Saturday, September 10, 2011
Garry called me up and asked if I would write this 25th anniversary tribute
By Edward Copeland
My memories of "It's Garry Shandling's Show." (yes, the title used quotes and a period) have always been fond ones, but have usually been of isolated moments and, of course, the hysterical opening theme song. When I started re-watching the series for this tribute, I realized that I probably hadn't seen any episodes since they originally aired. I don't remember it ever airing in syndication. Though it was heavily edited, even The Larry Sanders Show spent time in late-night syndication. So in the case of "It's Garry Shandling's Show.", that means I hadn't seen some of these episodes in 25 years (and some I'm not sure I saw the first time around). Another amazing SHOUT! Factory DVD box set not only provided the complete series but so many worthwhile extras that I felt it necessary to do two posts. Then, discussing the best episodes took up so much space that I had to split the tribute to the show's best episode into two parts, making for three total posts. This one briefly discusses the show's origin and then waxes nostalgic about my favorite moments in season one. The second post details the best of seasons two and three. The third part goes deeper into its development; the amazing behind-the-scenes talents that worked on the comedy and what shows they worked on before or after; and, more disappointingly, analyzes the show's slide in quality that began somewhere during its third season before it became an almost complete, unmitigated disaster in its fourth season — something its former writers are brutally honest about on commentary tracks. First, I celebrate what still makes me fond of "It's Garry Shandling's Show.", and what better way to begin than with that memorable theme song in a YouTube clip taken from one of the best episodes of the first season, "The Graduate."
After having success with a very funny Showtime special in January 1986 called The Garry Shandling Show 25th Anniversary Special, which pretended that Shandling had hosted a talk show for 25 years (with his sidekick Pete, played by Paul Willson, who would play Leonard Smith on "It's Garry Shandling's Show."), Shandling and original Saturday Night Live writer Alan Zweibel developed "It's Garry Shandling's Show." after friends suggested to Shandling that Zweibel would be his ideal collaborator, despite the two having never met. The only idea Shandling originally had in terms of what he wanted to do with the series was to break the fourth wall, meaning he would speak directly to the audience much in the way George Burns did on The George Burns and Gracie Allen Show. However, as they developed the show, they took the idea further than Burns ever did — through the course of the show, it wasn't just the fourth wall that would be broken, it would be the ceiling, the floor and just about everything else. It also wouldn't just be Shandling acknowledging that they were on a TV show, but all the characters and the studio audience would get to play along as well. (Though in instances when individual audience members spoke, they had to plant actors because of union rules and the fact that the person would then have to be paid.) Showtime loved the idea and agreed to a six-episode commitment of "It's Garry Shandling's Show.", with the show premiering 25 years ago today.
The first episode, "Garry Moves In," establishes the basic premise of the show. Shandling plays Garry Shandling, a fictionalized version of himself and also a standup comic, and he's moving into his new condo in Sherman Oaks, California. The division is called Happy Pilgrim Estates, (I don't recall the series ever revealing its name until an episode in the third season), though this isn't any ordinary condominium he's living in, you see, as it is set up very specifically, because Garry's life is televised (not constantly like The Truman Show, just once a week) and
everyone knows about it — in Happy Pilgrim Estates anyway, and probably Sherman Oaks, and hell, wherever they need someone to be at home watching. Shandling planned to break the fourth wall, and it was done literally as his condo only has three walls. Where the fourth wall would go, it's left wide open for the cameras, with the audience's bleachers behind them. Garry began "Garry Moves In" as he did almost all of the 72 episodes, with an opening monologue explaining that he had sold his old place for $85,000, which really angered his landlord since he had been renting. What prompted his move was a breakup with his girlfriend who moved in with another guy. We meet the core original players. His next-door neighbor happens to be his longtime platonic female friend Nancy (Molly Cheek). Also living nearby (and I'm being vague because in some episodes their home appears to be in another part of Sherman Oaks and at other times they appear to live in Happy Pilgrim Estates) is Garry's best friend Pete Schumaker (Michael Tucci), the area representative for Hush Puppies shoes, and his 12-year-old son Grant (Scott Nemes). When we meet Pete's wife Jackie in the second episode, Garry will explain that we didn't meet her in this episode because she hadn't been cast yet. Like Jackie, other ensemble members would be introduced later.In the premiere, after Garry has left for awhile, he returns home to discover that all of his belongings, which the movers had finished unpacking earlier in the day, have been stolen. "This is the ultimate insult. First my girlfriend moves in with another guy. Now my stuff moves in with another guy," Garry complains. He also has
found himself smitten with the attractive cable installer (played by Shawn Southwick, who would later marry Larry King in 1997) and has been debating whether to ask her out. There is a very funny appearance by the late character actor Jason Bernard as Officer Sweeney who investigates the burglary. He asks if the condo's former owner might still have a key, but they decide it's unlikely that Vanna White stole Garry's stuff leading to Garry imagining an episode of Wheel of Fortune where contestants, back in the days they used their winnings to buy cheap crap, instead purchased Shandling's belongings (including his lucky underwear — which are briefs with a horseshoe on the front). Officer Sweeney doesn't just give advice about home protection: He also tells Garry that he shouldn't rush into anything with the cable installer until he's completely over his ex-girlfriend. When Garry gives his closing monologue, there is a man knocking on his
patio doors. Garry explains that he is Lewis (Geoffrey Blake), however they ran out of time to introduce him in the premiere, but the audience would see more of him next week. Garry also tells him he's not sure yet if they've decided to keep his character, which seems prophetic but was probably truthful, because after those initial six episodes, Lewis disappears, never to be mentioned again. While "Garry Moves In" is pretty funny and a good start, as are the next two — "Grant Gets Broken," which does introduce Bernadette Birkett as Jackie Schumaker, and "Garry Throws a Surprise Party," which adds the late Barbara Cason to the ensemble as Garry's mom Ruth — there must be some unwritten television rule that it's the fourth episode when a new series takes off, and that was the case with "It's Garry Shandling's Show." Before we discuss that fourth episode, a couple of notes on the second and third installments, each with moments that up the show's eccentricities and increase the involvement of the studio audience. In "Grant Gets Broken," when Pete, Jackie and Nancy are discussing whether Garry is responsible enough to watch Grant while the Schumakers go on a trip, the couple wonder where he is. Nancy tells them he is hiding behind the cameraman, talking to him. In "Garry Throws a Surprise a Party," Garry is planning a surprise birthday party for his mom and he gets the entire audience in on the act so that when Ruth comes in and the lights come on, the 500 audience members join the characters in shouting, "Surprise!" Unfortunately, Ruth collapses from a heart attack. This also is the episode where we first hear that Ruth prefers to call Garry "Bubba."
