We Will Miss You, Alex

RIP Alex Trebek -- photo courtesy of the Chicago Tribune. — RIP Alex Trebek — photo courtesy of the Chicago Tribune.

RIP Alex Trebek. Below is a repost of my blog from 2018, before we knew of Mr. Trebek’s illness.

There have only been two hosts of Jeopardy! that mattered. Art Fleming gave the answers on most of the original run, and Alex Trebek has been the man behind the podium on the current version since the show’s reinception in 1984. Mr. Trebek’s current contract expires in 2020, and he has hinted that after 36 years and thousands and thousands of shows, that might be the time for him to retire. He has also suggested two potential replacements, hockey announcer Alex Faust, and broadcaster Laura Coates.

Hogwash! If the answer is “This person would be the ideal next host of Jeopardy!” the question is “Who is ME!” Think about it. Appearances on both Jeopardy! and It’s Academic have shown I know what it takes to be tested under those hot TV lights without breaking a sweat. Ok, those were both decades ago, and I didn’t win on either show, but in my opinion, I have only improved with age. And my almost appearance with Steve Harvey on Family Feud should be enough to prove I’ve still got that cool under pressure style.

About physical appearance. Fans of Jeopardy! just want a host that won’t make them shudder each time they tune in. I think I can pass that bar. And thanks to Mr. Trebek, the audience has gotten used to a well groomed white-haired host. I have the hair color and style to match. I even have a Bangkok tailor so I can order as many fitted suits as I need for the multiple shows taped on one day.

How about a voice that gets attention and demands and commands respect? I served my six years as Board of Education President and kept those unruly crowds of unhappy parents in check. And I never had to raise my voice. They all just listened. (True confession: The crowds weren’t really unruly or unhappy, they were mostly at our meetings to see their kids get awards and honors.)

Oh, one more thing. I promise not to pretend I know all the questions to all the answers. The players should be the stars of the show. And even if they are not at all brilliant, charming, or funny I promise not to embarrass them. It’s probably their life’s dream to be holding that buzzer! Who wants to crash those dreams?

So Sony Television, give me a call. I won’t let you down.

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Did Hugh Downs Make Me What I Am Today?

My boyhood TV hero died this week. You probably think I am talking about Carl Reiner, who passed away June 29th. After all, Reiner created The Dick Van Dyke Show, one of my favorite TV shows of all time. But as a pre-school kid, I just knew the faces in front of the camera, and Mr. Reiner’s portrayal of Alan Bradie, funny as it was, was just a small part of the show. He wasn’t even as important as always dumped on Mel Coolie. And I could only watch the show once a week; no binge-watching back then. So Reiner didn’t really make much of an impression on me in the early 1960s.

No, the man I watched on TV day in and day out, the man this young kid aspired to be when I grew up, wasn’t an actor or a writer, and certainly no comedian. My hero was Hugh Downs, who died July 1st at age 99.

If you know the name and if you remember him at all, it is probably for his stints as host of Today or possibly 20/20, ABC’s news magazine answer to 60 Minutes. In a New York Times obituary discussing his career, one can learn a lot about his time on those two shows, as well as his years as the announcer and second banana to Jack Paar on Paar’s iteration of The Tonight Show.

But you must read way down to the 16th paragraph of the article to find a brief one-sentence mention of the 11 years Downs spent as host of the TV game show Concentration. But for me, that was Hugh Downs. That is where I met him every morning.

It was a simple game, call out some numbers, match some prizes, solve a simple rebus puzzle, and go home a winner. No need to know trivia, or how much a week’s supply of Alpo dog food cost, or what a survey said. It was the perfect show for a five-year-old with a good memory and an innate ability to solve word puzzles. It would be the launching pad for my life of TV game-show appearances (It’s Academic and Jeopardy!, the Family Feud near-miss) and Password games with friends that are as bitterly fought as a Bears-Packers game in the Halas days. And Mr. Downs was the perfect low-key host. He never got in the way of the game

So Hugh, while I salute all the other great TV work you did, when I write my book Concentration will never have to wait until paragraph 16! I’ll put it right there at the top.

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A Puzzling Broadway Puzzle–Help Us Please!

Can you help us name these shining stars?

