez, it's Nov. 8 and this Old Grouch hasn't ranted for some time. Hypoglycemia, anyone?
I'm comforted by an article in today's New York Post about a new book, "Damp Squid," that, according to the paper as well as The London Telegraph, "lists the top 10 most pompous, grating, overused and obnoxious sayings in the English language."
First on the list: "at the end of the day ..."
Followed by "fairly unique," "I personally," "24/7," "at this moment in time," "shouldn't of" (instead of "shouldn't have"), "with all due respect," "absolutely," "it's a nightmare" and "it's not rocket science."
The Post invites readers to go online at nypost.com and tell the paper which phrases annoy you the most.
Here are three that make Old Grouch gnash his teeth:
So-and-so "and myself" went out ...
"It blew me away"
"I went to this restaurant and this waiter told me I should have this fish dish"
There are zillions of 'em. Send 'em to us, too.
I'm comforted by an article in today's New York Post about a new book, "Damp Squid," that, according to the paper as well as The London Telegraph, "lists the top 10 most pompous, grating, overused and obnoxious sayings in the English language."
First on the list: "at the end of the day ..."
Followed by "fairly unique," "I personally," "24/7," "at this moment in time," "shouldn't of" (instead of "shouldn't have"), "with all due respect," "absolutely," "it's a nightmare" and "it's not rocket science."
The Post invites readers to go online at nypost.com and tell the paper which phrases annoy you the most.
Here are three that make Old Grouch gnash his teeth:
So-and-so "and myself" went out ...
"It blew me away"
"I went to this restaurant and this waiter told me I should have this fish dish"
There are zillions of 'em. Send 'em to us, too.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Jittery Grouch v. Billy Elliot
[From Jittery Grouch]
How much bigger, brighter, louder, gaudier, special-effects laden, over-produced and “faux heart-warming” can Broadway musicals get? After sitting through three hours of this piece all I could think of was a bottle of Tylenol.
Some issues and thoughts: It’s got what seems to be a decent Elton John rock-inspired score (hard to tell with speakers blasting and scenery flying) so why add a “number” from Swan Lake? REALLY!! The show tries to soar and the young Billy (there are three actors who play the part) I saw was charming and a wonderful dancer but the poor guy was weighed down by 10 tons of over-staged nonsense (huge dancing dresses on headless coat hangers or a 20-foot Margaret Thatcher puppet lurking over the action, anyone?) and dodging overly-complicated set pieces (Billy’s bedroom just about touches the Imperial Theater’s ceiling as it periodically rises and rises and rises frighteningly from the stage. Watch out where you dance, you cute little tutu-costumed kids – danger lurks!) And all those little ballet dancers periodically flitting around on stage alongside coal miners and police trudging about all at the same time totally upstage each other. I never was quite sure if the action was taking place in a ballet class or a union hall. There might (might!)just be a rather nice musical there beneath the crushing production but then again...
As I try to recall the film, one important plot element that comes to mind is that Billy is not portrayed as gay or possibly gay; he’s just a young guy who likes to dance and does it really well. Sexual orientation has nothing to do with Billy but lurks only in the minds of other characters. The musical portrays Billy as possibly gay or at least real gay-friendly (dressing in your best gay-friend’s frocks and using his lipstick is kind of gay). Now there is nothing at all wrong with gay – Jittery absolutely loves gay – but one of the most appealing aspects of the film is that it is not a stereotypical portrayal of a young boy who wants to dance.
Jittery says check out the cast album (hmm… wonder if it includes the sizzling Swan Lake number?) and rent the movie.
Jittery to all ten thousand producers: Why did I have to pay full orchestra price ($136.50) for my rear mezzanine seat just because it was Saturday night?
How much bigger, brighter, louder, gaudier, special-effects laden, over-produced and “faux heart-warming” can Broadway musicals get? After sitting through three hours of this piece all I could think of was a bottle of Tylenol.
Some issues and thoughts: It’s got what seems to be a decent Elton John rock-inspired score (hard to tell with speakers blasting and scenery flying) so why add a “number” from Swan Lake? REALLY!! The show tries to soar and the young Billy (there are three actors who play the part) I saw was charming and a wonderful dancer but the poor guy was weighed down by 10 tons of over-staged nonsense (huge dancing dresses on headless coat hangers or a 20-foot Margaret Thatcher puppet lurking over the action, anyone?) and dodging overly-complicated set pieces (Billy’s bedroom just about touches the Imperial Theater’s ceiling as it periodically rises and rises and rises frighteningly from the stage. Watch out where you dance, you cute little tutu-costumed kids – danger lurks!) And all those little ballet dancers periodically flitting around on stage alongside coal miners and police trudging about all at the same time totally upstage each other. I never was quite sure if the action was taking place in a ballet class or a union hall. There might (might!)just be a rather nice musical there beneath the crushing production but then again...
