The Godfather Meets The Mouse

I’m deep into Leave the Gun, Take the Cannoli, Mark Seal’s book detailing the perilous circumstances under which the first Godfather movie was produced. The telling of the story highlights the contentious relationship between Paramount Studio’s Robert Evans and the movie’s director Francis Ford Coppola. Casting issues (Is Marlon Brando washed up? Who the hell is Al Pacino?), financial issues, and Mob issues all played a part in the grueling challenge of making what was to become one of America’s favorite films.

There is nothing that could be more complex than the making of that award-winning movie. Nothing, that is except planning a family vacation to Orlando and the wonderful world of theme parks.

Think Coppola had a hard time figuring out his shooting schedule? Try scheduling a vacation week with three families, 6 adults, and 4 grandkids. We didn’t want a week that was likely to be too cold; we didn’t want a week that would be too rainy; we didn’t want a week that spring breakers would be mobbing the parks; we didn’t want a week that would mean pulling the kids out of too much school.

Finally, after some heads of the families had a sit-down (our families, NOT Mob families) we picked an appropriate week. Then, just as the production assistants for The Godfather had to scout out acceptable shooting locations, we had to investigate all accommodations within a 20-mile radius of the theme parks to find the right one. As mentioned a few months ago, we have found a rental house we can all agree to live in and with. Lots of theme-park-inspired bedrooms, a big kitchen, and a nice private pool. Not too shabby.

Also, we have managed to snag decent rates on a couple of SUVs. These days, that is as hard to do as finding a good horsehead. Though as Seinfeld would say, “National knows how to take a reservation, let’s see if they know how to keep a reservation.”

The automobiles may have been cheap, but now we come to the inevitable cost overruns. Filming the movie went way over budget, and it looks like our trip will as well.

For those of you who haven’t been at a theme park in a few decades, things have changed since your last visit. You no longer receive a book of A, B, C, and D ride coupons free with every admission ticket. Now the price of admission is only a start–and will do nothing other than put you at the end of very long lines for any attraction you want to experience.

To actually enjoy a theme park visit you must consider park-hopper plans and magic wand tickets and VIP tours. Want to ride the Hogwarts Express? You better have paid for same-day admission to both halves of Universal. Comparing and selecting from all the options is beyond the capabilities of even the most advanced artificial intelligence. My chatGPT program informed me it would rather destroy itself than plan the best route through Disney. All in all, a day at a theme park probably will cost us more than Diane Keaton earned for her entire role as Kay–or John Cazale as Fredo for that matter.

As we know, despite all the hardships, The Godfather was made. The Godfather 2 was made. Regrettably, even The Godfather 3 was made. If Hollywood can do that, we can successfully do a trip to Orlando, and have fun doing it. And if anyone tries to stop us, we’ll just make ’em an offer they can’t refuse.

How About A Minute Of Silence To Honor Lin Brehmer. Chicago Radio, Would You Do It?

Let’s not hear it for Lin!

On Broadway, when a legend dies, all the theaters collectively dim their marquee lights for a minute as an honor and show of respect. The tradition dates back to the 1950s and in the last year been used to remember Angela Lansbury and Sidney Poitier.

Why couldn’t Chicago radio have a similar honor for its own recently passed legend, WXRT’s Lin Brehmer? Why not a minute of silence for the man who brought joy to so many Chicagoans with his favorite adage “it’s great to be alive”?

I propose that next Monday, January 30th, at 9:31 am (“XRT call letters are 93.1 on the FM dial) all locally produced radio stations turn off their transmitters and fill the airwaves with a minute of silence

That’s right. A minute without any number-one hits. A minute without the guy from Portage Park calling in to argue about how the Bears should use their number one draft pick. No young women calling in to talk about being ghosted after their last horrid date, no call-in-to-win contests.

We can handle a minute without Hotel California, radical right rants, or left-leaning logic. No smooth jazz, no urban sounds, no up-to-the-minute traffic reports. Especially no pledge drives with matching grants and handy giveaway totes.

Just a moment of peace and quiet to reflect on the fun-loving guy who helped keep Chicago radio alive. And if people want to reflect on other things, like how you should never take anything for granted (another Linism) that’s fine too.

How about it, local radio moguls? We aren’t NYC (thank the lord) but we are Chicago strong. Let’s remember Lin, and then, as he would want, let’s keep on rockin’ in the free world.

It’s great to be alive.

The Blonde Leading the Blonde…and more memories for me.

Platinum hair from House of the Dragon to Village of the Damned

A distinctive odor isn’t the only thing that can take me on a trip down memory lane!

