Friday, February 03, 2012
Ben Gazzara (1930-2012)
We've lost yet another of the unofficial John Cassavetes repertory company with the news that the great Ben Gazzara lost his battle with pancreatic cancer Friday at the age of 81. Gazzara left his mark on stage, screen and television throughout his long career and never abandoned his taste for taking risks beyond the works of Cassavetes, who directed Gazzara in three films and co-starred with him in two movies directed by others, eventually appearing in films by directors such as David Mamet, Vincent Gallo, the Coen brothers, Todd Solondz, Spike Lee, Lars von Trier and Gérard Depardieu.
A native Manhattanite from a working class family, once the acting bug bit Gazzara, he studied under Lee Strasberg at The Actors Studio. He made his Broadway debut in 1953 in Calder Willingham's adaptation of his own novel End as a Man which earned Gazzara a 1954 Theater World Award. In March 1955, he created the role of Brick in the original production of Tennessee Williams' Cat on a Hot Tin Roof under Elia Kazan's direction. Barbara Bel Geddes had the role of the original Maggie and Burl Ives put his mark on Big Daddy. Only Ives and Madeleine Sherwood as sister woman Mae made the leap to the 1958 movie version. Though the Pulitzer Prize-winning play was a huge hit, Gazzara departed it later in 1955 to take the lead role of Johnny Pope in A Hatful or Rain written by Michael V. Gazzo, who movie buffs undoubtedly know better as Frankie Pentageli in The Godfather Part II. The play concerned a Korean War veteran who came home addicted to morphine and how it tore his family apart, It earned Gazzara his first Tony nomination as lead actor and co-star Anthony Franciosa a nomination as featured actor as his younger brother. When it was made into a film in 1957, Don Murray got to play Johnny though Franciosa kept his part and earned an Oscar nomination in the lead category. Gazzara's final Broadway appearance in the 1950s was a gigantic flop. The Night Circus also was written by Gazzo, but it closed after seven performances. It did co-star Janice Rule, who Gazzara would wed in 1961. For the remainder of his New York stage career, he would receive two more Tony nominations (but never a win). One for playing George to Colleen Dewhurst's Martha in a revival of Edward Albee's Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, the other for an evening of paired one acts: Eugene O'Neill's Hughie and David Scott Milton's Duet. In 2004, he received a Drama Desk nomination for solo performance for his off-Broadway play Nobody Don't Like Yogi about baseball legend Yogi Berra, which he took on tour. He received a 2006 Drama Desk Award as part of the winning ensemble for the Broadway revival of Clifford Odets' Awake and Sing!, his last stage appearance.
Concurrent to his stage work in the 1950s, Gazzara appeared frequently on television, almost exclusively on the many live theater programs that originated from New York, though some episodic appearances pre-date his Broadway debut and stretch back to 1952 on series such as Treasury Men in Action, Danger and Justice. He didn't make his film debut until 1957 in The Strange One, which is the title they gave to a reworked version of the play End as a Man with many of the original Broadway cast repeating roles along with Gazzara including Pat Hingle, Peter Mark Richman (not using the Peter yet), Paul E. Richards and Arthur Storch. His second film in 1959 though is one of his works that will keep his memory alive as the defendant in Otto Preminger's Anatomy of a Murder starring James Stewart. The film still plays well today, though it's hardly as daring now as it was in its original release. While Gazzara always bounced between the three mediums, his only regular roles on series took place in the 1960s. First, as Det. Sgt. Nick Anderson on the 30 episodes of Arrest and Trial from 1963-1964, then as Paul Bryan in the far-more-successful Run for Your Life which aired from 1965=1968 and earned him two Emmy nominations as outstanding lead actor in a drama series. He also was nominated in 1986 for the lead actor in the TV movie An Early Frost and won as supporting actor in a TV movie for the 2002 HBO film Hysterical Blindness.
Gazzara never stopped working and if I attempted to be comprehensive, I'd never finish this. It would be impossible to have seen everything he has made — I imagine even he never saw all of his films. I never realized how many movies he made in Italy. In The New York Times obit, it quotes a 1994 interview he gave to Cigar Aficionado magazine about those movies where he said, “You go where they love you.” So, forgive any omissions, because I'm finishing this fast.
You always want to start with the Cassavetes trilogy: Husbands, The Killing of a Chinese Bookie and Opening Night and how those working friendships spread to other projects such as Gazzara directing Husbands co-star Peter Falk in two episodes of Columbo and, many decades later Cassavetes' widow Gena Rowlands wrote a short film for her and Gazzara to star in that Gérard Depardieu directed as part of Paris, je t'aime . There was the incredibly goofy Patrick Swayze vehicle Road House where Gazzara played the bad guy, but he portrayed Brad Wesley in such a damn entertaining way you kept forgetting that he was the one you were supposed to be rooting against. His mysterious Mr. Klein, one of the many puzzling characters in David Mamet's puzzle picture The Spanish Prisoner. The magnificent duet of dysfunction that he and Anjelica Huston performed in Vincent Gallo's Buffalo '66. The neighborhood boss trying to play peacekeeper and vigilante at the same time in Spike Lee's Summer of Sam. Then he was part of the quirky ensembles that made up Todd Solondz's Happiness and the Coens' Big Lebowski.
Gazzara lived to take chances and loved to work and he did both about as well as anyone. RIP Mr. Gazzara.
Tweet
Labels: A. Huston, Albee, Awards, Cassavetes, Coens, Falk, J. Stewart, Kazan, Mamet, O'Neill, Preminger, Spike Lee, Tennessee Williams, von Trier
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Shoot It!: Hollywood Inc. and the Rising of Independent Film by David Spaner
By Edward Copeland
When you've seen as many films as I have over the course of my decades of serious moviegoing, it becomes harder and harder for one to spring a surprise on me. That's pretty much the case whether the production originated in a Hollywood studio with a big budget or was made on a shoe-string independently. However, the cliché "You can't judge by its cover" became one because that adage proves to
be true time and time again. I found that out when I got an advance copy of the just-released book Shoot It!: Hollywood Inc. and the Rising of Independent Film by David Spaner. Given its title and jacket description whose first paragraph reads that it "is a revealing history of how Hollywood, with its eye on the bottom line, lost its ability to support the work of creative filmmakers; it also is a passionate portrait of American independents, and others outside the studio system, who have risen up to fill the void." If I had read closer and all of the jacket before starting the book itself, I might not have gone in with the expectation of another book positing the notion that indie is always good and Hollywood is always bad. Nothing could be further from the truth about Shoot It!, which misleads somewhat with its title. Spaner's book turns out to be a compulsively readable, well-researched book that explores many aspects of Hollywood history and how it has related to independent film ranging from a great beginning section exploring the blacklist and how the studio bosses backed it not out of fear of Washington but as a means of breaking the backs of labor unions to the bullying and strongarm tactics of Jack Valenti, the late Motion Picture Association of America president, who helped the U.S. push for trade pacts with other parts of the world as long as they included ways to stomp out those countries' film industries and fill those screens with American films. Shoot It! isn't a how-to book or a regurgitation of the stories of indie film icons we've heard dozens of times — Spaner's book turns out to be so much greater than that and should be a must read for anyone interested in Hollywood's inner workings from the beginning as well as the struggles of new filmmakers in other countries. Spaner lives in Vancouver and has worked as a movie critic, feature writer, reporter and editor for various newspapers and magazines. Previously, he wrote the book Dreaming in the Rain: How Vancouver Became Hollywood North by Northwest.
Shoot It! reads quickly and compiles a massive amount of information in relatively small number of pages with extensive endnotes that cite the sources for every chapter. Spander divides his book into two parts. The first deals extensively with the history of American film from its earliest days.