As I try to recall the film, one important plot element that comes to mind is that Billy is not portrayed as gay or possibly gay; he’s just a young guy who likes to dance and does it really well. Sexual orientation has nothing to do with Billy but lurks only in the minds of other characters. The musical portrays Billy as possibly gay or at least real gay-friendly (dressing in your best gay-friend’s frocks and using his lipstick is kind of gay). Now there is nothing at all wrong with gay – Jittery absolutely loves gay – but one of the most appealing aspects of the film is that it is not a stereotypical portrayal of a young boy who wants to dance.
Jittery says check out the cast album (hmm… wonder if it includes the sizzling Swan Lake number?) and rent the movie.
Jittery to all ten thousand producers: Why did I have to pay full orchestra price ($136.50) for my rear mezzanine seat just because it was Saturday night?
Saturday, October 25, 2008
Status Critical - A Coupla Bway Revivals
[From Movie Grouch]
With regard to the wretched Broadway Revival of ALL MY SONS: how do I hate thee? Let me not count the ways. Okay, aside from a few insightful moments from John Lithgow, an energetic adolescent turn by Michael D'Addario as Bert, and the sight of a very buff Patrick Wilson with his shirt off at the top of Act II, this must be the worst evening of impure theatre since HOME SWEET HOMER, which at least had better music. My heart ached for poor Dianne Wiest; my brain burned for the Aesthetic Police to stand director Simon McBurney against the nearest Broadway brick wall and shoot his talentless ass off. Oh gee, I almost forgot -- Mrs. Tom Cruise has the stage chops of a deviled egg left out in August humidity all day long. Arthur Miller must be so pleased that he has been dead for ages. If only I could think of a review as terrific as Arthur Bell's "Miss it with someone you love." In any case, please, please, please MISS IT!
In stark contrast to the Adoration of the Paparazzi for the despicable ALL MY SONS (there were six police cars in front of the theatre and squads of goons monitoring entrance by the lowly ticket-buying populace) is the critical coverage of the Broadway revival of A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS by Robert Bolt. The once-upon-a-time interesting if unreliable coverage by The New York Times has suffered not only from a massive exodus of readers to the Internet, but also from the self-aggrandizing blathering by Ben Brantley in his review of the play for this financially troubled publication. John Lahr, the critic we formerly relied upon to express his opinion clearly and concisely in The New Yorker, made himself into a putrefied shrimp by first demolishing the theme and structure of Bolt's play, and then shifting unaccountably into a personal attack on the performance of Frank Langella as Sir Thomas More. Langella's skillful emphasis on creation of moment-to-moment reality and other apparent “nonsense,” such as details of text, audience response to the fine points of a specific performance, and careful direction by Doug Hughes of supporting performances -- notably the sensitive and gifted actors playing both Ridge and Cromwell -- alert us to the sad loss of great critical minds such as John Simon and Harold Clurman, even when they were infuriating. The best we can expect these days from our self-styled "critical" establishment is a report on where in the house Tom Cruise sat, although even he must by now be bored by the terrible production of ALL MY SONS.
With regard to the wretched Broadway Revival of ALL MY SONS: how do I hate thee? Let me not count the ways. Okay, aside from a few insightful moments from John Lithgow, an energetic adolescent turn by Michael D'Addario as Bert, and the sight of a very buff Patrick Wilson with his shirt off at the top of Act II, this must be the worst evening of impure theatre since HOME SWEET HOMER, which at least had better music. My heart ached for poor Dianne Wiest; my brain burned for the Aesthetic Police to stand director Simon McBurney against the nearest Broadway brick wall and shoot his talentless ass off. Oh gee, I almost forgot -- Mrs. Tom Cruise has the stage chops of a deviled egg left out in August humidity all day long. Arthur Miller must be so pleased that he has been dead for ages. If only I could think of a review as terrific as Arthur Bell's "Miss it with someone you love." In any case, please, please, please MISS IT!