An article in the New York Times discussing the striking platinum-blonde hair of the Targaryen clan on the HBO series House of the Dragon included a black and white movie still of a gaggle of young children with similar nearly-white hair and a very strange look in their eyes.

And quickly I was a teenager again, watching Village of the Damned with my high school youth group, a 35 mm projector whirring away.

How many of you remember those Neanderthal days — before you could go to Blockbuster Video on any corner and rent a movie for the weekend; before you could have Netflix send you DVDs in the mail; and decades before online streaming services gave you millions of choices?

In those days we mostly watched movies in a movie theater, quiet and in the dark, or on TV with commercials every 15 minutes. What a treat it was to watch a full-length movie in a private hall with a bunch of friends, uninterrupted and unshushed!

For our youth group, movie night was a once or twice-a-year occurrence. Rows of folding chairs would be set up in the auditorium, a popcorn popper taken down from the shelf, and the Bell and Howell projector focused on a slightly tattered screen at the front of the room. We bubbled with excitement as the film was threaded through the projector sprockets and the lights were lowered.

The movie to be shown on a given night was chosen weeks before the big night by the Youth Advisor. The catalog from a movie rental company was studied and an order form and check were mailed to the company, somewhere in Ohio, or maybe California. With luck, the movie would be available and the large, flat spools in their brown boxes would be sent to us, ours to keep for a week or 10 days. Mimeographed flyers on bright orange paper would be circulated to the group members and posted on the walls announcing the date, time, and of course, the movie title.

I am not sure what criteria the Youth Advisor used to choose the films that were shown. There were classics such as On the Waterfront with Marlon Brando, Karl Malden, and Rod Steiger. Steiger made a repeat appearance in No Way to Treat a Lady, a film with no significant value or staying power.

But the oddest choice for a synagogue youth group was certainly Village of the Damned, a supernatural thriller. In the film, an otherworldly event leads to the birth of platinum-haired, precocious. and very weird children with glowing eyes who (spoiler alert) are eventually destroyed by the father of one of the oddlings. But their eyes float away–undead. And our auditorium was filled with laughter as someone in our crowd cried out “Maybelline makes beautiful eyes!” The highlight of another movie night.

And as far as I can recall–the last of those nights. I suspect the administrators of the temple lost faith in the Youth Advisor’s ability to pick appropriate films for at least a nominally religious youth group. Or maybe the price of film rental became too high. For whatever reason, that was the last time I ever heard a 35 mm projector in a small room with a group of friends.

But I will remember the Children of the Damned long after the last Targaryen has his (or her) head on a spike.

Did You Dance? The My Fair Lady Project Part 7: I Could Have Danced All Night.

Read the blog–and then tell me about your favorite dance song, or dance movie!

This is episode 7 of our My Fair Lady project, using a title or lyric from each song in the original Broadway cast album to inform or inspire a blog post.

What makes you want to dance? What gets you out on the floor, swaying to the music or shaking whatever bodypart you like to shake?

Do you dance out of sheer joy, like Eliza does after her little celebration with Higgins and Pickering? Do you only dance at special events? Weddings are always a good time for twisting to oldies, jiving to Motown, snaking past the tables in a Conga, or circling the newly married in a whirling dervish of a hora.

Where did you pick up your moves? Are you self-taught? Do you watch a lot of videos or TikTok demos? Do you practice, practice, practice in the mirror till every move is perfect?

What is your favorite dance movie? Are you a fan of the classics: The Red Shoes, Singin’ in the Rain? Or did you grow up tapping your toes in the movie theater watching Flashdance, Footloose, or Dirty Dancing? Did Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear in Risky Business turn you on?

Then there are films from Broadway shows with great dance numbers: A Chorus Line and West Side Story (version 1 or 2) come to mind, but there are many, many more. In contrast, The Black Swan is the rarest of the rare–the creepy dance movie. I still shudder every time I think of it.

Now for the hard part. Can you pick your favorite dance song? There are so many, that my head is spinning as if it were on a spike on a DJ’s turntable. Are you a Dancing Queen with ABBA or are you Dancing in the Dark with Bruce and Courteney? Do you Twist and Shout with the Beatles or do you do The Twist, and then Twist Again, with Chubby Checker?

Do you turn up the volume on Land of a Thousand Dances when you do the Pony with Bony Maroni? Or do you love to Dance the Night Away with Van Halen? And when you are tired of all that rocking–do you take it easy and become a Waltzing Matilda?

What does it for you? Comment on the post, on Facebook, or send an email to chidoc@post.com. And then DANCE, DANCE, DANCE!