I'm always fascinated by any accounts of the Hollywood blacklist, but Shoot It! paints one of the few accounts that paints the cooperation of studio heads such as Louis B. Mayer, Jack Warner and especially Walt Disney who had less a fear of commies but of union troubles. In fact, one of the main reasons movie production moved west in the first place was to escape strong unions on the East Coast. As everyone should realize by now, scratch the surface of any major problem in this country and you'll find greed and money as a root cause.
Spaner also makes an interesting case for the rising of independent filmmaking being spawned not just from the obvious sources such as John Cassavetes and his groundbreaking Shadows but the way the influx of method actors on the big screen such as James Dean, Marlon Brando, etc., not only changed screen acting but the atmosphere that allowed for behind-the-camera personnel to experiment as well.
Shoot It! also explores the various waves and locales of indie movements and how studios always eventually attempt to co-opt the movement right through today with their "specialty divisions" so that much of what gets labeled independent truly isn't independent.
He quotes the recently passed Bingham Ray's experiences as the founder of October Films who realized how fake the studio independent world was when October was acquired by Universal in 1997 and Universal balked and distributing Todd Solondz's Happiness.
"The dream of being able to work within the studio system as some maverick, autonomous independent — it was just total horseshit." — Bingham Ray
Part II of Spaner's book actually turns out to be its most illuminating part because it covers material that was largely new to me by looking at the history of independent film in other countries and, more shockingly, the shocking tactics the MPAA practiced as Hollywood's lobbying arm to ensure that American films dominate movie screens around the world, decimating the industries in many countries as a result unless they valued their culture enough to stand strong and impose quotas requiring that a certain number of screens be devoted to films made in their own countries. It's not as if these trade pacts, most agreed to when Jack Valenti still lived and headed the MPAA, were reciprocated with the U.S. giving films from other countries equal access.
Spaner begins discussing the memorable student protests in Paris in 1968 when the French government fired Henri Langlois as the director of the Cinémathèque Française, an event depicted in Bernardo Bertolucci's film The Dreamers. Langlois became a hero of the French New Wave by his screenings of Hollywood classics and the latest in European cinema. Letters denouncing his firing arrived from notables such as Hitchcock, Fellini and Kurosawa while the leaders of the New Wave such as Godard and Truffaut took part in demonstrations with the students. Truffaut even was injured when clubbed by police. As Spaner writes, the French do two things better than anyone else — make films and riot.
That sort of French spirit held out against Valenti in the early 1990s when he demanded that culture be included in the new General Agreement on Trade and Tariffs. It was one of Valenti's few defeats and eventually resulted in the dissolution of GATT and the creation of the WTO.
Back in early 1993, when The Crying Game opened in my hometown, I got to do a phone interview with director Neil Jordan. I asked him about the difference between the U.S. film industry and the British one. He answered, "There isn't one." Reading Spaner's chapter on Britain's film industry, I see now how understated Jordan was being. Britain's industry was decimated, not only by Hollywood muscling its way onto all of its screens but also by Tory governments beginning with Margaret Thatcher stripping away film funding.
After World War II, in an attempt to rebuild its shattered infrastructure, England had imposed quotas and levies — that's why U.S. and British prints of films shot in England such as Night and the City and The Third Man would be different. In 1983, Thatcher's government put an end to a lot of what made those great British films of the 1950s and '60s with one of its final acts.
Thatcher's Films Acts of 1985 abolished the National Film Finance Corporation, which had provided small loans to companies to make films to fill the quota; and the Eady Levy, which was seen as too burdensome for exhibitors, was also eliminated that year. By the late 1980s, British cinema had a smaller share of the box office than at any time since the 1920s.
Spaner also looks at one of the few other countries to escape the U.S. stomping — South Korea, which explains why we've been seeing so many great films emerging from that market. Shoot It! also provides an interesting look at the burgeoning film world of Romania which never had any after decades of first fascist then communist oppression.
One of the saddest tales comes in the chapter on how Mexico's industry got crushed when Vicente Fox signed NAFTA in good faith. Between 1984 and 1994, Mexico produced 747 feature films. In 1995, it made five. Even with breakout directors such as Guillermo del Toro, Alfonso Cuaron and others, Fox's elimination of any quotas or subsidies have made their movies more successful elsewhere. In 2004, Mexicans bought a record 164 million movie tickets, but less than 8 million of those tickets were purchased for movies produced in Mexico.
Shoot It! does what any good nonfiction book should — it informs and backs up its facts with solid sourcing. For people interested in film history and its intersection with politics, it's a must read.
Tweet
Labels: blacklist, Books, Brando, Cassavetes, Fellini, Foreign, Godard, Hitchcock, James Dean, Kurosawa, Nonfiction, Truffaut
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, February 01, 2012
It's a Late Night World of Love
By Edward Copeland
The moment when I knew Late Night with David Letterman wasn't like other talk shows might have been the first time Dave did one of his smallest touches and flung either a blue index card or a pencil through the mock window behind his desk and we heard the sound of breaking glass. Before we begin reminiscing about that magical night 30 years ago when a gap-toothed former weatherman from Indianapolis changed the face of late night television. (If he'd stayed a local TV weatherman, perhaps across the country, more hail would be described on TV as
"the size of canned hams.") To commemorate the debut of this standup comic's breakthrough off-the-wall, wacky talk show that took NBC's airwaves hostage following the end of The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson, I feel that it's only appropriate that we recognize this anniversary with the proper reverence. You might have already played the YouTube clip above, but that's OK. Play the official anthem of Late Night With David Letterman again, only sing along this time, using the lyrics I've provided below. I'd have an animated bouncing ball if I were capable of creating one that was timed with the music but, alas, that falls beyond my capabilities. After you've paid due homage by singing the Late Night anthem, rejoin me after the jump so we can talk in more detail about Dave's impact on the talk show format, the culture and many impressionable viewers of a certain age. If you don't believe me, you should poll them — and we all know how painful that can be.You can feel it across the land.
It's clear blue skies,
It's grandma's eyes,
A place where you can stand.
Late Night is the reason
Our forefathers fought with pride.
It's surfin' fun,
it's dad and son,
A feelin' that's deep inside.
(CHORUS)
It's a Late Night world,
It's a world that we can share.
So turn on your TV
And watch it with me.
It's a Late Night world of love.
(END CHORUS)
There's a whole new generation
who are willing to say yes.
Soups and stews,
A wall of shoes,
A thing called happiness.
So change the channel,
Change your life,
Doesn't cost a thing.
We're talking loud,
standing proud,
now join us as we sing
(REPEAT CHORUS TWICE)
I wanted to make this tribute more thorough, but unfortunately I was hit with a long Internet outage last evening that made finishing this piece a bit of a rush job. In a way, that's more appropriate. Late Night With David Letterman always resembled a fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants operation, that the tribute follow suit just seems right.
Letterman and I are both Aries born in Indianapolis, Ind. I lived there when he was a weatherman, but I was too young to remember him in that role though my parents do. When Letterman were merely a standup comic, I didn't care for his comedy much, so I don't know when or why I started tuning in to Late Night, which premiered in the second half of my seventh-grade year of school. I never saw an installment of his short-lived morning show. I do, however, remember what changed my opinion on him. Letterman had an HBO special, but not a standup special of the type comedians usually had, called Looking for Fun. Its premise had Dave trolling around Los Angeles trying to find fun things to do and displayed the type of absurd humor that would be perfected on Late Night. I couldn't remember the year of the special — my memory spoke to me and said I watched it in the house we lived in through my sixth-grade year, so I was guessing 1980 or 1981. I checked the "not as reliable as you wish it was" Internet Movie Database and it doesn't even list such a special in Letterman's credits. I did a Google search and found a comic's Web site making the same complaint about IMDb and dating it as 1981. He actually at one point had the special on the site in three video clips until Time Warner asserted its rights and forced him to remove it, so there's a lost gem of Letterman comedy out there somewhere. During my junior high years, I turned Late Night on and got hooked. It was a relationship that lasted through high school and college and even a little bit beyond. Somehow it lost part of that go-for-broke edge it had when it was on at a later hour on NBC when it went on earlier on the Tiffany Network. I'm sure people younger than I am probably feel toward Conan the way my age group did toward Dave. I don't know if there's a new generation that's embraced Fallon or Kimmel. One thing is clear across all age groups: Nobody likes Leno.