In stark contrast to the Adoration of the Paparazzi for the despicable ALL MY SONS (there were six police cars in front of the theatre and squads of goons monitoring entrance by the lowly ticket-buying populace) is the critical coverage of the Broadway revival of A MAN FOR ALL SEASONS by Robert Bolt. The once-upon-a-time interesting if unreliable coverage by The New York Times has suffered not only from a massive exodus of readers to the Internet, but also from the self-aggrandizing blathering by Ben Brantley in his review of the play for this financially troubled publication. John Lahr, the critic we formerly relied upon to express his opinion clearly and concisely in The New Yorker, made himself into a putrefied shrimp by first demolishing the theme and structure of Bolt's play, and then shifting unaccountably into a personal attack on the performance of Frank Langella as Sir Thomas More. Langella's skillful emphasis on creation of moment-to-moment reality and other apparent “nonsense,” such as details of text, audience response to the fine points of a specific performance, and careful direction by Doug Hughes of supporting performances -- notably the sensitive and gifted actors playing both Ridge and Cromwell -- alert us to the sad loss of great critical minds such as John Simon and Harold Clurman, even when they were infuriating. The best we can expect these days from our self-styled "critical" establishment is a report on where in the house Tom Cruise sat, although even he must by now be bored by the terrible production of ALL MY SONS.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Generic and Bland
Lots of folks know the film musical, "White Christmas." This Old Grouch and his long-time friend Jittery Grouch actually saw the movie in a theater, circa mid-1960s, in a re-release with "The Seven Little Foys." When the home video revolution happened, "White Christmas" was issued on VHS tape (its widescreen VistaVision cropped to full frame, if I recall correctly), laserdisc (perfect widescreen proportions), and, ultimately, DVD -- first on its own, and then later with a "White Christmas" soundtrack CD (even though the "soundtrack" was not taken directly from the film, but recorded in a studio. Another topic - sigh - for the future?)
The top performers in the film are Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen. With the possible exception of Miss Ellen (I know these is fightin' words), that cast is anything but bland. These folks are STARS for the simple reason that there is nobody else like them in the world. You may not find "White Christmas" to be your favorite American film, but no doubt you'll agree with me about its leading players.
After a couple of years of engagements out of town around Christmastime, the stage version of "White Christmas" is about to plop down in New York for the first time, beginning in November and continuing through to the first weekend in January 2009. A survey of its website (www.WhiteChristmasthemusical.com) proves to be a dispiriting experience.
I could be wrong, but this stage production looks to be the height of blandness. Probably because it needs to recoup production costs quickly, due to the limited seasonal nature of its plot and most well-known song, the casting of star-quality actors is out of the question. Subbed in are reliably experienced musical theater folk, most of whom have been seen in various "Encores!" productions at City Center. The one cast member who will be in the New York production who is closest to a "name" is Stephen Bogardus, who made his mark some years ago in one of those William Finn musicals. But Bogardus has nothing of the quirkiness of Bing Crosby.
And just because an actor has red hair does not mean he is even close to Danny Kaye! Jeffry Denman has a nice voice and can dance, but has zero personality (based on his performance in "Face the Music" which Old Grouch saw at City Center "Encores!"). I noticed a few weeks ago that Mr. Denman just got married to a nice young lady and announced it in the New York Times, so he is probably very excited to be married and to be opening in a big New York show, and who can blame him?
The video clips online show excerpts from the big Randy Skinner tap dance numbers. Old Grouch is old enough to remember the original Gower Champion "42nd Street," a flat-out exciting piece of stagecraft that grabbed the guts of that melodramatic material and made something quite wonderful out of it. Over the years, one of the authors of the stage book (cut to size by original producer David Merrick, who forced his billing to read, "Lead-ins and crossovers by ...") has gotten too much control of the property, and in its last go-round (at the Airplane Hangar theater, I mean the Ford Center of the Performing Arts, I mean the Hilton Theater) it was a soul-less machine, choreographed by Randy Skinner.
When Gower Champion and David Merrick first presented it, it had been a long while since Broadway musicals had large casts and some great hoofing. Now, it seems, this is what audiences expect, so the Randy Skinnners of the world just put 30 dancers onstage in synchronization, with fake taps coming out of the big speakers and sound augmentation up the wazoo, and we're supposed to feel something for our $100+ tickets.
The phrase "theme park" has been used about Broadway for many years now, but with some notable exceptions, musicals are big old bland affairs. 'Tis an age-old problem, rarely solved: in the effort to give audiences what they want, producers end up lowering standards and selling out.
If the reviews are enthusiastic, I'll eat crow and go see "White Christmas," just because it's been a big part of my life. But I'm left with a generic feeling. This production is generations removed from the life and energy of Irving Berlin; it's been created by heirs.
The top performers in the film are Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen. With the possible exception of Miss Ellen (I know these is fightin' words), that cast is anything but bland. These folks are STARS for the simple reason that there is nobody else like them in the world. You may not find "White Christmas" to be your favorite American film, but no doubt you'll agree with me about its leading players.
After a couple of years of engagements out of town around Christmastime, the stage version of "White Christmas" is about to plop down in New York for the first time, beginning in November and continuing through to the first weekend in January 2009. A survey of its website (www.WhiteChristmasthemusical.com) proves to be a dispiriting experience.