That fourth episode, "Foul Ball," surprised me. Not because I enjoyed it so much or that it was the point where the series really hit its stride, but because watching it again felt as if I was seeing it for the first time. My other favorite episodes had stayed with me for the past two decades, but "Foul Ball" played as if it were a lost gem I'd missed somehow, though I don't think that can be possible as it marked Paul Willson's first appearance as Leonard Smith, the annoying president of the condo owner's association and the last of the original core ensemble. Leonard enters, as he often did, asking Garry what the story of that week's episode was going to be. When Garry informs him that he and Pete are going to take Grant and his scout troop to a baseball game, Leonard criticizes the idea and suggests that he's going in for a vasectomy, and that would make for a more riveting
episode. "Sounds like a two parter," Garry responds sarcastically. Then, in the biggest use of the audience yet, Garry invites them to come down to his condo while he's gone to the game and enjoy themselves, saying he's left snacks. Once they're gone, a woman gingerly steps on to the set and then motions for the others to join her. Soon, audience members are wrecking the place, dancing to loud music and making out on the couch until the first woman, who has been keeping watch at the patio doors, tells everyone that they are coming back and the audience hurry backs to their seats. Garry has to give them a talking to later when he learns that they also went into other condos, and some of his stuff is missing. First though, they must deal with the big concern: A foul ball came Pete's way but not only didn't he catch it, it smacked him in the face, making him a laughingstock for TV sportscasters and embarrassing Grant, who takes a ribbing from his fellow scouts. It's the first episode that's funny from beginning to end and marked its ascendancy to its own form of quirky perfection.
Following "Foul Ball" came the show's first undisputed classic and its first parody of a movie or TV show in "The Graduate." The episode starts with an unnamed network executive announcing the news that "It's Garry Shandling's Show." had been picked up for 12 more episodes, so the cast members open bottles of champagne (though I don't know why Lewis is so happy since after the next episode, he's gone) and have a mini-party, which includes Garry's mom Ruth's friend Mrs. Robertson (the late Bibi Besch). Garry, however, is having what he calls "a midseries crisis" (which you can tell from the YouTube clip at the top of his post) and lets the others celebrate while he goes to his bedroom to stare at his plastic fish and listen to the theme song. When it's over, Mrs. Robertson comes in and asks if Garry could drive her home because her husband is out of town for an indefinite period of time. He's reluctant, but she tosses her keys in the fish tank. What this means in the larger sense for the series is that this is the episode where
they introduce Garry's car, whose license plate reads IT'S GARRY SHANDLING'S CAR. In fact, throughout the course of the series, I had forgotten how many things had his possessive label on them. There were IT'S GARRY SHANDLING'S CAMERAS used to tape the series, he'll sometimes wear IT'S GARRY SHANDLING'S APRON, etc. He drives Mrs. Robertson home where he just walks into her living room through the missing wall while Mrs. Robertson unlocks her front door and enters the set that way, causing Garry to go around and enter through the door. Once inside,
Mrs. Robertson tosses her keys into her own fish tank. Soon, the seduction starts. ("I haven't felt this uncomfortable since my high school gym teacher hit on me," Garry tells us.) We get an homage to the famous shot from The Graduate where Anne Bancroft arches her leg, showing her garter to a shocked and nervous Dustin Hoffman, only in this version Garry informs the audience that we're lucky he's looking at us, given the options he has at that moment. Later, Ruth informs her son that Mrs. Robertson's daughter Elaine (Bader Howar) is coming back from Berkeley and he should ask her out. Garry always found Elaine cute, but Mrs. Robertson makes a point of warning Garry that he better not ask out Elaine or she'll tell her about them. He asks Nancy what he should do when he gets an expected visitor — Norman Fell. Fell says he was watching at home and thought that since he was in The Graduate, he might
be able to help. Garry and Nancy both express skepticism since they don't recall him in the movie and Garry asks who he played. "I was Dustin's landlord," he answers. Garry tells Fell he's confused — Fell was the landlord on Three's Company. Fell puts in the video of his scene and proves it to Garry who decides he's going to go out with Elaine anyway and they have a great time. Later though, he can't get Elaine on the phone and he drives to her house (his car breaking down on the way as you'd expect) and runs there but no one is home. He stops and asks the stage manager where Elaine is, who then checks the script and says that she is with Mrs. Robertson at Garry's place. They cut to Garry's living room where Nancy is trying to stick up for Garry and Elaine refuses to believe her mother's lies, when Garry appears at his patio doors, rapping on the glass and calling Elaine's name. As Elaine runs to him, Mrs. Robertson yells, "But he's a comic!" She tries to stop Elaine, but Nancy tackles Mrs. Robertson and Elaine goes out the patio doors and kisses Garry. Elaine asks Garry to forget about her mom: "She got burned by The Smothers Brothers." Norman Fell reappears carrying a large wooden cross, telling them that everyone in the movie got one after filming wrapped, so Garry uses it to jam the patio doors as he and Elaine drive off in the sunset. If you ever get a chance to see this episode, stay through the end credits — they save a final punchline for then as well. Flawless from beginning to end.The last of the initial six was another great one. Called "It's Garry's Problem But It's Jo-Jo's Show," it stemmed from a contest Showtime held where someone won a chance to appear on the show, only Garry got distracted by Nancy's visiting friend Morgan (Christine Kellogg) who tried to seduce everyone in sight. The final seven minutes of the episode are in this YouTube clip and pretty much sum up the highlights I would have written about. Stay through the credits.
Now, nearly all of the episodes for the remainder of the first season, all of the second and several in the third remain either wonderful examples of the show’s innovative and loony nature or at least had moments worth mentioning. However, if I devoted as much space to all of them as I’ve done to the first six, this could be the longest piece ever. (At least what little I have to say about the fourth season I’m saving for the third post.) So, from here on out, I’m going with highlights, some longer than others.
psychic cousin (Christian Clemenson of Boston Legal) makes ominous predictions about the date Nancy is set to go on in scene four, so Garry does all he can to prevent the episode from getting to that scene.
The first season finale played with the show-within-the-show concept even further. Garry, tired of being a one-dimensional comic character, decides to move to New York to play the title character in a new police drama which gives the episode its name, "Force Boxman." He invites his friends
over to watch previews for the show before he begins his cross-country drive. He doesn't sell the condo — just in case Force Boxman doesn't last — but instead sublets it to Red Buttons, which means, you guessed it, the series transforms to "It's Red Buttons' Show." The problem for the always insecure Garry, who stops at a diner as he's driving to New York, is that Red proves to be more popular in terms of both ratings and among Garry's friends. As Garry watches sadly how much Nancy, the Schumakers — even his mother — seem to enjoy being with Red, he gets so homesick that he decides to quit Force Boxman before it ever airs and rushes back to Sherman Oaks. Everyone is surprised to see him, but glad nonetheless. Garry takes Red aside and sheepishly asks if there might be a role for him on the show, but Red tells him not to be silly; this was his show to begin with, if he wants to come back. "You started it," Red says. "All I did was come in and make it funny." "It's Garry Shandling's Show." is saved to return for a second season.As I mentioned, I couldn't cover all the best in one post, so we're heading to another for seasons two and three. One first season episode I didn't mention because it was one of the weaker ones, "Sarah," did have another great moment that played with the medium, so that's where the art below comes from. As Garry ends his closing monologue, comedian Blake Clark enters through the patio doors in fatigues with a rifle and says he's there to kill Garry. The picture freezes as you see below with the words TO BE CONTINUED, until Garry breaks the freeze and says that they can't stretch this show's story over another episode and that it's not like he's going to be killed because that would end the show. But in the case of this post, the TO BE CONTINUED is accurate.