The montage the folks at Late Night put together to accompany "The Late Night Anthem" (official title) contains so many moments dear to my heart and the hearts of many friends I know who recall seeing those moments live or remember the individuals, some who have shuffle off this mortal coil. Now, it includes plentiful shots of Late Night regulars such as band leader Paul Schaffer, utility player Chris Elliott and "Where'd-they-dig-up=that-guy?" guy Larry "Bud" Melman. (In fact, Chris and Larry "Bud" played such integral roles in what made this talk show unique, I've written separate posts on each on them. Follow the links on their names.) Elsewhere in the video, we see the
great Bill Murray, who was Dave's very first guest on the inaugural show. Sandra Bernhard makes an appearance — her appearances always proved entertaining just by how uncomfortable she could make Dave. Who can forget Stupid Human Tricks or Stupid Pet Tricks? My college roommate and I cracked up for months over that monkey in a dress's expression after she paws at Letterman and then looks shocked. The other band members would get a moment in the sun, such as drummer Anton Zipp or was that Figg? I didn't see the nutty Crispin Glover appearance the night it happened, but I saw the clip plenty of times later — and this took place before YouTube or the Web. After all that fake gunplay, we see the great Penn and Teller. There's Pee-wee Herman taking Dave for a ride in a fake car that in retrospect looks quite similar to when Conan O'Brien drives around in his desk. Comic Jeff Altman gets an appearance (which seems strange in retrospect) followed by the band's guitarist Will Lee and then the great longtime movie star Van Johnson, who just left us in 2008 at the age of 92. Underground comic writer Harvey Pekar (who left us in 2010 and was the subject of the movie American Splendor) made the most of every appearance, usually making NBC's corporate owners extremely uneasy. Then it's a medley of wacky comics: Gilbert Gottfried, Bobcat Goldthwait and the one-of-a-kind stand-up philosopher Brother Theodore, who most of us never would have heard of in the first place if it hadn't been for Late Night With David Letterman. Ironically, it ends with a parting word from guest Jay Leno. How could they know how that would end? What surprised me at the time was the glaring omission from the "Late Night Anthem" montage, Where in the world was Teri Garr? She was one of Letterman's most frequent guests on his NBC shows and the two had such comic chemistry that no one could stop the rumors that the two were secretly married. Hell, Teri even took a shower on the show once. I can't remember the premise, but for some reason they had to do the show out of Dave's office. As a bonus, the clip below includes Dave's Dancing Waters.The incredible magic of Late Night With David Letterman can be found in how its appeal cut across the usual clique and class divides of your typical suburban high school. In my sophomore year, Late Night had achieved such a level of popularity that the student planners of the school talent show lifted the talk show as the framing device for that year's talent show with a student pretending to be Letterman introducing the acts. I'm not ashamed to say that their material was quite lame and the only two jokes that got riotous laughter were written by yours truly: one being a Top 10 list, the other concerning who paid for promotional considerations that referenced a mini-scandal after a school dance. I'd share them but they were so site and date specific that if you didn't attend that school 27 years ago, the humor would be lost. Weren't we lucky that NBC didn't hear we were stealing their "intellectual property?" This was before General Electric purchased NBC. Boy, they welcomed Dave, didn't they?
In addition to all the memorable guests such as Cher who doesn't mince words as to why she avoided his show. Later, when she and Sonny reunited. The countless appearances of Tony Randall. The features: Supermarket Finds, Viewer Mail, Small Town News, Dropping Stuff Off a 5-Story Tower, Crushing Things With Steamrollers or 80-Ton Hydraulic Presses. Thrill-Cams. Monkey Cams. The NBC Bookmobile. Inventing a catchphrase ("They pelted us with rocks and garbage.") One clip I wish I could have found was a bit they used to do about editing mistakes, talking about the rare times they had to edit the show before it aired. They showed a segment where a guest was keeled over in his chair with an arrow in his back and Letter was pointing at the audience and yelling, "You. Yes, you. You know damn well what I'm talking about." Then there were the suits.
I was so tempted to run every clip YouTube had of Brother Theodore just so those unfamiliar with him could see his act. He had to be seen to be believed, but I narrowed it down to one.
They did plenty of special shows: A mock Christmas special that gave Dave a family, the 360 degree rotation show, the reverse image show, the rerun shows, but perhaps my favorite were the Custom-Made Shows and I thought I would end with a clip from one of those because when Jane Pauley finally gets coaxed into speaking, I think she sums up the feelings of Late Night with David Letterman fans everywhere about the show they loved.
Please remember: This tribute has only been an exhibition. It's not a competition. Please. No wagering.
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Carson, HBO, Letterman, Murray, Tony Randall, TV Tribute
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Late Night wouldn't have been the same without Chris Elliott
By Edward Copeland
The key to the success of Late Night with David Letterman wasn't just Letterman but the crack writing staff he assembled that shared his bent sense of humor. One of those writers in particular proved to be a breakout star of his own by the many characters he would play during appearances on the show. His name was Chris Elliott and he was a mere 31-years-old when Late Night debuted. As far as Late Night fans were concerned, Elliott quite literally was the guy — as in The Panicky Guy, The Conspiracy Guy, The Guy Under the Seats, The Laid-Back Guy, The Fugitive Guy and The Regulator Guy.
I desperately tried to pin down Elliott's first on-camera appearance on Late Night and I think it may have been on the 25th or 26th show that aired either March 15 or March 16, 1982, in the role of "Garbage" in a sketch about "Urban Paranoia," but I can't be positive. Elliott also would appear as himself, usually in the Viewer Mail segments, as the "staff scientist" answering questions such as the one in this example from YouTube.
Eventually, Elliott would have his own career on television and in the movies. On TV, he starred in the short-lived cult sitcom Get a Life on
Fox and later had a recurring role as a brother-in-law on Everybody Loves Raymond, provided the voice for the TV version of Dilbert and served as a cast member on Saturday Night Live for a season. In the 1970s, his father, Bob Elliott, half of the legendary comedy duo Bob & Ray, hosted SNL with Ray and did a Bob & Ray special with the original women of SNL. Now, Chris Elliott's daughter, Abby, is part of SNL's cast, making three Elliott generations involved with the show. On the big screen, Elliott starred in and co-wrote the story with screenwriter and director Adam Resnick (another former Late Night writer) for Cabin Boy, which included a cameo by Letterman (using the name Earl Hofert) as Old Salt in Fishing Village. Letterman turned his single line — "Would you like to buy a monkey?" — into a gag when he hosted the Oscars with stars such as Anthony Hopkins testing for Letterman's role. Elliott's supporting roles in movies such as Groundhog Day and There's Something About Mary came off better. He even did small, noncomic turns in films such as Michael Mann's thriller Manhunter and James Cameron's The Abyss. Before I let the clips tell the story of the "guys," here are some impersonations and other sketches that Elliott performed on Late Night. First, Chris Elliott testifies during the Iran-Contra hearings.
Next up, Chris did his take on two talk show staples. First, Chris Elliott is the director of the Columbus Zoo, not Jack Hanna. Second, it's Marv Albert with the wild and wacky in the world of sports.
After Glenn Beck, Michael Savage and many of the other wackos we've seen and heard recently, Morton Downey Jr. has largely been forgotten, but back in the 1980s the loudmouth was a phenomenon briefly and spawned "The Chris Elliott Jr. Show."
I have to admit that this one was my favorite and it's hard to not pick every clip out there, but in the 1980s when the great actor Marlon Brando was a world-class loon giving rambling interviews to Connie Chung and Larry King (including a big wet kiss on the lips), when Elliott started showing up as Brando, that was funny enough. When he ended every appearance doing the "Bananas" dance to "Alley Cat," it was hysterical.