This is episode 7 of our My Fair Lady project, using a title or lyric from each song in the original Broadway cast album to inform or inspire a blog post.

Previous Posts in the series:

My Fair Lady Project Part 1: Overture
My Fair Lady Project Part 2: Why Can’t the English
My Fair Lady Project Part 3: Wouldn’t It be Loverly
My Fair Lady Project Part 4: I’m An Ordinary Man
My Fair Lady Project Part 5: Just You Wait

My Fair Lady Project Part 6: The Rain in Spain

Remember our email address is now chidoc@post.com

The “My Fair Lady” Project -Part 2: Why Can’t the English?

The cast of Offspring in a quiet moment.

Why Can’t the English (learn to speak)?

The Australians, not the British, first made life rough for Barb and me.

Let me explain. About four years ago, after months of “encouragement” from our daughter, we finally streamed and enjoyed Friday Night Lights. Once we finished the semi-soaper we looked for a new familyish-type drama to turn to and stumbled on Offspring.

The show was broadcast on the little-known Acorn Network. It centered on Nina Proudman, a slightly kooky obstetrician, her even kookier sister Billie, and the rest of their eccentric family. We were hooked by the scene of Nina delivering the baby of an old acquaintance, only to discover mid-forceps that her own daddy was also the daddy of the new baby.

Our only problem was that the show was a 100% Australian production. We could not understand a single word that half of the characters were saying. We found their accents impenetrably thick. After almost every line of dialogue Barb and I looked at each other and said “What?” Finally, after much fumbling with the three remotes that control our TV, we managed to activate closed captioning.

And the Proudman world opened to us. We were able to enjoy every moment of Nina and her family’s hijinks. We became so proficient at merging the sensory input of the picture, the voices, and the subtitles that Barb could still do her craftwork, I could still do my crosswords, and neither of us would miss a single beat.

After Offspring we moved on to A Place To Call Home, a slightly heavier Australian drama. Closed captioning was again a staple of our viewing, as it was for the New Zealand comedy Nothing Trivial that followed.

And by this point, we were permanently hooked. No, not just on Australasian TV, but on closed captioning. CC On is now the default setting on our television no matter what we are watching. We get to digest every word of dialogue, we see the lyrics of the background music, and on episodes of 1883 we were even told repeatedly that there was “German background chatter” that was totally inaudible through the TV speakers.

Admittedly, for live sports and news shows the subtitles lag behind the action. And in those live settings, the subtitles are often painfully (or laughably) inaccurate. In rare situations, the text covers up some key visuals. But it is a trade-off we are glad to make.

So Nina, please give us another kooky Aussie season of Offspring. Netflix, throw your Emily in Paris French accents at us. Queen Elizabeth, torture us with your hoity-toity enunciation on The Crown. As long as we have our trusty CC we can handle it all!

This is episode 2 of our My Fair Lady project, using a title or lyric from each song in the original Broadway cast album to inform or inspire a blog post.

Previous Posts in the series:

My Fair Lady Project Part 1: Overture

This is Us Worms into My Brain…and It Is Spooky.

I must be channeling This is Us. I don’t know why.

Yes, I watch all the episodes. But no, I have not shed a single tear over the Pearson family tragedies. And Barb and I nearly came to blows over my dismissal of last week’s episode. After six years of being ignored, we were suddenly supposed to care about Miguel? I didn’t get it.

So as we sat through last night’s episode (only interrupted once by Cooper’s need to get out of the house) I had my attention split between the show and a leftover crossword puzzle from the weekend Trib.

When I looked up at the screen I wondered why a past son-in-law and a past not-quite-daughter-in-law were part of the family gathering. I laughed at the last-minute arrival of Kate, now an international tycoon.

And then there was the train. As Rebecca in her fugue state was led from car to car, I kept thinking back to Snowpiercer, Bong Joon Ho’s futuristic masterpiece about a train hurtling around the earth, its occupants the only survivors in a frozen world. You never knew what would be in the next car, only that death was the ultimate destination. Did Rebecca have Rip Wheeler drive her to the station…

So with my obvious lack of appreciation for six seasons of This is Us, why do I feel that it must have been reaching across the ether to tap into my brain? A strange thing happened yesterday evening. When doing the dishes and making my lunch for the next day, I often as Alexa to play some music. I usually request something from the classic rock oeuvre (Bruce, U2, Steely Dan, et al.), but last night I inexplicably called for Joni Mitchell. Ever obedient Alexa came through with Joni classics “Freeman in Paris, Help Me, and The Circle Game. And those of you who watched This is Us know where this is going.