I could be wrong, but this stage production looks to be the height of blandness. Probably because it needs to recoup production costs quickly, due to the limited seasonal nature of its plot and most well-known song, the casting of star-quality actors is out of the question. Subbed in are reliably experienced musical theater folk, most of whom have been seen in various "Encores!" productions at City Center. The one cast member who will be in the New York production who is closest to a "name" is Stephen Bogardus, who made his mark some years ago in one of those William Finn musicals. But Bogardus has nothing of the quirkiness of Bing Crosby.
And just because an actor has red hair does not mean he is even close to Danny Kaye! Jeffry Denman has a nice voice and can dance, but has zero personality (based on his performance in "Face the Music" which Old Grouch saw at City Center "Encores!"). I noticed a few weeks ago that Mr. Denman just got married to a nice young lady and announced it in the New York Times, so he is probably very excited to be married and to be opening in a big New York show, and who can blame him?
The video clips online show excerpts from the big Randy Skinner tap dance numbers. Old Grouch is old enough to remember the original Gower Champion "42nd Street," a flat-out exciting piece of stagecraft that grabbed the guts of that melodramatic material and made something quite wonderful out of it. Over the years, one of the authors of the stage book (cut to size by original producer David Merrick, who forced his billing to read, "Lead-ins and crossovers by ...") has gotten too much control of the property, and in its last go-round (at the Airplane Hangar theater, I mean the Ford Center of the Performing Arts, I mean the Hilton Theater) it was a soul-less machine, choreographed by Randy Skinner.
When Gower Champion and David Merrick first presented it, it had been a long while since Broadway musicals had large casts and some great hoofing. Now, it seems, this is what audiences expect, so the Randy Skinnners of the world just put 30 dancers onstage in synchronization, with fake taps coming out of the big speakers and sound augmentation up the wazoo, and we're supposed to feel something for our $100+ tickets.
The phrase "theme park" has been used about Broadway for many years now, but with some notable exceptions, musicals are big old bland affairs. 'Tis an age-old problem, rarely solved: in the effort to give audiences what they want, producers end up lowering standards and selling out.
If the reviews are enthusiastic, I'll eat crow and go see "White Christmas," just because it's been a big part of my life. But I'm left with a generic feeling. This production is generations removed from the life and energy of Irving Berlin; it's been created by heirs.
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Movie Studio Loss of Identity
There was a time, prior to the advent of home video, when movie studios had distinct identities. The logos at the beginning of films indicated certain stars, writers, directors, production and costume designers. Chief among the studios were Paramount, 20th Century-Fox (with a hyphen, unlike today), Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, Warner Bros., Columbia, United Artists, and Selznick International. I invite Jittery Grouch to offer up his succinct summaries of the different studios for further delectation.
The home video revolution, which has been wonderful for movie fans, has confused studio identity through corporate mergers and distribution deals. Old Grouch is concerned that young people and future movie-going generations will be altogether unenlightened about studio delineation.
Here are some of the biggest examples of the mind-boggling blending of studio identities:
• When Ted Turner bought the MGM library, the great MGM films were released on video by Turner Home Entertainment. Then all of Turner was subsumed by Time Warner. DVDs subsequently issued of classic MGM films have a Warner Bros. logo on the covers of the discs! So it looks like "Singin' in the Rain," an MGM musical if there ever was one, was produced by Warner Bros. There are many other examples of this MGM/Warner Bros. confusion.
• To add to the blurring of borderlines, Turner bought the MGM library up to a certain date (help me out, Jittery Grouch), leaving later MGM films to be distributed by MGM Home Entertainment. But in a recent new twist, MGM Home Entertainment is releasing films on DVD by 20th Century-Fox! This has resulted in a new box set of Biblical epics, mixing titles that have never been together -- The Robe (Fox), Demetrius and the Gladiators (Fox), The Greatest Story Ever Told (United Artists), and The Bible (Fox). (MGM and UA merged some entities a while back ....)
• And some Selznick International films by Alfred Hitchcock -- Rebecca and Notorious chief among them -- are being reissued on the combo 20th Century Fox (no hyphen) and MGM Home Entertainment DVD label! Anyone who knows studio history cannot imagine that Fox is involved in a Selznick production of that era.
One could say, "Who cares?" Maybe all this mixing and matching will result in more box-set diversity, but I'm an Old Grouch and I see this development as playing around with Hollywood history. Comments, please.
The home video revolution, which has been wonderful for movie fans, has confused studio identity through corporate mergers and distribution deals. Old Grouch is concerned that young people and future movie-going generations will be altogether unenlightened about studio delineation.
Here are some of the biggest examples of the mind-boggling blending of studio identities:
• When Ted Turner bought the MGM library, the great MGM films were released on video by Turner Home Entertainment. Then all of Turner was subsumed by Time Warner. DVDs subsequently issued of classic MGM films have a Warner Bros. logo on the covers of the discs! So it looks like "Singin' in the Rain," an MGM musical if there ever was one, was produced by Warner Bros. There are many other examples of this MGM/Warner Bros. confusion.