The joke about The Regulator Guy, a Terminator-like spoof that was supposed to be Elliott's new series, was that it never aired. Every time he showed up to show a clip or premiere an episode, something would interrupt it or pre-empt it.
One of the earliest running characters Elliott came up with was The Conspiracy Guy, usually seated in the audience spinning outlandish theories about all sorts of topics. Today they are knows as Birthers and Truthers but they have no sense of humor.
Picking just one guy under the seats segment was the hardest of all because they were so many and so varied. Go to YouTube and check out the other ones out there.
Finally, I think the only way to conclude a post on Chris Elliott is to end with the final installment of The Fugitive Guy since it is the one they put the most effort into with location shooting, dragging Letterman along, the credit sequence, etc. NBC can suck on my intellectual property rights as I salute Letterman and his cohorts today.
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Brando, Cameron, Hopkins, Letterman, Oscars, TV Tribute
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Or without Larry "Bud" either
By Edward Copeland
In fact, you could say literally that Late Night With David Letterman wouldn't have started without Larry "Bud" Melman (aka Calvert DeForest) since he literally opened the first episode as seen above. His appearances provided some of the most memorable and funniest moments on Late Night and deserve a separate remembrance — even if you had to wonder if Larry realized his role in the joke.
Even now. very little is known about how David Letterman came upon 60-year-old Calvert DeForest and turned him into Larry "Bud" Melman," let alone decided to take the gigantic risk of letting this odd little man with the giant glasses be the first thing audiences saw when they tuned in to Late Night with David Letterman for the first time on Feb, 1, 1982. Supposedly, for most of his life, DeForest worked for the pharmaceutical company Parke Davis, which Pfizer eventually took over. As awkward as he was in front of the camera DeForest actually worked some as an actor prior to Late Night, supposedly having appeared in five films prior to the talk show, not that any of those were memorable. The first credit was 1972's While the Cat's Away…, a soft-core sex comedy written and directed by an auteur in the genre, Chuck Vincent, who would go on to make late-night Skinemax classics such as Warrior Queen starring Sybil Danning and Donald Pleasence and Young Nurses in Love. In 1976, he was part of the entourage in a comedy called Apple Pie. DeForest is listed as part of the cast of 1979's Blond Poison. a film that IMDb provides no information about except that its cast also allegedly featured James Remar. 1980 found DeForest in the Greek production Savage Hunt. The fifth and final pre-Late Night film that DeForest made comes closet to a title people have heard. They filmed the crude comedy Waitress! in in 1981, though it didn't get released until 1982. Its large cast included in small roles Anthony Dennison (under the name Anthony Sarrero) who would find fame on Crime Story and Chris Noth who would go on to Law & Order and Sex and the City.
While DeForest might have been his real name, while Letterman worked on NBC, he always was Larry "Bud" Melman (unless he was Kenny the Gardener or Johnny Carson). When NBC screwed Dave over for The Chin, Larry followed Dave to CBS but NBC claimed that "Larry 'Bud' Melman" was part of the network's intellectual property, so on Late Show, he had to appear as Calvert DeForest, which he did through 2002 when his health declined too much for him to continue. DeForest died in 2006 at age 85. Thanks to YouTube, I don't need to try to describe some of the best Larry moments. You can see them for yourself. However, it can't be denied what a key role Melman played in the Late Night phenomenon. Carson played characters. Steve Allen "interviewed" them. Letterman mixed the real and the imagined into a potpourri of zaniness. Writer Chris Elliott provided his string of characters. Stage manager Biff Henderson played himself as did announcer Bill Wendell and his assistant Barbara Gaines. The driver of the NBC Bookmobile was really Kathleen Ankers, the show's scenic designer. Another writer, Gerard Mulligan, often became involved as well. The cue-card guy even got in on the action as did the show's director, Mr. Hal Gurtner "THAT'S GURNEE, EDWARD." CBS turned Paul Schaffer's band into an "orchestra." When they were an hour later on NBC, they were "the world's most dangerous band." Now, some of the most memorable Melman moments. First, the gag used toward the show's beginning that Melman owned the show, starting it up with the fortune made from his bus company.
From the second Custom-Made Show, they put Larry in a bear suit and send him out in the halls of Rockefeller Center to try to get change for a $10 bill.
Finally, the classic: They sent Melman to the Port Authority Bus Station to greet arrivals with decidedy mixed results which only made it funnier. It comes in three parts.Part I:
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Carson, Letterman, Pleasence, TV Tribute
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
That's how you fictionalize your life
By Edward Copeland
While watching 50/50, screenwriter Will Reiser's fictionalized account of being diagnosed with a rare form of cancer when he was in his late 20s, I thought of Godard's famous quote about the best way to criticize a movie is to make another movie. Now, I don't think that Reiser and director Jonathan Levine set out to do this, but 50/50 displays an exceptional example of how not to get so locked in by one's life that your movie can't breathe as was the case with Beginners.
Joseph Gordon-Levitt stars as Adam Learner, an NPR employee who has been complaining of back pain for quite some time. When he finally gets it checked out, it turns out to be a malignant tumor on his spine. Doing the modern research technique — Adam turns to the Internet to learn what he can and finds that if the cancer hasn't metastasized, the online information gives the person with his type of cancer a 50 percent chance of surviving. When he shares that information with his best friend and NPR co-worker Kyle (Seth Rogen), Kyle likes the odds, telling Adam they are better than he'd get in a casino.
Adam's overbearing mom Diane (Anjelica Huston, in her best role in a long time) eagerly offers to take over and care for Adam despite the fact that she's already dealing with his father Richard (Serge Houde), who has Alzheimer's disease. However, Adam's live-in girlfriend Rachael (Bryce Dallas Howard) steps up and says she'll stand by Adam through his treatment. Given the turn his young life takes, Learner understandably sinks into depression, prompting his doctor (Andrew Airlie) to refer Adam to a therapist (Anna Kendrick), only she still has her training wheels on, so to speak, as she hasn't completed her doctorate and Adam is only her third patient.
50/50 contains a lot of laughs, but it's more dramatic than I was expecting. In fact, given that Rogen basically plays a fictionalized version of himself (and when isn't Seth Rogen playing a fictionalized version of himself. Keep in mind, I never saw The Green Hornet.), I can't help but wonder if Will Reiser's story inspired Judd Apatow when he came up with Funny People where Rogen becomes best friends with Adam Sandler's comic character with cancer. Of course, 50/50 contains many major differences from Funny People, the most important being that we care what happens to Gordon-Levitt's character while I suffered some disappointment that they didn't kill Sandler off.
Gordon-Levitt continues to have one of the most amazing careers for actors who began plying their craft at an early age, dating back to TV sitcom work on the short-lived The Powers That Be from Norman Lear when he was 11 and a recurring role on Roseanne a year later. At 14 or 15, he gave the best performance in the wretched film The Juror starring Demi Moore, Alec Baldwin and James Gandolfini. Then he more than held his own as part of the comic ensemble of 3rd Rock From the Sun for six seasons.
Since he's grown into adulthood, he's completely missed the curse that often afflicts child actors, giving good to great performances in films such as Mysterious Skin, Brick, The Lookout, (500) Days of Summer, Inception and now 50/50. Reiser's screenplay delicately blends comedy and pathos and Gordon-Levitt has shown that he's adept at both forms with his previous choices, but 50/50 may be his first vehicle that allows him to display his range realistically within the same film.
Rogen, with the exception of the creepy and defiantly unfunny Observe and Report always plays himself more or less. The Rogen you see in Knocked Up simply is an R-rated version of Seth Rogen the talk show guest or Seth Rogen, award show presenter. In most circumstances, an actor like this would drive me up the wall, but I never hold it against Rogen because from the moment I first saw him on the great TV show Freaks and Geeks, he so strongly reminded me of a friend of mine from high school that each time I see him it's like seeing that friend again.