Friends, Readers, and Countrymen, I need your help! Like many of you, Barb and I have been looking for indoor entertainment during this long semi-lockdown. Early on, I reported on our jigsaw puzzle near-success (no, we still haven’t received the replacement for the missing piece). We were itching for the opportunity to do another puzzle to break up the nightly routine of Netflix streaming and online Mahjong and Scrabble, but all the puzzles we wanted to get were sold out.

And then…

Last Saturday we celebrated a 6-day belated Mothers Day. All the kids and grandkids on our back deck, each family at separate tables at least 6 feet apart. Each person had their own box from Superdawg (4 dawgs, 4 burgers, 1 chicken sandwich) and all the kids understood that Nana and Baba were off-limits for hugs and kisses, the only sad part of the day.

Of course, there were gifts and to our delight, Laury had found a site that had in stock the jigsaw puzzle you see in the picture above, Broadway’s Brightest Stars. It arrived at Laury’s house in that 6-day gap between the actual Mothers Day and our celebration–perfect timing.

If you have been reading the blog for long, you know Barb and I are huge Broadway fans. In Pre-COVID days we visited NYC theaters at least annually and were planning our next visit to coincide with Hugh Jackman starring in The Music Man. With that trip on indefinite hold, the puzzle serves as a perfect connection to the Great White Way.

But this puzzle is hard! We finished the border and the next interior row, but after that, things have bogged down. When broken down into tiny pieces, everyone’s lips and eyes, and lots of their hair, look the same. And to make it more challenging, despite our Broadway acumen, we are having a hard time recognizing lots of the brightest stars. That makes it harder for us to cooperate. “Hey, Barb, have you seen another piece of the blue shirt on that guy over there?” It would be easier, and more fun, if I knew that guy’s name!

Yes, we know some of the faces. You can’t miss the Man Who Is Everywhere, Lin-Manuel Miranda. Julie Andrews is easy to pick out for an old geezer like me. And though we just missed seeing Ben Platt on Broadway in Dear Evan Hansen we did recognize him in the upper right. But a lot of the others have us stumped.

So I ask for your help. I have numbered each actor, 1-20. Tell me, tell me, tell me who they are. A virtual high five and curtain call to all our helpers.

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Every Dysfunctional Family Is Dysfunctional In Its Own Way. Ozark’s Byrdes vs Offspring’s Proudmans

Asher Keddie of 'Offspring' faces off against Laura Linney and Jason Bateman of 'Ozark'. — Asher Keddie of ‘Offspring’ faces off against Laura Linney and Jason Bateman of ‘Ozark’.

Like most of you, our Netflix account has been getting a workout. After our home-cooked dinner is enjoyed, after our dishes are put away and the kitchen is gleaming, and after our Sudoku-Crossword hour has come and gone, it is binge time. Our usual pattern is to watch a pair of shows, something dramatic followed by something a little lighter to get us relaxed for bed. And lately, both of our shows have been sagas about families on the edge–but oh how different those families are!

Lots of you watch ‘Ozark’. The Byrde family starts out innocent, or at least innocent enough. Marty is a Chicago financial manager, a real numbers whiz. Wendy uses her public relations skills for various politicians. But through the passage of 3 seasons, Marty and Wendy descend into the pit of Middle America hell, dragging daughter Charlotte and son Jonah down with them. Money laundering? Got it. Drug cartels and murders-for-hire? Lots of those. FBI agents with secrets of their own? Of course.

And if you think being someone’s husband or someone’s brother is enough to save you down in the Ozarks, as Tony Soprano once said, “Fuggedaboutit.” Jersey mobsters have nothing on this batch of criminal masterminds and family f*ck-ups. And just for the fun of it the cinematography, especially on Season 2, is so dark that half of the time you can’t tell what is going–you just have to guess that it is something nasty.