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Bancroft, Curb Your Enthusiasm, Dustin Hoffman, Larry Sanders, R. Reiner, Shandling, TV Tribute, Twin Peaks
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Friday, August 26, 2011
Anhedonia
By Edward Copeland
Most film aficionados know that Anhedonia was Woody Allen's original choice for the title of Annie Hall. This isn't to imply that the British comedy (and I use the term comedy loosely) Swinging With the Finkels, which played across the U.K. last year and receives a limited U.S. release beginning today, approaches Allen's masterwork in terms of quality but simply that the definition of anhedonia fits Swinging With the Finkels rather well. For those unfamiliar with its meaning, anhedonia is the clinical term for the inability to experience pleasure and trust me, you won't be deriving anything pleasing from this movie that apes all the greater films writer-director-star Martin Freeman obviously loves but doesn't comes close to eliciting even a smile with its cinematic kleptomania.
Freeman, who recently portrayed Dr. Watson in the well-received television miniseries Sherlock Holmes and will star as Bilbo Baggins in Peter Jackson's two-film adaptation of The Hobbit, must hold a special place in his heart for Woody Allen's best films because he certainly tries to imitate them in Swinging With the Finkels. He divides the film with black-and-white-title cards à la Hannah and Her Sisters (even if Woody himself was taking that from Ingmar Bergman's Scenes From a Marriage), there are elements reminiscent of Husbands and Wives and he even goes so far as to film a scene where a couple shares a romantic moment on a park bench against a beautiful sky, only in color instead of black-and-white as in Manhattan. Newman does show that he's doesn't steal from a single filmmaker — he swipes from Rob Reiner's When Harry Met Sally as well (though he's taking more from Nora Ephron's script than Reiner's direction).
Perusing Newman's credits as a writer-director, it would appear that he's also recycling himself because in 2008 he wrote and directed a film called Sex With the Finkels, only it had an entirely different cast though the plot sounds the same and includes characters with the same names such as "Toe Jam Man." If at first you don't succeed, fail, fail again I suppose.
Newman stars in Swinging With the Finkels as Alvin Finkel, (He even had to have a name similar to Allen's character of Alvy from Annie Hall? Oh boy.) who after nine years of marriage with his wife Ellie (Mandy Moore) finds that the spark has seemed to have gone out. Alvin's best friend Peter (Jonathan Silverman) and his wife Janet (Melissa George) are going through similar problems, though they've been wed longer and the introduction of their children into their relationship have dimmed their flame.
The two couples raised several questions for me, namely how Brit Alvin ended up with both an American wife and an American best friend who has a thriving dental practice in London. I assume Janet is supposed to be British though George herself is Australian. There also is the issue of age disparities. Flashbacks imply that Alvin and Ellie met at college and once a picture of Alvin's hairstyle at that time is dated as 1994 (when in real life Mandy Moore would have been 10.) The film never goes to the trouble of saying how old anyone is supposed to be but the 27-year-old Moore is supposed to be in her ninth year of marriage to the 38-year-old Newman whose best friend is the 45-year-old Silverman? Of course, if anything else in the movie worked my mind wouldn't have started wandering to silly details such as these.
Using the black-and-white title cards, most of the film plays as blackout sketches, so there isn't any chance for character development on anyone's part. As a result, the viewer has no vested interested in what happens to either marriage. The movie also can't settle on what type of comedy it wants to be. Occasionally, it aims for more sophisticated types of humor, then it will try to get laughs off drinks with naughty names. When Alvin and Ellie make the decision to interview couples to see if spouse swapping will revitalize their marriage, we get the expected series of silly couples. The only things all the different humor styles have in common is that as scripted by Newman, they all land with a thud. It makes you grateful at times that the musical score by Mark Thomas steps on so much of the dialogue, sparing you from at least some of the bad jokes.
The absolute worst moments come when the film tries to step into material that might be too lowbrow for the American Pie movies. A guest at a New Year's Eve party mistakes cat food for a dip and, when he learns what it is, continues to eat it. Janet carries on a conversation with Ellie while lactating and saving her breast milk into bottles. She asks Ellie if she would like a taste and proceeds to drink some herself.
The movie's low point though has to come when Alvin goes to the airport to pick up Ellie's grandparents, Mr. and Mrs. Winters (Jerry Stiller and Beverley Klein). Ellie thinks that she'll be alone long enough to experiment with self-gratification through vegetables. Guess who arrives home sooner than expected! If you think I'm being too hard on Swinging With the Finkels and visualizing Jerry Stiller getting hit in the nuts with a lubricated cucumber makes you laugh, maybe this is your type of film.
For me, after enduring what has to be one of the longest 85 minute periods of my life watching Swinging With the Finkels, I just felt like bellowing the mantra of Stiller's character Frank Costanza from Seinfeld: SERENITY NOW!
Tweet
Labels: 10s, Books, Ingmar Bergman, Peter Jackson, R. Reiner, Seinfeld, Television, Woody
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Those were the days
By Edward Copeland
Forty years ago tonight, CBS put extra operators in place at switchboards across the United States, anticipating the commotion that would rock the world when a new situation comedy called All in the Family made its debut. With its lead character, a loudmouth, blue-collar bigot in constant conflict with his liberal son-in-law, and broaching prejudice and other touchy topics, the network feared that they wouldn't hear the end of it. Surprisingly, most of the calls they received were favorable, Archie Bunker became a household name and new ground was broken on what could be discussed on a network television series. Unfortunately, when you scan across the dial today, I fear that much of that ground has been lost and a series such as Norman Lear's American take on the British comedy Till Death Do Us Part would never make the network air today.
When All in the Family debuted, its immediate lead-in, unbelievably, was the country music variety series Hee-Haw. Before we "Meet the Bunkers" (the title of the first episode), CBS placed a note on the screen that read as follows:
"The program you are about to see is All in the Family. It attempts to throw a humorous spotlight on our frailties, prejudices and concerns. By making them a source of laughter, we hope to show — in a mature fashion — just how absurd they are."
Then viewers were treated to that familiar opening number, re-shot several times over the years as the characters and actors aged, of Carroll O'Connor and Jean Stapleton as Archie and Edith Bunker sitting at the piano and warbling the words to "Those Were the Days."
songs that made the hit parade,
guys like us we had it made,
those were the days.
And you knew where you were then,
girls were girls and men were men,
mister we could use a man like Herbert Hoover again.
Didn't need no welfare state,
everybody pulled his weight,
gee our old Lasalle ran great,
those were the days!"
There were other verses, but those were the ones audiences would come to know. Something I'd long forgotten until I started re-watching episodes for this piece is that this song was written by composer Charles Strouse and lyricist Lee Adams, the team best known for the Broadway musicals Bye Bye Birdie and Annie, among many others. Strouse even composed some film scores solo including Bonnie and Clyde and Ishtar. Strouse also scored the movie The Night They Raided Minsky's, which was co-written and produced by Norman Lear, the mastermind who brought All in the Family to the small screen.
For such nervous executives, All in the Family had an extraordinarily long and fruitful run of nine seasons and 201 episodes and that doesn't count its mutation into the four-season, 97 episode run of Archie Bunker's Place. It, alongside other 1970s hits Happy Days and The Mary Tyler Moore Show, proved extraordinarily successful when it came to spinning off characters into their own series. All in the Family begat Maude (which itself begat Good Times), The Jeffersons (which begat the short-lived Florence spinoff Checking In) and, even though they were less successful or downright flops, a much later series called Gloria and a brief one called 704 Hauser Street, which only took place in the same house in which the Bunkers had lived but was now occupied by an African-American family with a old-style liberal father (John Amos) clashing with his conservative college-age son.