Huston, as you'd expect, turns in a great performance, even if you don't get that much of her. Howard also does the best job I've seen her do, though she never seems to look the same from one film to the next.
The other real bright spot of 50/50 belongs to Kendrick. She was so good (and Oscar-nominated) in Up in the Air. She also popped up in the fun Scott Pilgrim Vs. the World ss Scott's sister and I first noticed her in her film debut, the underrated and underseen musical Camp.
From all the praise that 50/50 received, it didn't turn out to be quite the movie I was expecting. It's good, but not in the ways it had been sold to me.
Tweet
Labels: 10s, A. Huston, Alec Baldwin, Apatow, Demi, Gandolfini, Godard, Gordon-Levitt, N. Lear, Seth Rogen
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Monday, January 30, 2012
When radio was at its most beautiful
By Jonathan Pacheco
Roger Ebert once pointed out that Robert Altman kept track of time by the films he’d made. Similarly, I imagine the average cinephile has a mental timeline for his own life’s events based on the movies he’s seen and when he saw them. (I know that my first kiss came in late 1999 because it was with a girl I’d met earlier in the year through our mutual love for The Phantom Menace.) For the narrator of Radio Days (Woody Allen), childhood’s milestones are marked by memories of radio shows, newscasts and tunes.
As the film opens, he sets the scene of his youth — Rockaway Beach, N.Y., late 1930s — by first asking us to forgive him for his tendency to romanticize the past. Speaking of the rain-swept streets of his neighborhood, the overcast beaches a stone’s throw away and the peeling paint of the massive walls surrounding a nearby amusement park, he says, “I remember it that way because that was it at its most beautiful.” The same applies for the many personal memories he recounts throughout Radio Days, which turns 25 years old today.
Refreshingly, Woody leaves much of his trademark pessimism and sarcasm out of Radio Days, allowing Allen to spend less time trying to be funny and more time simply gushing with affection for Joe, his on-screen childhood persona (played by a young and tiny Seth Green), and his working-class family of parents, aunts, uncles and cousins all living beneath one roof. Sure, Joe’s mother (Julie Kavner) and father (Michael Tucker) still have their share of pointless fights typical of Allen’s autobiographical portrayals of his family life (arguing, for example, about which ocean is superior: the Pacific or the Atlantic), but there’s an endearment that still shows through the animosity, a sweetness that’s absent in some of his other films. In Radio Days, Allen depicts parents capable of simultaneously insulting and expressing love. After arguing in front of a radio relationship counselor and being told they “deserve each other,” the couple is taken aback, the mother saying, “I love him, but what did I do to deserve him?”
Sprinkled throughout the film are memories unadulterated by Allen’s wit or sarcasm, such as Joe’s remembrance of his parents’ anniversary, significant for being the only time he can recall them sharing a kiss. Or when he wakes up late one evening to find his aunt Bea (Dianne Wiest), permanently on an unsuccessful quest to find love, returning home with a date who, as she soon learns, still hasn’t recovered from the recent death of his fiancé, who also happened to be a man. Bea is crushed by this revelation, but she hides her emotions in favor of supporting a man still dealing with a lot of pain.
Allen ingeniously integrates stories of the actual radio personalities as tangential anecdotes to Joe’s childhood memories. His recollections of his family members’ favorite radio programs leads to memories of the programs themselves, leading to accounts of the personalities behind the microphones. Allen smartly resists the temptation to portray them as the “movie stars of their day,” instead depicting them as he imagined them as a child: earnest and sincere entertainers and newsmen, somehow already aware of how quickly their time in the spotlight will fade.
Having Joe’s family anchor the stories brings a cohesion to Radio Days’ many vignettes; no matter how far off topic the stories get, they all lead back to the core group, to the film’s heart. That’s why the subplot of Mia Farrow’s Sally White stands out as the film’s weakest element. It doesn’t really stem from the family’s experiences with radio the way the other stories do. Instead, the narrator’s recollections of Sally are presented as secondhand gossip, “insider” stories of how this aspiring radio star slept and lucked her way into the industry. Though her stories provide some vintage Woody Allen scenes (she escapes execution at the hands of a mob hit man when he discovers that they grew up in the same neighborhood in Brooklyn), they feel emotionally detached from Allen’s other wonderfully personal recollections.
In The Purple Rose of Cairo, Allen warns us of the dangers of escaping into the mediums we love, and in Midnight in Paris, he recognizes the folly of being too engrossed in the past. However, the director seems to have little desire in drawing any such lessons from Radio Days. In this film, he simply wants to hold on to his nostalgia, to cherish the highs and lows radio provided him. As Radio Days closes, our narrator worries that the ghosts of the radio era fade more and more with each passing year, but by making this film, Allen chooses not to let them go without a fight.
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Altman, Ebert, Mia Farrow, Movie Tributes, Wiest, Woody
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
Sunday, January 29, 2012
Luck Episode No. 1: Pilot Part I
By Edward Copeland
So begins the recapping of another series at ECOF. As you can imagine, even though the pilot only runs an hour, I had to split this recap into two because of all the exposition. As I wrote in the preview Friday, the Luck recaps will evolve as I
write them. Be patient. Each show finds its own style of recap. Reminder: My comments are in italics and parentheses. Luck opens with the release of the series' main character, Chester "Ace" Bernstein (Dustin Hoffman), from FCI Victorville Medium II in Adelanto, Calif., which lies a bit away from the fictionalized version of Santa Anita Park where most of the series' action will take place. We won't learn exactly why Bernstein was incarcerated for three years in the first episode, but that information will be parceled out as the show develops. Once Ace exits the prison, he finds his faithful bodyguard/driver Gus "The Greek" Demitriou (Dennis Farina) behind the wheel of his car, ready to take him home. "How you doin', Ace?" Gus asks his boss as Bernstein climbs into the back seat and sighs. "We should get me a tape recorder," Bernstein says. "Meaning what?" Gus inquires. "Meaning what? Meaning we should get me a recorder," Ace replies. Two of the series' best-known executive producers, Michael Mann and David Milch, take hands-on roles in the premiere, with Mann directing and the cast speaking that unmistakable sound of Milchian dialogue. "Your trees. How are your trees in the back yard?" Ace asks. "Good. Good. Thanks for asking. You know, just this morning I was thinkin' that it's probably time to take the wraps off the figs," Gus replies. Much like Gus' figs, many things that have been concealed will be unwrapped during the course of Luck's inaugural season. 
"Alright, let me see your horse owner's license," Ace requests of Gus, who hands the card back to his boss. "I'm surprised the camera guy didn't ask me who I thought I was kiddin'," Gus laughs. Bernstein leans over the seat to address his driver. "Hey — hey — no ifs, ands or buts — you're that horse's owner," Bernstein emphasizes. "Yes. I got it. I understand. Understood," Gus replies. "You think you're the first front in history?" Ace asks rhetorically with a slight grin as the car continues to speed down the two-lane mountain highway. Farina is great from the start of Luck, but it takes Hoffman some time to get into Bernstein's skin, especially in the pilot, which apparently was filmed long in advance of the rest of the episodes. He starts out, as in the scene in the car, as if he's supposed to be some kind of tough guy, a role he's never been that convincing at such as when he played Dutch Schultz in the film Billy Bathgate. As the show develops, he gets better as both Hoffman and the viewer get a better sense of who Chester "Ace" Bernstein is. One thing that's unmistakable from the beginning is the language could only spring from the mind of Milch. His unique rhythms, while not 19th century period prosaic, still stand out in a modern idiom from other writers' work.