• To add to the blurring of borderlines, Turner bought the MGM library up to a certain date (help me out, Jittery Grouch), leaving later MGM films to be distributed by MGM Home Entertainment. But in a recent new twist, MGM Home Entertainment is releasing films on DVD by 20th Century-Fox! This has resulted in a new box set of Biblical epics, mixing titles that have never been together -- The Robe (Fox), Demetrius and the Gladiators (Fox), The Greatest Story Ever Told (United Artists), and The Bible (Fox). (MGM and UA merged some entities a while back ....)
• And some Selznick International films by Alfred Hitchcock -- Rebecca and Notorious chief among them -- are being reissued on the combo 20th Century Fox (no hyphen) and MGM Home Entertainment DVD label! Anyone who knows studio history cannot imagine that Fox is involved in a Selznick production of that era.
One could say, "Who cares?" Maybe all this mixing and matching will result in more box-set diversity, but I'm an Old Grouch and I see this development as playing around with Hollywood history. Comments, please.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Uh oh!
Note the prominent misspelling in the headline of an educational feature in the New York Post called "Classroom Extra"-- designed to assist younger readers:
ELECTING A PRESIDENT - CHOOSING A CANIDATE
ELECTING A PRESIDENT - CHOOSING A CANIDATE
Monday, October 13, 2008
Movie Grouch: 46th New York Film Festival
The 46th New York Film Festival concluded Sunday evening, October 12, with a thunderous standing ovation for actor Mickey Rourke and his performance in "The Wrestler," for which he will almost surely garner an Oscar nomination. Maybe you should have seen the 27 other films I saw, because the NYFF is one of the reasons I choose to live in NYC, even if it is much too easy to list grouchy moments, of which NYFF had many. Here are some of them.
1. I exited the 268 minute screening of "Che" behind a woman muttering darkly, "I can't imagine who they thought would want to sit through this!" The grosses will probably rival those of the 2006 Steven Soderbergh film "The Good German," but if you have interest in the strategy and tactics of the Cuban Revolution and/or the CIA plot with Bolivian government collusion to assassinate Che Guevara, this one is for you.
2. The NYFF credit sequence includes the quotation, "Is cinema more important than life?" The answer throughout the schedule is death by axe murder, death by hanging, death by poisoned drug overdose, death by guerillas with guns, death by gangsters with guns, death by car (the victim may be a dog, a deer or a human being), death by hunger strike or gun blast at close range, death by bleeding to death after gunshot and hospitalization, death by jumping off a cliff, death by old age or unspecified terminal illness, including possibly leukemia, death by fatal beating, death by birth (a baby sheep), death by cancer, death by knife and drowning, and death by heart attack.
3. The NYFF Selection Committee may be the most humorless and defensive group of bores in this area of the Hudson River. The closest we get to a comedy is "Happy-Go-Lucky." One of them announces a masterpiece which turns out to be dreck such as "The Northern Land" and "Tony Manero." Another petulantly asks the audience to be sympathetic to audio and video problems at the Ziegfeld Theatre, which experienced them three times during my attendance, and even more egregiously on another occasion, according to an attendee at a screening I fortunately missed.
4. Pride of place on the Committee goes to the execrable Lisa Schwarzbaum, who is perfectly situated at "Entertainment Weekly." She has the unique gift of making a totally accessible even entertaining movie sound so ponderous and pretentious that you want to race for the exit. I am far from the only NYFF subscriber whose heart sinks at the sight of her with a microphone. Her finest moment was probably "Marie Antoinette" in 2006, at which she announced, "I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl!" She stopped just short of kissing the hem of director Sofia Coppola's designer dress and then unaccountably trashed the movie a week later in her EW column.
5. The delicious hypocrisy of the NYFF is both cheap and obvious, proclaiming that none of the selections follows "the tried and true formulas that over the years have come to define (and sadly, often limit) notions such as 'political filmmaking'" but subjecting us to Clint Eastwood's "Changeling," which needs the NYFF like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt need another photo opportunity. It's at least half an hour too long and outrageously manipulative, both politically and emotionally.
6. Unfortunately a painstaking, glorious Technicolor restoration of a terrible movie does not make it a good movie, even with commentary by director Martin Scorsese. "Pandora and the Flying Dutchman" makes both Ava Gardner and James Mason look good. Duh......
7. This year's schedule included two features about troubled young people. "I'm Gonna Explode" was trumpeted as "a mood-shifting mock epic that channels 'Pierrot le fou' complete with Georges Delerue music" and "Afterschool" a first feature in which "Solace, comfort and true resolution are out of reach." The former reminded me why comparisons to Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut and Philippe de Broca should be made more carefully, and the latter why last year's vastly superior Gus Van Sant feature "Paranoid Park," which substitutes a railroad guard being sliced in half for twins overdosing on poisoned drugs, has much more to tell us about today's troubled youth.