Since it began midseason, that first season had a mere 13 episodes and, as still is the case with most shows today, it usually takes a few episodes for a new series to find its sea legs. Various reference sources will give you different titles for some of the episodes. The episode titles on the DVD won't necessarily match those in the book Archie & Edith, Mike & Gloria by Donna McCrohan or the IMDb or episode guides Web site. Regardless of its title, having re-watched the entire first season (time constraints prevented me from re-visiting all the episodes (at least that's my excuse for avoiding the Danielle Brisebois season), the fourth episode, which I'll call "Judging Books By Covers," is the episode when they really had all the cylinders humming. Archie finds himself annoyed when Mike's flamboyant friend Roger (Anthony Geary in his pre-General Hospital days) visits and Archie assumes by his dress and the way he carries himself that Roger
must be gay, despite Mike and Gloria's insistence that he's straight. Archie finally seeks refuge at his favorite place of refuge, Kelsey's Bar, where he gets to hang with his old friend and former football star Steve (the late Phil Carey, in his pre-One Life to Live days) who now runs a photography store and knows Roger through it. When Mike and Roger drop by, Kelsey (Don Hastings) pulls Mike aside just to be reassured that Roger isn't gay, because he doesn't want Kelsey's to become known as one of those bars because Steve is gay, even though Archie is utterly clueless about it. Eventually, Mike and Archie argue and Mike blurts out the truth and Archie sees Steve again and is laughing, saying that Steve will want to sock Mike for what he said about him. Then Steve tells Archie that it's true and turns Archie's world asunder. It's a landmark episode. Compare it to the very funny first season Cheers episode "The Boys in the Bar," where rumors of gay men frequenting the bar prompt fears that the whole bar could go gay. It's a very good episode and while there is an element of homophobia addressed, less than 11 years after "Judging Books By Covers," it's a sort of defanged homophobia, afraid to push the boundaries of hate and ignorance that dwells beneath.Despite the expected controversy, All in the Family did not become a ratings juggernaut during its initial run and it wasn't even certain that a renewal was in the offing. Critical reaction was mixed. Some thought it was endorsing Archie's prejudice, while others felt it was soft-pedaling it by having him use "softer" epithets for various groups instead of harsher terms. Still, as the series stayed on, its numbers grew and at the Emmys
(which actually were held in May back then), it picked up outstanding comedy series and outstanding actress in a comedy series for Jean Stapleton as well as the defunct Emmy category of outstanding new series. When the 13 episodes were rerun during the summer, its numbers skyrocketed and by the time of its second season premiere in September, it was the No. 1 rated series on television. It stayed at the top or near the top for most of the rest of its run and retained much Emmy love. The following year, it practically swept the Emmys, winning series, actor (O'Connor), actress (Stapleton), supporting actress (Sally Struthers in a tie with Valerie Harper for The Mary Tyler Moore Show), writing (for "Edith's Problem") and directing for the classic "Sammy's Visit" when none other than Sammy Davis Jr. winds up in Archie Bunker's living room. Over the course of its nine seasons, it won four Emmys for comedy series, O'Connor won four times, Stapleton won three times, Rob Reiner and Struthers each won twice, it won three times for writing and twice for direction.What remains astounding though are the topics that it worked so openly into conversation as part of an overriding story. Sex probably is the only topic the networks still feel safe in touching in the same way.
Are there any other open atheists on network television now other than Dr. Gregory House since Dr. Perry Cox and Scrubs left the air? When there was a report that The Simpsons discussed religion more than any other series, there was more truth in that than you know. Certainly, no series would attempt an episode such as All in the Family did when Archie, concerned that his new grandson's soul was doomed because of nonbelieving father Mike, sneaked the infant to a church to perform his own baptism. Nor would they tackle the loss of faith the truly religious Edith faced when their friend, the cross-dressing Beverly LaSalle, was murdered. (Archie, for all his bluster about about the Bible and his misquoting of it, seldom actually attended a service.) Vietnam came up in the Bunker household far more often and earlier than it got any serious treatment in films. Once again, Scrubs was one of the few recent series to touch on that sort of subject when it had an episode where the staff took sides on the Iraq war. Of course, the topic that came up the most frequently was Archie's bigotry, but the secret is that Archie doesn't know that he's a bigot. When he and Edith sing "Those Were the Days," they are referring to the Great
Depression and World War II, back when Bunker thought the future would be great and before he realized that his blue-collar life would be a struggle. He would never be the type to burn a cross, though he'd sign petitions to try to keep blacks and Jews out of his neighborhood. In fact, when a chapter of the Ku Klux Klan comes to Queens and sees Archie as a potential recruit, they want him to pressure Mike by burning a cross on Stivic's lawn because Mike wrote a letter to a newspaper that the racists didn't agree with. Archie, in one of those rare moments of being on the right (as in correct) side of things, stands up for Mike, refusing to aid them or join them, telling them he's part black because he once received a blood transfusion from a black person, meaning he wasn't "pure white." In the episode that more or less served as a pseudo-pilot for The Jeffersons, The Bunkers and the Stivics attend an engagement party for Lionel (Mike Evans) and Jennie (though Jennie and her parents are all played by different actors than the ones who would play them in The Jeffersons) where George (Sherman Hemsley) learns for the first time that Jennie is the product of a mixed marriage. Being as prejudiced against whites as Archie is against blacks, George stirs up a hornet's nest to the point that Tom and Helen Willis start arguing. George is the first person in the series to use the 'N' word when he suggests that Tom will call Helen that at any moment as Archie proudly makes an aside to Edith that he hasn't used that word in years.
Part of the show's brilliance was that it didn't fall into the trap of always making Mike the voice of reason either. You could see that he had his own prejudices, such as in the episode when Gloria gets into women's lib and he tries to explain to her, "I believe in total equality but it can only come about when you admit your total inequality." When two unmarried hippie friends of Mike and Gloria come by and ask to stay, Archie has a conniption over their lack of a marriage license and the Stivics side with their friends for a while, until the girl, who chooses not to communicate with words, finally gets on their nerves as well with her intransigence over proposed compromises. Mike also can be so self-righteous that he can shock himself when, while playing a Scruples-like game, Lionel wishes Mike treated him more as a friend than as a spokesman for the black race and Mike storms out of the room. Archie also gets to goad him when Mike loses a teaching position to an equally qualified black candidate, which Mike at first finds unfair but eventually comes to accept.
It's truly amazing, considering that All in the Family at its core was a comedy, the number of topics it touched upon during its nine season run. In fact, remove the live studio audience, and you at times could call it TV's first dramedy. Here's a cursory list of subjects culled from perusing the episode guide: homophobia, miscarriages, premarital sex, keeping neghborhoods racially and ethnically pure, job layoffs, women's liberation, disliked relatives who die during visits, impotence, loss of home insurance, choosing which employee to fire, menopause, gun control, swingers, hate crimes, vigilantism, returning to high school, attempted rape, menstrual cycles, gambling addiction, Vietnam, Watergate, defining pornography, breast cancer, the mentally challenged, mixed-race couples, striking unions, adultery, transvestites, medical costs, vasectomies, draft dodging, after death revelations, the Ku Klux Klan, pill addiction, crises of faith and end of life care. However, it wasn't just the mentioning or tackling of these topics that set it apart, it was part of a trend among many sitcoms in the 1970s where, while they certainly earned their laughs, they weren't afraid of genuine emotion either. All in the Family paved the way for the serious moments on non-Norman Lear shows such as Henry Blake's death on M*A*S*H, many moments on Soap and episodes such as The Who concert on WKRP in Cincinnati.