Recurring throughout Luck, especially in the premiere, shots focus on horses' eyes. Those beautiful creatures' orbs captivate you, even more than the majesty the animals project when seen standing in full glory. (Of course, part of me thinks that if horses's brains were slightly larger, they'd hate our fucking guts.) That thoroughbred leads us to the horse barns and shedrow of Santa Anita Park itself. A rooster crows, a groom washes one horse, an exercise girl leads another on a walk while still others perform morning workouts on the track. Gamblers begin filling in Pick Six cards for the day as a large monitor in the median the track surrounds announces that today's Pick Six winners pays "at least $2,250,540." Our view shifts to a different pair of equine eyes: Pint of Plain, the Irish thoroughbred "owned" by Gus Demitriou. The track's head veterinarian, Jo Carter (Jill Hennessy), currently checks Pint of Plain over. "His gut sounds a little slow," she informs his trainer, a semi-legend at the track, Turo Escalante (John Ortiz). "So see what's what," Escalante, who emigrated from Peru, responds. Jo puts on a glove and adds some lube. "Don't you wish this was you?" she asks him jokingly before she goes exploring. "Loquita. A mental case," Turo replies before being distracted. He walks over to Leon Micheaux (Tom
Payne), an apprentice jockey from Louisiana referred to as "Bug Boy" as most apprentice jockeys are. Escalante grabs Leon's crop. "You don't need no stick," Escalante tells him. "Yes sir, Mr. Escalante," Leon says politely. Escalante instructs Bug Boy to jog the horse once the wrong way around the track to loosen him up for the afternoon's race. "I was telling Joey before how psyched I am getting to ride for you," Leon declares enthusiastically, referring to his agent as Escalante helps him mount Mon Gateau. "We'll run big with this horse today." Bug Boy's statement puts Escalante in a foul mood. "Is this morning today or this afternoon?" Escalante asks him. The question puzzles Leon. "Pinhead — is today this morning so far?" Escalante rephrases. "I guess, sir," Leon answers. "Then jog him once the wrong way around and shut up on what you don't know before I call Porky Pig on you," Escalante threatens, using his derogatory nickname for Leon's agent Joey. "Yes sir, Mr. Escalante," Leon replies as he's led out of the shedrow. Escalante returns to the stable where Jo is removing her glove. "I can't believe you got that one in a race," Jo says of Mon Gateau. "I can't believe where you put your hands," Escalante replies. "No displacement, no obstructions or entrapments. Pretty sure it's just a gas colic," Jo reports. "Leche (Spanish slang for Milk of Magnesia) I can give him?" he asks. "Yeah. Give him some
Milk of Mag. Once he's alert, just get him walking," she replies before switching subjects. "You met the limo driver yet? The one who broke the bank in Vegas?" Escalante seems skeptical about who really owns Pint of Plain. "And bought this horse for two million? Probably, too. Think they really landed on the moon," Escalante answers. "What? Monkey business?" Jo inquires. "For three years, he's a limo driver. Who he work for before that these three years is in jail?" he queries. Jo guesses Michael Vick, but Turo informs her it was Chester Bernstein. "Gorilla business," Jo says. "A long trip from Ireland. The quarantine — this guy's entitled to a touch of colic, Turo," she declares. He requests she check the horse again that afternoon. As Jo gathers her equipment, she asks Escalante if he's been to Ireland. "No," the Peruvian replies. "You have a heavy brogue," Jo tells him as she exits shedrow. As Escalante speaks Spanish with another worker, we hear Etta James singing, "I'd Rather Go Blind." "Whoo, I would rather, I would rather go blind, boy/Than to see you walk away from me, child, no/Whoo, so you see, I love you so much/That I don't wanna watch you leave me, baby" Escalante gingerly pats the sides of Pint of Plain's head. "For two million dollars, you got some plain head on you," he tells the horse. 
At another set of stables on the park grounds, an older man (Nick Nolte) dressed in beige from his pants to his hat steps up on the deck with his dog and doughnuts for his night watchman (Mario Roccuzzo) who sits outside one of the stables. "That's frosted. They said the chocolate covereds weren't fresh. How'd it go?" he asks the man. "The Big Horse got down. He slept all night, Mr. Walter. Even licked his tub clean," the night watchman replies before asking if "Mr. Walter" plans to bet that Pick Six that afternoon. He may refer to him as Mr. Walter as an old-fashioned courtesy, but his boss's name actually is Walter Smith, a longtime horse trainer
who came to California by way of Kentucky. Smith not only trains but owns the animals as well now. The "Big Horse" the man referenced is Walter's prized colt Gettn'up Morning. There's a backstory involving both Smith and Gettn'up Morning's history that we'll learn about as the season unfolds. Smith's mind isn't focused on the Pick Six question, so his reply is less than definitive. His life focuses almost exclusively on Gettn'up Morning, to the exclusion of such extraneous matters. "I was wondering if in the last quarter the girl should loosen up and let him stretch the hell out," Smith says as his night watchman continues to talk about possible Pick Six payouts. "Yeah, let the big man show his stuff today," the man concurs with Smith. "Did I tell you that's frosted?" Smith, also known as "The Old Man," asks. "You did," his night guy replies. Smith gives him a pat and tells him to get some sleep. With a whistle and a click of his tongue, Walter gets the Big Horse's attention. "How ya doin' bub? Yeah, you know what I got," Smith says to the horse and we get another close look at one of those marvelous eyes. "What do you think? Do ya feel like stretchin' out?" Walter asks the colt. "Hey bruiser," Rosie Shanahan, the Irish exercise girl (Kerry Condon), says as she blows a kiss at Gettn'up Morning and puts down her gear. "About like last time?" Rosie asks Smith. "About like last time, but maybe you let him stretch out a bit in the lane," Walter tells her. "Great. 'Cause he's been pullin' my arms off," she responds. "He wants to run," The Old Man declares as he helps Rosie take her mount. Smith takes a seat in the bleachers with binoculars. "You're just hobby-horsing him," he comments. 
Back in the shedrow, Escalante makes good on his promise and phones jockey's agent Joey Rathburn (Richard Kind) to complain about Bug Boy. "Why are you giving me a jockey who's running his lips about my business?" Escalante demands to know. "You're kidding, Turo," Joey says, expressing surprise from his spot by the track's rail. "I don't kid, you Porky Pig son of a bitch. He's chirping how he's gonna run him big when I told you that horse had no chance," the trainer responds. "A trainer like you throws us a bone, gives this kid a chance to ride for you and then — and then he's — he's gonna run his mouth on you?" an agitated Rathburn gets out, showing how he got his nickname. "Just tell him to shut the fuck up and loose lips sink boats," Turo tells Joey. "I'm gonna take him to the woodshed. Believe me," Rathburn promises as he stands beneath the entrance to Clockers' Corner. Meanwhile, Walter watches from the stands through his binoculars as Rosie begins getting Gettn'up Morning up to a good gallop.
Every track has them and Santa Anita is no exception: The serious gambler. Marcus Becker (Kevin Dunn) sits at one of the tables on the outside patio of Clockers' Corner, lots of forms and tip sheets spread about as he contemplates the day's betting plans. Marcus has to use a wheelchair and, periodically, take in
oxygen from the mask that's attached to a tank on his wheelchair. Marcus currently eyes the day's 4th race when a member of his betting syndicate (not a crime syndicate as usually associated with the term, but a group of people who pool their money to make larger bets that cover more possibilities), Jerry Boyle (Jason Gedrick), joins him at the table. "I'm tapped," Jerry says as he sits. "You're what?" Marcus asks, removing the oxygen mask. "I'm tapped out. I'm tapioca," Jerry replies. "Yesterday you left the grounds a 390 dollar winner," Marcus declares. "Yeah, then I hit the Commerce Casino for a little poker fun after dark," Jerry explains. "With three days' worth of Pick Six carryovers worth several million dollars and you hand your bankroll to the ricers?" Marcus says, anger and disdain welling up in his voice. "Here's my picks," Jerry responds, sliding a napkin across the small table selecting horse Nos. 1,4,7 for the 3rd race; 5 for the 4th; 1,3,6,7 for the 5th; 2,3,5,7,8 for the 6th; 1,4,7 for the 7th and ALL for the 8th. "Fuck your picks, you degenerate prick — where's your money?" an openly pissed off Marcus demands to know. "Don't wind yourself up. Your face is going all different colors," Jerry says in his tranquil tone. "Fuck my face," Marcus responds, only to be interrupted by a coughing fit and the need to return the oxygen mask to his mouth.