Halfway through the Pearson’s goodbyes to Rebecca, they leaf through a box of LPs. The camera focuses on Joni’s Clouds album. And the sounds of The Circle Game fill the air.

Call it synchronicity. Call it an amazing coincidence. Call it witchcraft. I just know it has me spooked. I may not care much for This is Us, but I sure am going to watch next week’s final episode. I think Rebecca is calling my name.

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My Day At Jeopardy! It Was Long Ago, But Feels Like Yesterday.

Linda, Neil, and I battle it out on Jeopardy!

I went on a treasure hunt and struck gold! Or at least a second-place silver.

Frequent blog readers know of my past Jeopardy! experience as a contestant in 1988 and how my single videotape of the airing was eviscerated by a hungry VCR machine. I had thought my defeat was lost to future generations, but a few months ago I made another try to locate a copy.

A wonderful Jeopardy! resource exists at the J! Archive, a fan site with details of almost every Jeopardy! ever telecast, including players, answers, questions, a variety of statistics, and even a lexicon of Jeopardy! jargon. It was at this site that I began my search.

I was able to locate the episode I appeared in, #893, and noted the name of my two opponents, Neil L, an engineer from El Cerrito, California, and returning champion Linda M, a substitute teacher from Elizaville, New York.

I took my info and ran with it to Facebook, private messaging anyone I found who might possibly have been one of my opponents. I asked each contact if they could have been my Jeopardy! nemesis, and if they had a copy of our show.

Weeks went by with no return messages, and I had given up hope when last week I got a response from one of many Neil Ls I had contacted:

“Sorry for the delay, but I just saw the message. Yes, that was me. And that was you too. Strangely, yesterday I stumbled across a flash drive with recording of the game. We were young. Hope you are well.”

Success! We exchanged a few more messages, and by the end of the day Neil L of El Cerrito had come through with a WMV file of our episode. And transfixed, I watched my (much) younger self “perform.”

A few observations:

I made a poor choice of sportcoats
I never was much of a speller–no wonder I misspelled Dan “Akroyd.”
It was nice having a full head of hair.
Were Harry Caray size eyeglasses really in style?
The technology, with banks of CRT monitors, was light years behind what we witness on Jeopardy! now.
Eugene Finnerman, where are you now?
Alex was young, healthy, and helped me out when he pushed Linda M to overbid on a Daily Double she was sure to get wrong.
Despite the claims of my son, at no point did Alex say “Wrong again, Les.” However, he did appear amazed that I got Final Jeopardy correct–just after he had chastised me for “not making it a closer game.”

For those of you wondering, the final score had Neil at $12,100, while I rode my Final Jeopardy success to a grand total of $2,100. But it was $2,100 of fun. I am looking forward to sharing the whole experience with my family.

And to never again be taunted “Wrong again, Les.”

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Man-People Take This Music Sh*t Seriously!

So I am a member of a few groups on Facebook. Groups about my old neighborhood, my new neighborhood, my schools, my occupation. And a handful about my love of music.

In one of the groups, people tend to ask questions like “name your favorite bass guitarist,” or “name a song with the letter Q in the title.” On occasion, I will volunteer an answer, and on rarer occasions, I will ask a question. During this past COVID-quiet weekend I asked a question. I didn’t know I was inciting a riot…

My question was pretty straightforward–“Name a song that contains the name of a non-USA city.” As an example, I listed my favorite Warren Zevon number, Lawyers, Guns and Money which includes the lyric “I was gambling in Havana.”

Pretty easy stuff, I thought. Not a trick question, not controversial. To my chagrin, I learned there is nothing in the cyber world that is not controversial. And nothing that can’t make people angry.

Sure, lots of people gave uncomplicated answers. No surprise how many people named Werewolves of London, another Warren Zevon track. Our great distaff vocalists were represented by songs such as Joni Mitchell’s Free Man in Paris (no one mentioned the Neil Diamond version!) And lots of other songs with non-USA cities in either song titles or lyrics were fun to reminisce about. The Comments reached into the many hundreds.

But then the arguments began. Everyone loves The Girl from Ipanema, but is Ipanema a beach, an area, or a city unto itself? Loads of people weighed in on that one–supporting their claims with Google maps and guidebook quotes. At least that debate was peaceful.

The fury rose when many people listed songs naming non-USA countries, but not cities. Songs like Never Been to Spain and Haitian Divorce. I will admit that for the first few minutes, I replied to posters pointing out the error, but after a while, I decided what the heck–let ’em list what they want to list and have fun. It’s not like I am giving away any prizes!