Those emotional moments on All in the Family could be its strongest ones, topping the laughs. Seeing Archie's tender side when Gloria loses the baby. Edith explaining to Mike what he should have been bright enough to see already: That Archie's frustration with him doesn't stem as much from what he stands for as from the chances he has that Archie never did, having had to quit high school to support his family before serving in World War II and then moving immediately into unsatisfying blue collar work. Then there was that moment, the moment at the end of the eighth season (when the series really should have ended gracefully) as the Stivics moved to California and off the show, and Mike admits to Archie that he knows he always thought he hated him, but he didn't. He loved him and was like a father to him and Archie did his best to stay stoic, adding that he was like a son, he never did listen to anything he said.
ARCHIE: Maybe so, but I make a lot of sense.
Still, that central conflict between Archie and Mike (or Archie and just about anyone) powered most episodes and the series, in the most entertaining way possible, showing the audience the error of Archie's ways even if Archie himself remained oblivious. Imagine if the networks had the guts to air a series with an Archie Bunker
equivalent today (and they wouldn't) and he was an ignorant Birther, being easily debunked by his son-in-law? It's hard to imagine since the national discourse has become so coarsened that many elected officials make statements that come off making Bunker sound like a beacon of reason. In many respects, with the amount of misinformation on all sorts of subjects that enter the national bloodstream, America is almost malnourished for a program of that sort that entertains large audiences and manages to show them things they didn't know without making it painful. Then again, is it too late? Since what passes for television news has been destroyed and divided into camps, would anyone already leaning to one side of the political spectrum or the other give such a series a chance? If we lack anything, it's tolerance and understanding of other points of view, but in today's political climate, that's viewed as a weakness worthy of excommunication from the party of your preference.
Forget the issues. Forget the ground that was broken. Forget that you actually heard the flush of an upstairs toilet (which occurred for the first time in the 12th episode). What All in the Family did really well and did often was make us laugh with a plethora of classic episodes. One of my personal favorites, "The Bunkers Meets the Swingers," came in the third season. Edith, feeling lonely since Gloria has gone to work answers an ad for a couple seeking friendship, not realizing that the ad is for spouse swapping. The swinging couple, delightfully played by Vincent Gardenia and Rue McClanahan, come over expecting something quite different than Edith is and the miscommunication between all the various
characters (even Isabel Sanford's Louise Jefferson stumbles upon the situation) makes for one of the series most hilarious episodes. Gardenia must have been a true casting favorite as he played three different characters over the course of the series: The neighbor who moves and sells his home to the Jeffersons in the first season, telling Archie that he's tired of hating people; the wife swapper in this episode and later the recurring character of Frank Lorenzo, the proud Italian husband of Irene Lorenzo (the great Betty Garrett). The show would never have been able to make its points if it hadn't been as funny as it was — and this was smart, character-driven comedy, not just waiting for the punchline to a gag. The reason it was so successful at this was because its casting was so peerless from the starring quartet to all the other characters who ventured in and out of the Bunker living room throughout the years. The true genius though lay in the four actors Norman Lear and his collaborators tapped as the regulars to bring life to these iconic characters.
Sally Struthers hasn't had much to show in her post-All in the Family career beyond being lampooned for her weight gain on South Park and her commercials for starving African children, but when you catch a rerun you remember what a talent she was as Gloria Bunker Stivic. Her comic timing excelled as her character displayed equal parts Edith and Archie at times while she tried to stay true to her husband Mike's points-of-view (except when they turned out to be as pigheaded as her dad's). It's also wild to watch the various hairstyles that would top Gloria's head over the years, especially when she practically resembled an overgrown Shirley Temple in the Mike and Gloria flashback episode. It's telling that though three out of the four characters were tempted to stray during the course of the series that it was only Gloria who actually broke her wedding vows and cheated on Mike, prompting Archie to unbelievably say that Mike was too good for her when he learned of it.
Rob Reiner's career, unlike Struthers', has flourished since he left Meathead behind, though he's largely abandoned his life in front of the camera for one behind it. While it's been some time since he's directed a feature of really great worth, he began with a great run that included This Is Spinal Tap!, The Sure Thing,
Stand By Me and The Princess Bride. It's a bit of a shame he doesn't act more, because when he does venture on screen, such as in Woody Allen's Bullets Over Broadway, he hasn't lost that comedic knack that he no doubt inherited genetically from his brilliant father Carl. While he got to show all sides as Michael Stivic, he may have had the best gift for the double take of anyone in the talented ensemble. Though he was only 22 when he began playing Mike, he had to grow the mustache because he was thought to look too young to be believable otherwise. I don't know if that would have been true, because I think his talent would have saved the day. He never directed on All in the Family, but he did get the chance to write, including many of their best episodes starting with the first season's "Mike's Hippie Friends Come to Visit" and both flashback episodes to Mike and Gloria's wedding and Mike and Archie's first meeting. His writing extended beyond his own show. He also penned a script for Happy Days and before All in the Family was even on the air he was a staff writer for The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour, so controversial television came naturally to him.Archie may have called Edith a dingbat, but Jean Stapleton didn't particularly play her that way, at least in the early episodes as the show was gaining its footing. At first, Edith seems more as if she's in a fog than she's particularly dim, even showing a slight bit of dull cynicism at times. It's over the course of that first season
and especially later that the Edith Bunker that America came to love really blossomed into full fruition, not only as someone who missed the point of things but more importantly as the Bunker household's source of essential sweetness and goodness. As the series went on, we also got to see more sides of Edith. Gloria may have accused her mother once of just being there for Archie to abuse (psychologically at least) and worse, but there was more steel in that spine than Edith usually showed, especially in "Edith's 50th Birthday" when she fended off a would-be rapist. Stapleton also had a career that extended beyond this series and dates back to lots of episodic television beginning in the 1950s. The same year All in the Family debuted, she had a brief but memorable role in the movie Klute. She often appeared in television movies, including playing Eleanor Roosevelt in 1982's Eleanor, First Lady of the World. She has occasionally popped up on the big screen in her later years in films such as Michael and You've Got Mail.Then there was Carroll O'Connor as Archie Bunker. There really are just a handful of television characters that can truly be called a monumentally successful integration of the actor and the role and O'Connor and Archie belongs near the top of the list, even though the politics of the real-life O'Connor couldn't have been more
divergent from that of the role that ensured his status as a television icon. Like Jean Stapleton, O'Connor's career really began as he kicked around episodic TV in the 1950s and the 1960s. He also did land some feature work in films such as Otto Preminger's In Harm's Way, Blake Edwards' What Did You Do in the War, Daddy?, the dreadfully dull epic Hawaii, John Boorman's Point Blank and as part of the large cast of Kelly's Heroes starring Clint Eastwood, all of which were released before All in the Family hit the airwaves. Unlike the other members of the Bunker-Stivic quartet, O'Connor had another hit series after All in the Family in the television version of the movie In the Heat of the Night and it brought O'Connor another Emmy, this time in the drama category. The year before he died in 2001, he had a prominent supporting role in the film Return to Me starring David Duchovny and Minnie Driver and directed and co-written by the wonderful Bonnie Hunt.Still, Archie Bunker always will be the role that lasts. In fact, you can almost draw a straight line between three of television's most indelible characters that all were similarly linked between actor and role. It began
with Jackie Gleason's Ralph Kramden on The Honeymooners, a blue collar ancestor to Archie without the prejudice. Kramden dreamed and schemed to try to make himself better much in the way Bunker always wanted to find a way for a quick buck. The crucial difference between the two was that Ralph still believed it could happen; Archie had been disillusioned to the point that he leaped when he could, even if it meant attempting outright fraud. That disillusionment fed his prejudices and resentments. He had to quit high school, he fought for his country and he once believed that he would be rewarded for those selfless acts only to learn a more harrowing truth. The character who in a warped way fulfilled Archie's dreams was James Gandolfini as Tony Soprano on The Sopranos, though he did do it through outright fraud — and worse — but he got rich, supported his family (while being unfaithful to them) and, unfortunately, hung on to Bunker's bigotry. It would be interesting to see what Archie Bunker would make of Tony Soprano, him being a "wop" and all. It's also fascinating to look at the three partners of these men. Alice Kramden never took any crap from Ralph and Carmela Soprano would stand up to
Tony, though she enjoyed the fruits of his crimes. In between the two was the sweet one, Edith, who could be a doormat, but really was the spouse who kept her husband the most grounded. Archie may have wanted her to stifle herself, but he'd never threaten to send her to the moon and though he may have been tempted to stray once, he could never cheat on Edith even once, let alone constantly the way Tony did to Carmela. Archie and Edith Bunker were and are a pair for the ages. Norman Lear did television and America a great service with his 1970s comedies (and he still aids American history when he takes a copy of the actual U.S. Constitution on tour). All in the Family may have been based on a British show, but Lear made it distinctly his own and America's own. He created a comedy that not only fulfilled the requirement for being uproariously funny, but was downright challenging. It also served a function that seems to be lost a little more with each passing day: the art of conversation. There still are so-called water cooler shows, but few exist on broadcast television where the lowest common denominator reigns supreme. All in the Family became such an American institution that it was rightly recognized as such. That's why Archie's fabled chair sits alongside Edith's and the table that rested between them in The Smithsonian Institution.