In the stands, Walter continues to watch Rosie ride Gettn'up Morning around the track through his binoculars. "Oh, you're runnin' him around," Smith mutters as Rosie takes the colt to greater strides. Another member of the syndicate, Renzo Calagari (Ritchie Coster),
shuffles on to the patio for the group's morning meeting. "Oh good. Now here comes the brain surgeon," a still pissy Marcus comments. Renzo holds up some cash. "Got my disability. Two hundred and fifty-five simoleons," Renzo announces as he hands the money over to Marcus. "Meaning against the Social Security he's gonna get, which is the mumbo jumbo these joints use to get around the usury laws," Marcus teaches his class. Gettn'up Morning's workout has captured the attention of eyes other than Walter Smith's. Joey Rathburn, pacing along the rail, and Jerry, still sitting with Marcus and Renzo, have noticed Rosie's ride on the Big Horse. Marcus pushes the napkin to Renzo. "That napkin's Jerry's whole contribution. Sick degenerate," Marcus tells Renzo.
he took out a payday advance Walter puts his binoculars down and brings out a stopwatch. Rosie's ride continues to captivate Jerry. As she brings Gettn'up Morning to the theoretical finish line, Smith stops the clock and looks pleased. "Guess I still know a peach when I see one," Walter mumbles to himself. "You single the Fourth," Renzo says to Jerry, referring to his selection of only horse No. 5 in the 4th Race for the group's Pick Six plan. "I've got the Fourth semi-spread." Marcus examines Jerry's choice more closely. "A triple-bug apprentice hasn't won ten races in his life. He's gonna single a horse that's been — that hasn't run in two years," Marcus notes. From the racing form, we see that apprentice jockey's name is L. Micheaux and the horse that hasn't run in two years happens to be Mon Gateau, whose morning-line odds are 12-1. No wonder Escalante wanted Bug Boy to keep his mouth shut, but that's the reason behind the bet. "Yeah, but Escalante's the trainer," Renzo tells Marcus, who emits a sarcastic, "Oooh."
Leon slow rides Mon Gateau back and spots Joey. "I met Mr. Escalante in his barn," he tells his agent. "Oh yeah. How — How'd that go?" Rathburn asks as if he doesn't know. "Good. You know he's foreign. He's a little hard to understand," Leon replies, his Louisiana accent clear. One problem that will crop up throughout the series is that Tom Payne, the actor who plays Leon, hails from England and often that accent creeps out and he speaks in an unidentifiable dialect. Joey walks along the rail as the slow ride continues. "Well, you — you did some job," Joey tells his jockey. "I did?" Bug Boy responds with surprise. "P—Pissing him off with your wise-ass chirping about how good you thought this horse was gonna run today," Joey informs him. "I was just sayin' somethin' to say somethin'," Leon offers in defense. "That's what — that's what 'How's the weather?' is for," Rathburn suggests. "With a great trainer, I
wanted to have somethin' to say," Leon insists. "Suppose he is making a bet, you — you think he wants some big mouth riding his horse?" Joey theorizes. Bug Boy asks if Escalante could be placing a bet, but the question only aggravates Joey more. "I—I—I don't know and if you want to know, I don't want to represent you. You're a bug. You ride everything hard and you don't chirp about what ain't your business," Joey instructs his client. "He could be on go, Joey," Leon whispers to his agent about Mon Gateau. "Moves like shine on a Saturday night." Rathburn makes another appeal, asking Leon to keep his mind right. As Leon rides on, Joey looks down the track as Walter greets the return of Rosie and Gettn'up Morning. Out of Joey's earshot, Walter says to Rosie, "11 and 2. He pulled up (stopped) at 23 and change." (23 and change is the time in seconds that it took the horse to breeze, or lightly run, the distance. Typically, horses are timed at intervals, in races or workouts — generally in ⅛ or ¼ mile increments. “11 and 2” would be the distance the horse ran, the 11 referring to furlongs. ⅛ mile equals one furlong. In the U.S., the classic distance is 1¼ miles. In Europe, it’s 1½ miles. Santa Anita's main dirt track is 1 mile long. Thanks to horse trainer Samantha Harvey of Alternative Horsekeeping With Samantha Harvey at The Equestrian Center in Yuma, Ariz., for helping explain that bit of dialogue for me.) As both the colt and Rosie pant, Rosie tells Smith, "Walter, listen, this guy's got nine more gears." Joey gets on his cell phone. "Ronnie, whereever it is you've flopped, find your coat, find your keys, find your car, get to the gym," Joey says into his phone. We don't see the person he's calling, but we do see his place, which has walls adorned with images of a victorious jockey, though we see Ronnie's wireless phone standing upright on a charger, its screen showing "12 new messages." Joey goes on, "Because if I didn't just see a Derby horse work, I'm a Chinese dentist. Plus the mount is open for you, Ronnie. An exercise girl was up. Yeah — yeah, call me back. Remember me — I'm y—your fucking agent, y—you drunken prick." I haven't spoken much about Mann's direction of this episode. It's been fine, but has been heavy on quick cuts after the initial Ace and Gus scene. However, I thought this sequence involving the various players noticing Gettn'up Morning that leads in to the great Joey-Leon talk that's filmed in a single walking/riding take shows Mann's most exceptional touch so far. 
Jerry turns his attention back to his partners now that Gettn'up Morning has left the track. A hefty track security guard (Peter Appel) comes out of Top-O-The-Stretch (Top-O-The-Stretch is the name given to the betting area, either at self-service terminals that open even before the gates, and some manned ones later after the track opens for admissions) at a good gait. "Anyone seeking admission, please clear the grounds before the gates open at 10:30 unless you're a credentialed track employee," the guard announces as Marcus spins his wheelchair around to face the man. "Anyone morbidly fat? Anyone order a heart attack?" Marcus ridicules the guard (as if he has room to talk). "Yeah well, I wouldn't hold my breath. Oh, I forgot — you can't," the guard retorts. "When's the last time you saw your prick without a mirror?" Marcus shoots back. Jerry focuses the day's races instead of the insults. "Got the Pick Six in your crosshairs, Kagle?" Jerry asks the guard. "Yeah, I hold a few opinions," Kagle replies before getting a call on his walkie-talkie. Before Kagle leaves, he asks Jerry if he's going to "step up," but Boyle stays mum though Marcus looks suspiciously on the glances traded between Jerry and the guard. Renzo grabs Marcus' attention, telling him, "There may be more development at the coffee shop." Marcus seeks further explanation of said development, but Renzo prefers not to say. "A development of what type?" Marcus rephrases. "No. So if it doesn't happen," Renzo responds. "You're a moron," Marcus tells him, but he starts his chair moving when he sees Jerry leaving the table. "Hey — do not reach out to that three percent-a-week-charging bloodsucker," he warns Jerry about Kagle.
The drive from Ace's temporary Victorville residence ends as Gus pulls the car up in front of The Beverly Hilton, where Ace uses a suite as his home. When Chester exits the vehicle, he looks up and stares for a moment at his former stomping grounds. The hotel's executive manager (Spencer Garrett) greets Ace and shakes his hand. "Welcome home, Mr. Bernstein," he says. "If you've been partying up at my place, Maurice, they better all be out," Ace responds good-naturedly. "Oh if I missed one or two, you just send them down the fire escape," Maurice replies, adding that they've been preparing Bernstein's suite all week. "How about this guy?" Bernstein comments, indicating Gus. Maurice calls him "The Man With the Golden Arm," though he's referring to neither heroin addiction nor the Frank Sinatra movie. "I leave town. He hits a slot for five million dollars," Ace says. "I only do this for fun now," Gus offers since it would be unusual for millionaires to continue to serve as chauffeur/bodyguards. "I graduated, Mr. Bernstein," the young doorman tells Ace. "Good for you, kid," Bernstein says to the young man, patting him on the shoulder as he and Gus go inside. "So did I." (In a smoothly edited and executed segue, the glass doors of Ace's building turn into the glass doors where you enter the interior of the track's Clockers' Corner where they serve breakfast, seemingly without a cut.)