8. Did cartons of film left behind by Harvard professor Dick Rogers after his death really merit Alexander Olch's yeoman work as director, writer and editor on the documentary entitled "The Windmill Movie"? Maybe the proper question is, Why does it merit inclusion in the NYFF schedule?
9. Why do academics participating in panel discussions insist upon destroying or refusing to acknowledge audience enjoyment of such worthy enterprises as the outstanding French documentary about a 2006 trial of the satirical publication of 12 cartoons taking on Islamic fundamentalism? I sought the cleansing night air rather than yield to their drivel. The documentary is titled "It's Hard Being Loved by Jerks." Don't miss it.
10. In order to end this on a positive note, I nominate the most enjoyable event of the 46th NYFF the luscious creamy black and white restoration of Paramount's 80-year-old "The Last Command," with a miraculous performance by Emil Jannings, recipient of the first Oscar for Best Actor, and a new score by Alloy Orchestra. This event provided more moments of pure pleasure than a dozen other features on the schedule.
1. I exited the 268 minute screening of "Che" behind a woman muttering darkly, "I can't imagine who they thought would want to sit through this!" The grosses will probably rival those of the 2006 Steven Soderbergh film "The Good German," but if you have interest in the strategy and tactics of the Cuban Revolution and/or the CIA plot with Bolivian government collusion to assassinate Che Guevara, this one is for you.
2. The NYFF credit sequence includes the quotation, "Is cinema more important than life?" The answer throughout the schedule is death by axe murder, death by hanging, death by poisoned drug overdose, death by guerillas with guns, death by gangsters with guns, death by car (the victim may be a dog, a deer or a human being), death by hunger strike or gun blast at close range, death by bleeding to death after gunshot and hospitalization, death by jumping off a cliff, death by old age or unspecified terminal illness, including possibly leukemia, death by fatal beating, death by birth (a baby sheep), death by cancer, death by knife and drowning, and death by heart attack.
3. The NYFF Selection Committee may be the most humorless and defensive group of bores in this area of the Hudson River. The closest we get to a comedy is "Happy-Go-Lucky." One of them announces a masterpiece which turns out to be dreck such as "The Northern Land" and "Tony Manero." Another petulantly asks the audience to be sympathetic to audio and video problems at the Ziegfeld Theatre, which experienced them three times during my attendance, and even more egregiously on another occasion, according to an attendee at a screening I fortunately missed.
4. Pride of place on the Committee goes to the execrable Lisa Schwarzbaum, who is perfectly situated at "Entertainment Weekly." She has the unique gift of making a totally accessible even entertaining movie sound so ponderous and pretentious that you want to race for the exit. I am far from the only NYFF subscriber whose heart sinks at the sight of her with a microphone. Her finest moment was probably "Marie Antoinette" in 2006, at which she announced, "I feel as giddy as a schoolgirl!" She stopped just short of kissing the hem of director Sofia Coppola's designer dress and then unaccountably trashed the movie a week later in her EW column.
5. The delicious hypocrisy of the NYFF is both cheap and obvious, proclaiming that none of the selections follows "the tried and true formulas that over the years have come to define (and sadly, often limit) notions such as 'political filmmaking'" but subjecting us to Clint Eastwood's "Changeling," which needs the NYFF like Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt need another photo opportunity. It's at least half an hour too long and outrageously manipulative, both politically and emotionally.
6. Unfortunately a painstaking, glorious Technicolor restoration of a terrible movie does not make it a good movie, even with commentary by director Martin Scorsese. "Pandora and the Flying Dutchman" makes both Ava Gardner and James Mason look good. Duh......
7. This year's schedule included two features about troubled young people. "I'm Gonna Explode" was trumpeted as "a mood-shifting mock epic that channels 'Pierrot le fou' complete with Georges Delerue music" and "Afterschool" a first feature in which "Solace, comfort and true resolution are out of reach." The former reminded me why comparisons to Jean-Luc Godard, François Truffaut and Philippe de Broca should be made more carefully, and the latter why last year's vastly superior Gus Van Sant feature "Paranoid Park," which substitutes a railroad guard being sliced in half for twins overdosing on poisoned drugs, has much more to tell us about today's troubled youth.
8. Did cartons of film left behind by Harvard professor Dick Rogers after his death really merit Alexander Olch's yeoman work as director, writer and editor on the documentary entitled "The Windmill Movie"? Maybe the proper question is, Why does it merit inclusion in the NYFF schedule?
9. Why do academics participating in panel discussions insist upon destroying or refusing to acknowledge audience enjoyment of such worthy enterprises as the outstanding French documentary about a 2006 trial of the satirical publication of 12 cartoons taking on Islamic fundamentalism? I sought the cleansing night air rather than yield to their drivel. The documentary is titled "It's Hard Being Loved by Jerks." Don't miss it.