Tweet
Labels: 70s, Awards, Blake Edwards, C. Reiner, Eastwood, Gandolfini, House, Musicals, N. Lear, Preminger, R. Reiner, South Park, The Simpsons, The Sopranos, Theater, TV Tribute, Woody
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Friday, September 24, 2010
“Oscar, Oscar, Oscar…”
By Ivan G. Shreve, Jr.
On November 13, Felix Unger was asked to remove himself from his place of residence…that request came from his wife. Deep down, he knew she was right, but he also knew that some day he would return to her. With nowhere else to go, he appeared at the home of his friend, Oscar Madison. Several years earlier, Madison's wife had thrown him out, requesting that he never return. Can two divorced men share an apartment without driving each other crazy?
Forty years ago on this date, that question was first posed to television viewers on a Thursday evening at 9:30 p.m. Eastern. And decades later, the answer remains the same…no!
Actually, the now-famous opening narration wouldn’t turn up until midway through The Odd Couple’s first season…and the only reason why it was added is because the suits at ABC were nervous that viewers would think Oscar (Jack Klugman) and Felix (Tony Randall)…were homosexuals. So the history behind their sharing common quarters was added by producers Garry Marshall and Jerry Belson—because the only other alternative, as Marshall noted in commentary for the first season’s DVD release, would have been to add lyrics to Neal Hefti’s memorable theme music explaining the show’s premise, a la The Beverly Hillbillies. (There are actual lyrics to the theme, by the way — written by veteran tunesmith Sammy Cahn.)
ABC probably had a right to be concerned — Couple star Randall used to tell an anecdote about an encounter he had with a cab driver who drove him and his wife home from the airport…and the cabbie wanted to know who the woman was with Randall. When the actor explained to the man that the lady was Mrs. Randall, the hack was incredulous. “I always thought that…you and Oscar were…you know…”
Though sources differ as to just exactly how The Odd Couple first came into shape (one source suggests the inspiration came from Neil Simon’s one-time writing colleague, Mel Brooks), the consensus is that veteran scribe Simon came up with the idea for the two mismatched roommates after hearing stories about the living arrangements between his brother Danny and a theatrical agent named Roy Gerber — both of whom had recently been divorced. It was Danny who took first crack at the potential play, but then handed it off to Neil, who would see his creation premiere on Broadway on March 10, 1965 under the direction of Mike Nichols…and with Art Carney and Walter Matthau in the now-iconic roles of news writer Felix Ungar (later changed to Unger for the TV series — with Felix’s occupation also changed as well) and sportswriter Oscar Madison, respectively. Couple was a bona fide smash, running for 964 performances (plus two previews) and copping a Tony nomination for best play.
A year after Couple’s Broadway swan song, Paramount Pictures released a feature film adapted from the play in which Matthau reprised his stage role as Oscar but was partnered up with his The Fortune Cookie co-star Jack Lemmon as Felix (Carney turned the movie role down). (John Fiedler [Vinnie], Monica Evans [Cecily Pigeon] and Carole Shelley [Gwendolyn Pigeon] also transitioned to the film version.) The Couple film was a critical and financial hit, earning creator Simon an Academy Award nomination for best adapted screenplay. Paramount then decided that Couple would be ideal for the small screen, and commissioned veteran Dick Van Dyke Show writers Marshall and Belson to develop and produce the sitcom for a fall 1970 premiere. Dean Martin and stage vet Carney were both considered for the role of Felix but the producers were able to land Randall for the part despite his reservations about getting back into television (his previous experience had been on the vintage TV classic Mister Peepers). It was thought that either Martin Balsam or Mickey Rooney would play Oscar (Randall was in favor of Rooney) but after Marshall saw Klugman in a performance of Gypsy he had to have him…and in fact, had to lobby the network heavily to get Jack because the actor was known more for dramatic roles than comedy.
Marshall and Belson kept most of the elements from the stage play intact in the show’s first season — even hiring Evans and Shelley to once again reprise their roles as the Pigeon sisters, and scripting episodes around the subject of Oscar’s now-famous weekly poker games with fellow players Speed (Garry Walberg), Roy (Ryan McDonald), Vinnie (Larry Gelman) and Murray (Al Molinaro). But the two men also made a few changes here and there — on TV, Felix was now a photographer (“Portraits a specialty!”) and his ex-wife (Janis Hansen, who became a semi-regular in season two) was Gloria where it had been “Frances” in the play and film. (Oscar’s son “Brucey” from the play/film vanished from the boob tube adaptation as well.) When Couple first premiered on the small screen, the opening title read Neil Simon’s The Odd Couple — but Simon blanched at this: he wasn’t associated with the show, and was reticent about having his name on a property without being able to vouch for the quality of the scripts. (Later, Simon became a more enthusiastic fan, even agreeing to appear in a cameo in one episode) So the show became just The Odd Couple (again by mid-season)…although Simon still continued to receive credit for the creation with a “Based on the play by” acknowledgment in the opening titles.