"There he is," Renzo exclaims as he, Marcus and Jerry enter the inside dining area. "Why do you sound so surprised?" asks a man in a yellow shirt and a light brown hat with his back to the camera. "I'm not. Because I never guaranteed you'd be here," Renzo replies as the man (Ian Hart) stands to greet the group. Jerry slides into a booth. "You gonna sit at the counter, you mind if I get by?" Marcus asks the guy obstructing his path. "That's Lonnie, Marcus. You met him once before," Renzo informs him as he moves into the booth. "And you're Jerry. We've met also, but I don't expect you to remember," Lonnie McHinery tells Boyle as he climbs in next to Renzo who suggests they all sit together there. Marcus wheels to the table's end. "You know what I still call you when I ask them how you are doing?" Lonnie asks Marcus. "Asshole?" he guesses. "The brains housing department," Lonnie answers. "Is it handicapped accessible?" Marcus inquires. Lonnie reminds Marcus where they met — a race day at Hollywood Park with Renzo. "You gave me a triple which I had to leave before I could play it," Lonnie recalls. "Does this story end sad?" Marcus asks in a tone indicating he could care less as he writes in a notebook. "No. No. No. I played it on TVG. 117 bucks it paid," Lonnie tells him. Lonnie's reminiscing gets halted temporarily by a waitress seeking breakfast orders. Once she finishes her business, the men resume theirs. "Now what would I always say to you?" Lonnie asks Renzo. "Let me once make half a score, I'll bankroll that genius gimp," Renzo replies. "Define — I'm afraid to ask — define 'half a score,'" Marcus seems slightly intrigued. "Off two women insurance agents paying me to fuck them senseless," Lonnie answers, a stack of bills in his hand wrapped by a rubberband.
Ace fiddles with a necktie in the bathroom of his suite before abandoning the effort. Gus calls from another room, asking if he's ready. "How'd you leave it with Escalante?" Bernstein asks. "That I'd call him from a few minutes out," Gus replies. "Your attitude with him — business. One hundred percent," Ace instructs Gus. Demitriou admits to being nervous about his planned meeting with Pint of Plain's trainer. Bernstein notices of pile of envelopes on a dresser that Gus explains are three years' worth of letters and notes wishing Ace well. "I wrote or called all of them back," Gus tells him. "You're friendly with Escalante, but you've got all the friends you need," Ace says, holding up his new microcassette recorder. "Spare me the hat dance," Gus pleads. "Just train my horse," Ace orders as they exit the suite.
Jerry dashes through the growing crowd at the betting windows until he finally spots Kagle and starts shouting the guard's name to get his attention. "Hey, would you loan you a thousand dollars?" Kagle asks Jerry. "What are you talking about? I'm not asking for a thousand," Jerry says. "Well. One policy fits all and from now on it's a thousand dollars minimum," the guard/loan shark informs him. "Why one policy? You're your own boss," Jerry points out. "Do I look self-employed in this uniform?" Kagle asks him. "As a shylock, you're self-employed. Does one pant size fit all?" Jerry says, sounding as if spending time with Marcus has rubbed off on him. "Yeah. Yeah. Good. Insult my weight," Kagle bristles. "Hat size, I said," Jerry insists, trying to erase his slur from the air. "It's a thousand minimum. Three points a week on the balance and I ain't chasin' you anymore for vig on a lousy three hundred dollars," Kagle makes clear. "Look, just let me take the fucking thousand then," Jerry says. "You do not qualify," Kagle declares. "Fuck you then and the Goodyear Blimp," Jerry spits as he storms off, but Kagle calls him back, holding cash in his right hand. "Mark my Pick Six," Kagle requests. A disgusted Jerry takes the money and starts filling in Kagle's betting card. Kagle thanks Jerry when he slaps the picks back at him, Playing in the background during the last part of the scene is part of Gil Scott-Heron's cover of Robert Johnson's "Me and the Devil Blues." "Early this morning/he knocked on my door/I said "Hello, Satan,/I believe it's time to go" Of course, if Jerry gave Kagle the same Pick Six selections that the syndicate has and they should pull off the win, the jackpot would be split — and you could count on Marcus being pissed. (Many thanks to Tony Dayoub for uncovering which artist was performing the cover for me. Check out his blog Cinema Viewfinder.)
The other three members of Jerry's group take spots behind the grandstand's last row since Marcus' wheelchair limits options. "I'll illustrate this degenerate's mind — why his vote's for singling the Fourth," Marcus says, referring to Jerry's picks. "Jerry, he's saying," Renzo tells Lonnie, in case he wasn't clear as to whom Marcus referred. Becker
brings out the napkin as a visual aid. "Off form, it's completely open. He should really use every horse, but he ain't handicapping the horses, he's handicapping Escalante," Marcus elaborates. "Jerry's thinking, Marcus feels," Renzo conveys to Lonnie, as if he has to translate every word Marcus utters. "Escalante enters a horse away two years, all slow workouts, and he gives the mount to a triple-bug apprentice. The horse jumps up, who does that make the hero?" Marcus asks rhetorically. "Escalante, Jerry's thinking," Renzo answers, addressing Marcus this time. "We bet four deep in the Fifth and we're five deep in the Sixth. But you single Escalante. You bet only Escalante's horse and he wins, we just knocked out three-quarters of everybody else's bets. We're perfectly protected in the three races subsequent. And if we make it to the last, the Eighth race in which we bet every horse, we're in to a two million dollar jackpot," Marcus concludes, so excited by the strategy that his cough returns and it's oxygen time again. "Brains housing," Lonnie comments. "So where is Jerry? He feels bad because he tapped out in poker. He's probably got that fat fuck's fangs in his neck," Marcus guesses correctly about Kagle. Can't you hear Milch in that dialogue? "perfectly protected in the three races subsequent" "fat fuck's fangs" I love it. I miss being able to go to the track, not that I knew anything about horse betting. If I ever won, it was pure luck.Ace enters the glass doors of another building and a woman steps out behind a desk in front of a case displaying wine bottles. She asks Bernstein how he is and if he's there to meet Mr. DiRossi. Ace confirms that he is and Nick DiRossi (Alan Rosenberg) spins on his seat at the lobby bar. "Oh. There he is. We're back to full strength," DiRossi says as he gets up to greet Ace and take him to his office, "So how you doin', Ace?" Nick asks, keeping his arms around Bernstein to guide him. "Great. You're doing real well," Ace comments, surveying the surroundings. This sequence is short, but Mann directs it in an interesting fashion. Though Nick and Ace walk and talk at a normal pace, the camera whizzes by unusually fast, giving the viewer blurry glimpses of the many bottles stacked in the display case. As I said earlier that Dustin Hoffman doesn't really get a handle on who Ace is right away, one thing he does do well is establish the physical side of Ace. Note at the beginning of this scene, if you re-watch it, the way Bernstein adjusts his cuffs and collar before he enters DiRossi's building. "The club is still strong. Last year we opened Atlantic City and Miami but the jewel in the crown is a club in Macau. That club is a real draw, Ace," DiRossi tells him.
Tweet
Labels: Deadwood, Dustin Hoffman, HBO, Luck, Michael Mann, Milch, Nolte, Sinatra, TV Recap
TO READ THE FULL POST WITH COMMENTS, CLICK HERE