Yet one or two individuals assigned themselves to be the scourages of the list, pointing out every misattributed song, every spelling error, and every country-not-a-city-error.

The vitriol rose to a boil when discussing Back in the USSR, the Beatles rocker from The White Album. When Mr. Blue Pencil incorrectly* told a poster the song didn’t belong on the list, all hell broke loose. Name-calling, cussing, and sacrilegious comments followed in short order. WTF?????

I have learned my lesson. In an effort to avoid furor in the future, I think I will avoid hot-button topics like music in future postings and stick to less controversial topics.

Does anyone want to talk about changing the Senate filibuster rules?

*Moscow is mentioned in the lyrics.

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Holmes is Where the Heart Is

After hearing that I had enjoyed watching Benedict Cumberbatch in The Year of the Dog my brother-in-law recommended that I watch Mr. Cumberbatch in the Sherlock TV series. I haven’t checked off that box yet, but the mention did set off memories of Sherlock Holmes, and of one heavyweight book that I used to own.

The book was almost as thick (over 1100 pages) as the title was long —The Complete Sherlock Holmes: All Four Novels/All Fifty-Six Adventures. It was a Bar Mitzvah gift from a good friend who was also a lover of mysteries and the written word. Much of my 13th year was spent devouring every word of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s 60 pieces of the Holmesian mythos. And unlike Elizabeth, the current Holmes in the news who claimed to solve blood chemistries from a tiny drop of blood, Sherlock really did make much out of little, solving crimes from the smallest piece of evidence.

A Study in Scarlet, The Red-Headed League, The Hound of the Baskervilles. Famous stories, and names I remember so well. Yet I couldn’t tell you the plot or the denouement of any of them. In fact, the part of the volume I remember the best is the forward — a few pages that were written by an American Holmes aficionado, Christopher Morley.

While I read each story once, I must have read that forward fifty times. It is odd, but my mental picture of Holmes was penned more by Mr. Morley than by Sir Conan Doyle. And just to be sure my memories were accurate I tracked down the four-page forward online. As I read it this morning I was quite impressed with my own recall. There were paragraphs that I could recite almost word for word. I wish I could say the same for my Torah portion from that long ago Bar Mitzvah!

As for my friend who gave me the book, we are still in touch, although he lives across the country. A movie critic and college lecturer, he still acts as the post hoc unpaid editor for this blog, taking up the slack when Grammarly fails me. One day I will have to ask him which one of the dozens of actors who have portrayed Sherlock Holmes have been the best. And thank him for that gift from so long ago.

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If All The World’s A Stage, What Are Your Theater Memories?

Taking a few days off from the lab the days before Thanksgiving gave us an extended period to work on our first puzzle of the season. From the three I had recently ordered, I chose “Broadway, The Musicals,” a tapestry of tens (hundreds?) of Broadway shows.

The puzzle wasn’t the most difficult we have tackled, and we were able to free up our kitchen table/puzzle space in plenty of time to have the whole family seated at the table Saturday night for 2nd Thanksgiving (akin to 2nd Seder but without the matzah.)

We ended up missing half a dozen pieces, a shortcoming we attribute to Cooper’s nasty habit of gobbling up any piece hanging over the table edge. Even so, we had a pretty good sense of what show or personality each rectangle was demonstrating.

There were lots of musicals we have seen and enjoyed: a handful on Broadway (Phantom, revivals of Hair and Oklahoma!), a few (Wicked, Les Miserables, A Chorus Line, Blue Man Group) downtown or in the city, too many to count at the Marriott Lincolnshire, and even one (42nd Street) at sea. And in the left lower quadrant I got a reminder to order tickets for The Music Man when it opens on Broadway with Hugh Jackman as Professor Harold Hill.

My favorite–the greatest of all American musicals, My Fair Lady— somehow didn’t make the cut, but maybe someday I will find a loverly puzzle of just Liza, ‘enry ‘iggins, and the rest of the gang. No Hamilton either, making our kitchen the only Lin-Manuel Miranda Free Zone in the Chicago metro area.

So do you see any of your favorites in the puzzle? Leave a comment–think of it as a tribute to Steven Sondheim. Are there some obscure shows highlighted that we might not have recognized? And what are your favorite theater memories? Shows you have seen, shows you have performed in your high school or later days, shows you can’t get enough of? Tell me all about it.

Looking forward to reading your comments on the blog or on Facebook. To quote the Bard:

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts.
~William Shakespeare

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