In its first season, Couple was a huge critical hit…but its ratings were painfully anemic. ABC moved the series to Friday nights in January of 1971, which helped some, enabling the show to become part of the network’s popular lineup that also included The Brady Bunch, The Partridge Family, Room 222 and Love, American Style. Truth be told, The Odd Couple was never much of a ratings contender — it never ranked among the Top 25 shows for any season, and it ping-ponged around various time slots during its five-year run — in fact, the network would cancel the show after every season…only to give it a last-minute reprieve by fall on the basis of its strong showing in summer reruns. Also giving the show an assist in its attempts to stay on the air were the Emmys won by its stars during its run — Klugman copped the Best Actor in a Comedy Series trophy in 1971 and 1973, and Randall in the show’s final year, 1975 (in which he joked he no longer had a job).
But the biggest boon to Couple was the decision to switch from a one-camera format to three cameras at the start of the second season. Tony Randall went on any show that would have him as a guest during the series’ freshman year to complain how much he despised Couple’s use of a laugh track…and beseeching fans of the show to write to ABC to voice their opinion as well. Producers Marshall and Belson finally agreed with the show’s stars to film in front of a live audience after both Randall and Klugman touted their extensive theater experience, and the show improved tenfold as a result. The support of a live audience sharpened the two actors’ performances, and also provided them with the opportunities to both wildly improvise and ad-lib.
By its sophomore season, writer-producer Marshall (Belson had sort of taken a back seat by that time, though still employed as an “executive consultant”) began experimenting with adding new characters — a steady girlfriend for Oscar in the form of Dr. Nancy Cunningham (Joan Hotchkis), though she had first appeared in Season One, and semi-regular appearances from Felix and Oscar’s ex-wives, Gloria and Blanche. (Blanche was played by Jack Klugman’s real-life wife, Brett Somers — the couple would later separate but unlike their TV counterparts, never divorced.) There were occasional visits from Felix’s son Leonard (played by both future teen heartthrobs Willie Aames and Leif Garrett) and daughter Edna (played at times by Pamelyn Ferdin and Doney Oatman)…and although Felix was making a valiant effort to reconcile with Gloria, he also found time to date Dr. Miriam Welby, played by Elinor Donahue and introduced at the start of season three. (The “Welby” was a wink to Donahue’s former Father Knows Best pop, Robert Young, then starring on the network's Marcus Welby, M.D..) Viewers were also introduced to Oscar’s secretary, Myrna Turner…played fortuitously by the producer’s sister Penny in another example of how there’s no place like Hollywood for rank nepotism. (Marshall left Couple at the end of Season Four after landing a plum assignment on a failed sitcom, Paul Sand in Friends and Lovers. Her Myrna character got married to a boyfriend named Sheldon in the fifth-season opener…played by Marshall’s real-life spouse at the time, Rob Reiner.)
The Odd Couple became a classic sitcom due mainly to its bare-bones simple premise of contrast — the constant cultural clash between fastidious neat freak (you could make an argument that the character was one of TV’s first afflicted with OCD) Felix and irresponsible slob Oscar. The two characters had the same chemistry as other memorable comedy teams from the past, like Laurel & Hardy, Lucy & Ethel and Ralph Kramden & Ed Norton. Sure, they got on each other’s nerves and quarreled constantly — but deep down, there was no denying the genuine friendship and affection Felix and Oscar had for one another. Part of it was acting, of course — and part of it was a mutual respect that actors Randall and Klugman shared…when Jack won his first acting Emmy for the show, he acknowledged Randall’s contribution by wryly observing that “the neat half is yours.” (Klugman later lamented the fact that he never fully expressed how much Randall’s friendship meant to him in a 2005 book entitled Tony and Me.)
Both Randall and Klugman transcended the simplicity of their roles by adding facets of their real-life personalities to the characters as well. Randall’s famous prickliness also included a love of ballet and opera, and Couple occasionally constructed episodes around these two passions, spotlighting guest stars like Richard Fredericks, Marilyn Horne and Edward Villella. Klugman — a self-confessed sports nut and compulsive gambler — also got his pick of guests from the sports world, notably personalities such as Howard Cosell (who was introduced as Oscar’s nemesis), Deacon Jones, Bobby Riggs and Bubba Smith. Many of the classic moments on Couple involved big-name guest celebrities—like the time Felix and Oscar partnered for TV’s Password, a classic episode that featured host Allen Ludden and his real-life spouse Betty White. The two men also appeared on Let’s Make a Deal on another occasion, trying to win Felix a new bed from host Monty Hall (Oscar’s old college chum). Other eclectic notables to guest on Couple included Dick Clark, Wolfman Jack, Hugh Hefner, Jaye P. Morgan, Dick Cavett, Paul Williams and Richard Dawson.
After five years on ABC, the network decided to give Unger and Madison their walking papers — which is why The Odd Couple was one of the rare series able to tie up “loose ends” with a justly famous finale that found Felix and Gloria reconciling and Oscar without a roommate for the first time in a half a decade. Though they would occasionally revisit their roles in television commercials (notably for Yoplait and Eagle Snacks) and on stage, Randall and Klugman wouldn’t officially reunite as Felix and Oscar on television until 1993 for The Odd Couple: Together Again — a project that has almost as many supporters among Couple fans as detractors. After the series’ cancellation, the format was adopted for other boob tube vehicles: there was a cartoon version entitled The Oddball Couple (1975-77; with the voices of Frank Nelson and Paul Winchell) and a “black” version known as The New Odd Couple (1982-83), with Ron Glass and Demond Wilson in the Felix and Oscar roles. Neil Simon found Couple durable enough to try a stage version in 1985 with a gender switch — The Female Odd Couple, starring “Florence” Ungar and “Olive” Madison. Simon even concocted a 1998 sequel to the 1968 film adaptation, a critical and financial flop despite the presence of original stars Jack Lemmon and Walter Matthau.
As a television-obsessed child growing up in the '70s, I was fortunate to be able to see The Odd Couple both during its original network run and its subsequent re-popularity via syndication. While the show has been made available on DVD (disappointingly — but that’s a post for another day) it’s a shame that no cable network exists to provide a home for its timeless comedy. But the wonderful thing is in that revisiting some of the episodes for this essay, I found myself laughing longer and harder than I have in quite some time — and on this 40th anniversary of a true television classic, I just want to thank all the people responsible for providing me and millions of other devoted fans a lifetime of laughter.
Ivan G. Shreve, Jr. blogs at Thrilling Days of Yesteryear…and his favorite dessert, like Oscar Madison’s, is Boston cream pie.
Tweet
Labels: 70s, Awards, Lemmon, Matthau, Neil Simon, Nichols, Oscars, R. Reiner, Theater, Tony Randall, TV Tribute
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Saturday, June 05, 2010
From the Vault: Bullets Over Broadway
The arc of the story in Woody Allen's Bullets Over Broadway builds slowly into one of the cleverest plots the filmmaker has invented. Similar in spirit to last year's buoyant Manhattan Murder Mystery, Bullets tells an entertaining period piece about what happens when the worlds of gangsters, artists and theater folk collide in 1920s New York.
John Cusack stars as Daniel Shayne, a budding would-be Eugene O'Neill trying desperately to get his latest play staged on Broadway. His producer (Jack Warden) finally secures financial backing but it comes with a catch — Shayne must compromise his artistic integrity by allowing the untalented mistress (Jennifer Tilly) of the mob-connected moneyman (Joe Viterelli) to act in the show.
The twists and the slow climb that the script by Allen and Douglas McGrath take are integral to the story's enjoyment, so it's best to refrain from any further plot description.
The performances sparkle across the board, especially Chazz Palminteri as an underworld thug who keeps tab on the mistress and injects his two cents into the play's revisions and Dianne Wiest, who creates a great comic character as a fading theatrical legend.