10. In order to end this on a positive note, I nominate the most enjoyable event of the 46th NYFF the luscious creamy black and white restoration of Paramount's 80-year-old "The Last Command," with a miraculous performance by Emil Jannings, recipient of the first Oscar for Best Actor, and a new score by Alloy Orchestra. This event provided more moments of pure pleasure than a dozen other features on the schedule.
Our Youth, for All to See
The following copy and the individual headings were copied from a previous template that would not allow readers to comment. It might be perfect to lump these early, halting steps at being GROUCHY under one heading, as it all displays a "Can it walk or does it need a wheelchair" style. Or I should say, styles. A fascinating view into the beginnings of a blog which invites grouchy observations and ... yes ... rants.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Tired, Achy Joints
Getting the Old Grouch Daily Rant up and running has created new stresses on this aging body and mind. Your Old Grouch has been working to restore the Comments feature so that readers can leave a kind or grouchy word. To do this might require a new template. To be continued.
One new fan posits that there are too many questions, and that one question will do ... with more of an enhanced rant about its subject. A good idea, as rants will soon run out of gas, and may require more details.
Old Grouch Daily Rant has a Board of Advisors, and these members will be offering their own rants. Today, Jittery Grouch offers this observation:
"Why do women’s shoes make such a horrible racket on the sidewalk and men’s shoes don’t make a sound? The faster the 'loud shoe-ladies' walk, the more irritating the sound. Isn’t New York loud enough?"
Right on, Jittery!
It seems to Old Grouch that the rants here may be too polite ... not ranty enough. More like An Old Grouch Daily Picque?
We're looking forward to the furies soon to be posted by the other Board member, Movie Grouch. Movie has been attending the New York Film Festival, and will be full of outraged observations.
We are greasing this wheel and inevitably will find our heart, soul, and balance. Just know that we are fed up with selfishness and stupidity, particularly in our home town of New York City, even though we can be selfish and stupid with the best of them.
Readers who are grouchy as well as eagle-eyed will notice that these rants do not appear on a daily basis. We are working to remedy this, but when you are Old and Grouchy, times passes awfully fast.
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/12/2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Getting Too Grouchy
Old Grouch was so grouchy yesterday that he forgot to add a daily rant. So here it is for Friday, October 10, 2008. Old Grouch received a grouchy email from one of the Daily Rant's Board of Advisors saying that the question format is bringing a sameness -- perhaps dullness? -- to the proceedings. To which I say: Post comments! Get angry! Don't sit around and criticize -- start ranting!
How come college grads can't spell?
Why can't creatives marry "my vision" with what people want and can use?
Can we confine touting the next best/hot person/place/thing to once -- maybe twice -- a year?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/10/2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Today's Five Questions
Why are babies paraded around like some badge of honor?
Why don't mothers teach children about lowering their voices, so that when children grow up they don't shriek and bray?
Why don't people who decide to give the baby a bottle move the perambulator over to one side of the sidewalk, so that we don't have to figure out how to get around them?
Why don't tourists realize that they are blocking corners and sidewalks, and that people have to move around them?
Why do salespeople who quote some ridiculously high price never let on that they could never pay it either?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/08/2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Today's Ten Questions
Why are we stressed out all the time?
Do zillionaires really think they are protected from life's ups and downs?
Why do I have to pay a $1.50 maintenance fee on every theater ticket I buy? The theater owner receives a considerable rent from the producers whose show is playing there.
I used to think that young people's baggy clothes were a reaction to sexual exploitation -- but why are young men now exposing their underpants and rear ends?
Why does Turner Classic Movies sometimes misspell the names of stars; attribute the wrong actors to certain films; put the un-hip Ben Mankiewicz in a chilly, off-putting "loft"; need Rose McGowan (who?) to tell us about classic films; and even give Robert Osborne faulty copy ("Reni Santori" instead of "Reni Santoni")?
Why is my generation so afraid to die?
Why do people allow themselves to be manipulated by marketing?
Why is it unhip to have faith (in anything, but particularly a benevolent force)?
What's everyone so afraid of?
Why is every baby carriage outfitted like a BMW?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/07/2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
Today's Ten Questions
Why are magazines crammed with small type, mini-stories and mini-photos crammed into every corner?
Why is nearly every young man named Josh?
Why do models look narcissistic, instead of happy, to be wearing new clothes?
Why do magazines seems to be built around the interests of advertisers?
When are we going to stop indulging young people? We can't have their skin, their energy, or their sex lives. But they don't really know anything except technological stuff.
When did the Sunday newspaper become a nightmare of poundage ... a guilt-inducing wallow into dead trees?
Why is it hilarious that the Times's "Funny Pages" are so unfunny?
Why is film/video editing still quick-cut and jerky, particularly in television commercials? I want to see what I'm looking at.
How is it possible that Paddy Chayefsky's "Network" has lost its outrageousness?
Have oldsters lost an excitement for discovery -- or is it we don't care what young people are "discovering"?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/06/2008
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Tired, Achy Joints
Getting the Old Grouch Daily Rant up and running has created new stresses on this aging body and mind. Your Old Grouch has been working to restore the Comments feature so that readers can leave a kind or grouchy word. To do this might require a new template. To be continued.
One new fan posits that there are too many questions, and that one question will do ... with more of an enhanced rant about its subject. A good idea, as rants will soon run out of gas, and may require more details.
Old Grouch Daily Rant has a Board of Advisors, and these members will be offering their own rants. Today, Jittery Grouch offers this observation:
"Why do women’s shoes make such a horrible racket on the sidewalk and men’s shoes don’t make a sound? The faster the 'loud shoe-ladies' walk, the more irritating the sound. Isn’t New York loud enough?"
Right on, Jittery!
It seems to Old Grouch that the rants here may be too polite ... not ranty enough. More like An Old Grouch Daily Picque?
We're looking forward to the furies soon to be posted by the other Board member, Movie Grouch. Movie has been attending the New York Film Festival, and will be full of outraged observations.
We are greasing this wheel and inevitably will find our heart, soul, and balance. Just know that we are fed up with selfishness and stupidity, particularly in our home town of New York City, even though we can be selfish and stupid with the best of them.
Readers who are grouchy as well as eagle-eyed will notice that these rants do not appear on a daily basis. We are working to remedy this, but when you are Old and Grouchy, times passes awfully fast.
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/12/2008
Friday, October 10, 2008
Getting Too Grouchy
Old Grouch was so grouchy yesterday that he forgot to add a daily rant. So here it is for Friday, October 10, 2008. Old Grouch received a grouchy email from one of the Daily Rant's Board of Advisors saying that the question format is bringing a sameness -- perhaps dullness? -- to the proceedings. To which I say: Post comments! Get angry! Don't sit around and criticize -- start ranting!
How come college grads can't spell?
Why can't creatives marry "my vision" with what people want and can use?
Can we confine touting the next best/hot person/place/thing to once -- maybe twice -- a year?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/10/2008
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Today's Five Questions
Why are babies paraded around like some badge of honor?
Why don't mothers teach children about lowering their voices, so that when children grow up they don't shriek and bray?
Why don't people who decide to give the baby a bottle move the perambulator over to one side of the sidewalk, so that we don't have to figure out how to get around them?
Why don't tourists realize that they are blocking corners and sidewalks, and that people have to move around them?
Why do salespeople who quote some ridiculously high price never let on that they could never pay it either?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/08/2008
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Today's Ten Questions
Why are we stressed out all the time?
Do zillionaires really think they are protected from life's ups and downs?
Why do I have to pay a $1.50 maintenance fee on every theater ticket I buy? The theater owner receives a considerable rent from the producers whose show is playing there.
I used to think that young people's baggy clothes were a reaction to sexual exploitation -- but why are young men now exposing their underpants and rear ends?
Why does Turner Classic Movies sometimes misspell the names of stars; attribute the wrong actors to certain films; put the un-hip Ben Mankiewicz in a chilly, off-putting "loft"; need Rose McGowan (who?) to tell us about classic films; and even give Robert Osborne faulty copy ("Reni Santori" instead of "Reni Santoni")?
Why is my generation so afraid to die?
Why do people allow themselves to be manipulated by marketing?
Why is it unhip to have faith (in anything, but particularly a benevolent force)?
What's everyone so afraid of?
Why is every baby carriage outfitted like a BMW?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/07/2008
Monday, October 6, 2008
Today's Ten Questions
Why are magazines crammed with small type, mini-stories and mini-photos crammed into every corner?
Why is nearly every young man named Josh?
Why do models look narcissistic, instead of happy, to be wearing new clothes?
Why do magazines seems to be built around the interests of advertisers?
When are we going to stop indulging young people? We can't have their skin, their energy, or their sex lives. But they don't really know anything except technological stuff.
When did the Sunday newspaper become a nightmare of poundage ... a guilt-inducing wallow into dead trees?
Why is it hilarious that the Times's "Funny Pages" are so unfunny?
Why is film/video editing still quick-cut and jerky, particularly in television commercials? I want to see what I'm looking at.
How is it possible that Paddy Chayefsky's "Network" has lost its outrageousness?
Have oldsters lost an excitement for discovery -- or is it we don't care what young people are "discovering"?
Posted by Old Grouch at 10/06/2008
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