What's so welcome about Bullets Over Broadway is that Allen uses more subtlety as he pontificates about many familiar themes than he's shown in years.
Bullets also manages to be funny as hell. It boasts a stellar supporting cast including Rob Reiner, Jim Broadbent and Tracey Ullman in addition to those mentioned above.
After a couple of retreads and one big misfire, it's reassuring to see Allen back on solid footing, especially in such a clever, funny package.
Tweet
Labels: 90s, Broadbent, Jack Warden, O'Neill, R. Reiner, Wiest, Woody
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
A celebration of storytelling
Peter Falk as The Grandfather in The Princess Bride
By Edward CopelandWhen I first saw The Princess Bride when it was released 20 years ago (to the day as a matter of fact), I really liked it. My affection for the film has only grown over the years and it has risen higher and higher in my esteem, a tough task given what a great film year 1987 was. (My 10 best list for that year also included Broadcast News, Full Metal Jacket, House of Games, Matewan, River's Edge, Angel Heart, Barfly, Jean de Florette and The Last Emperor. That didn't even include other worthy offerings such as The Dead, The Untouchables, Hope and Glory, Radio Days, Robocop, Moonstruck, Raising Arizona, Manon of the Spring, Roxanne, Red Sorghum, Au Revoir Les Enfants and A Taxing Woman, to mention several others). Still, today is for The Princess Bride and The Princess Bride alone.
The great DVD edition of The Princess Bride contains not one but two worthwhile commentary tracks, one by director Rob Reiner and another by screenwriter William Goldman, who wrote the book upon which the film was based. If it weren't already obvious, Goldman spells out clearly his intention with both the book and the movie: He wanted to celebrate good old-fashioned storytelling and it's a joyous tale to be told.
Set within the context of a grandfather (Peter Falk) reading a book to his sick grandson (Fred Savage), who'd much rather be playing video games. However, the power of the story soon pulls the kid in, even if he has early concerns that it's a "kissing book," though he picks up interest when he hears developments he approves of. As he says, "Murdered by pirates is good." Of course, there's more elements than that: Revenge, danger, lost love, swashbuckling and lots and lots of laughs. Nowhere is that exemplified better than in the early fencing scene between Westley (Cary Elwes), disquised as the Dread Pirate Roberts, and Inigo Montoya (Mandy Patinkin). The swordplay is great, but what makes it even better is the amount of exposition and comedy that takes place within its context, filling us in on Inigo's devotion to avenging to his father and much more, though he admits there's not a lot of money in revenge. The film's structure almost resembles The Odyssey, not in a literal way, but in moving the plot forward through one setpiece after another.
The swordfight on the "Cliffs of Insanity" follows the abduction of Westley's lost love Buttercup (Robin Wright, in her film debut) after she became engaged to Prince Humperdinck (Chris Sarandon), after Buttercup was told that her beloved Westley was dead. Buttercup's kidnappers include Inigo, the giant Fezzick (Andre the Giant) and their leader with the dizzying intellect, Vizzini (a hysterical Wallace Shawn). First, Buttercup faces off against shrieking eels in an escape attempt before the trio realizes they are being followed. One by one, Westley bests them all in the pursuit of his lost love, who doesn't even realize immediately who the man in the mask is and tries to bargain with him to return her to Humperdinck, arguing that she's suffered enough pain in her life. Life is pain, the disguised Westley tells her, "Anyone who says differently is selling something." After besting Inigo, he manages to leave Fezzick unconscious, advising him to "Rest well and dream of large women."
The best one though is the comic mental duel between Westley and Vizzini, frustrated by the failures of his underlings and their reluctance to kill the would-be princess. "I hired you to help me start a war," Vizzini tells them. "It's a prestigious line of work with a long and glorious tradition." I hope the architects of the current quagmire didn't take Vizzini's advice, but even if they did, they missed his even more important lesson: "Never get involved in a land war in Asia." Once Westley has defeated the kidnappers and Buttercup realizes who he is and that he isn't dead, he tells her, "Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it awhile."
The trials continue, through fire swamps filled with "rodents of unusual size" and eventual torture at the hands of Humperdinck, who it turns out had hired his bride-to-be's kidnappers in the first place to start the war with the country of Guilder. Once the prince's right-hand badman Count Rugen (Christopher Guest), asks if the prince would enjoy watching him work his six-fingered sadism on Westley, Humperdinck has to reluctantly decline. "I've got my country's 500th anniversary to plan, a wedding to arrange, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped," the prince tells Rugen.
When Buttercup expresses a preference for death to marrying Humperdinck, he changes his mind and ends up killing
Westley, something the grandson violently objects to, insisting to his grandfather that it isn't fair that Westley's dead and that Humperdinck will live at the end. "Who said that life is fair?" his grandfather asks him, before continuing the story and revealing that Westley was only mostly dead and, thanks to the now-unemployed Inigo and Fezzick and a fired miracle worker named Max (Billy Crystal) and his wife Valerie (Carol Kane), Westley is brought back to help storm the castle, rescue Buttercup and allow Inigo to kill the man who killed his father, who happens to be Count Rugen. Elwes displays such comic brilliance throughout the film, but most especially physical comic talents in the scenes where he's coming out of being "mostly dead," it really made me wonder rewatching this what happened to his career. Did making a dreadful Fatal Attraction knockoff with Alicia Silverstone relegate him to films such as Saw and guest shots on Law and Order? Robin Wright has grown into one of our best actresses (with the addition of the name Penn), even if she makes some awful choices such as Sorry, Haters, but Elwes seems to have stalled.
Of course, The Princess Bride is loaded with comic surprises. Sarandon, two years after his great work as the vampire Jerry Dandridge in Fright Night, makes a fun villain. Guest, a comic genius, actually plays it mostly straight as Rugen, telling Inigo that he's got "an overdeveloped sense of vengeance" when they finally face off and Patinkin gets to deliver the now immortal line: "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." Rugen even pleads for Inigo to stop saying that, but the entire world seems to have been saying it ever since, including men who worked for the late real-life mobster John Gotti in a funny story on Reiner's commentary track. Of course, the film also has one priceless comic cameo
surprise. As Humperdinck prepares to make Buttercup his bride, the Impressive Clergyman turns around and reveals himself to be the late great British comic Peter Cook, who begins to speak with the word "Mawwiage," continuing to have Ws where all of his Rs should be. In addition to the mystery of what happened to Elwes' career, it's also a bit of a mystery as to what happened to Reiner as a director. He began on such a roll: This Is Spinal Tap, The Sure Thing, Stand By Me and then The Princess Bride. He followed that with three films that were good, but not as great as the first four: When Harry Met Sally..., Misery and A Few Good Men. Then came North and since that disaster, every film he's made has been at best passable, at worst deadly. Will Reiner ever be able to mount a cinematic comeback? I hope so. Before I close the book on The Princess Bride though, I would be remiss if I didn't comment on the biggest flaw in the film: One of the worst Oscar-nominated songs in Oscar history, and that's saying something. "Storybook Love" includes laughably bad lyrics such as "Our love is like a storybook story/It's as real as these feelings I feel." Thankfully, it was relegated to the credits and didn't mar an otherwise happy ending.
Tweet
Labels: 80s, Falk, Movie Tributes, R. Reiner, Robin Wright
TO READ ON, CLICK HERE