In contrast, I bet none of you watch ‘Offspring.” You probably have never heard of it…I’m not even sure how we discovered it, but we are in the middle of season 2. It’s an Australian dramedy, also streaming on Netflix. Once again we meet a family, the Proudmans, a family with issues. Our protagonist is Nina a perky, thirty-something obstetrician who is as romantically incompetent as she is professionally efficient. Recently out of a literally explosive marriage she struggles with casual sex, love-hate relationships, and off-the-wall fantasies. And about her family…

Mom Geraldine and Dad Darcy have been on the verge of divorce for ages. They care deeply for each other but can’t survive together. Sister Billie has a dark past, but we love her so much we want to see her have a brighter future with partner Mick. Younger brother Jimmy falls for every flaky girl he meets, pedaling through the Melbourne streets as the Proudman’s gofer. Assorted hangers-on and baby mamas fill out the episodes. It gets so laughingly traumatic that our dear Nina flees from Melbourne to Baltimore for a few months. You really have to want to get away from it all to do that!

No one gets shot, no one gets poisoned, and the bombs explode harmlessly while paths get tangled and hearts get broken. And through it all, I know I would feel safer with the wacky Melburinians than the wicked Missourians. Nina, you can always bring your hips to me.

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The Good or the Bad–Beatles or Broadway. A Choose Your Own Adventure. Part 2

Beatles or Broadway--you make the choice! — Beatles or Broadway–you make the choice!

Best Songs by the Solo Beatles, or Worst Theater Experiences. You Make the Choice.

I wrote about my favorite theater experiences long ago. But sometimes writing “Best Of” lists get boring. Sometimes I’ve got to let the other flag fly. Can I remember my 10 worst theater experiences? Here’s a shot at it. ((Confession: although most of these shows have played Broadway, we saw most as local productions.)

Ten Theater Take-Downs and Disappointments

10. Spring Awakening. Marriott Lincolnshire Theatre. 2016. Based on an old German play. It should have stayed there!

9. Big Fish. Nederlander Theatre. 2013. If I could have stayed awake it might have made more sense to me.

8. The Merchant of Venice. Bank of America Theatre. 2011. Starring F. Murray Abraham, I was so looking forward to this. But the air-conditioning failed on an unusually hot early spring day, and we felt as if we were broiling under a Venetian sun in mid-summer.

7. Godspell. Marriott Lincolnshire Theatre. 2014. We left at intermission. At least half the audience left before we did.

6. The Pirate Queen. Cadillac Palace Theatre. 2006. Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg wrote Les Misérables. We loved it. They wrote Miss Saigon. We tolerated it. They wrote The Pirate Queen. We detested it.

5. Next to Normal. Bank of America Theatre. 2011. On Broadway, Pulitzer Prizes and Tony Awards. For the Broadway in Chicago production., not even a Jeff Award.

4. Into the Woods. Marriott Lincolnshire Theatre. 2006. I know I am supposed to like Sondheim. I try. I really try.

3. In the Sick Bay of The Santa Maria. Goodman Theatre New Stages Festival. 2019. It was short, it was experimental. The tickets were free and still over-priced.

2. Chess. Marriott Lincolnshire Theatre. 1990. Evita meets ABBA in this Tim Rice-Benny Andersson-Björn Ulvaeus mish-mash. My mother was babysitting for the kids and called us during intermission to tell us our son had a fever. We were overjoyed to have such a good reason to leave the theater.

1. Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown. Belasco Theatre. 2010. Patti LuPone, Sheree Renee Scott, Laura Benanti, Brian Stokes Mitchell. Too many stars, too much of a hot-hot-mess.

Did you like some of these shows? Or maybe you have even worse theater memories. Tell me about it!

Click here for the “Bests” in today’s double feature.

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My TV Top Ten. What is Yours?

Barb and I were almost home the other night when a familiar tune came on the car radio. “In my opinion, that’s the BEST TV SHOW EVER,” I said. And that got me thinking. What were my favorite TV shows of all time? So here, from #10 to #1 is my list. The only rule for selection is that there are no rules. It is my list, I get to say what goes on it. Feel free to disagree. I am sure you will!

#10-#7 My Early Years

10. The Dick Van Dyke Show: The classic work life-home life sitcom. Barb can still crack me up with an “Oh, Rob” or put me in my place with a “You’re no Albert Schweitzer.” I was young, Mary Tyler Moore was adorable, and Ritchie was getting attacked by birds. What was there not to like?

9. What’s My Line?: You thought Jeopardy! would be my favorite game show? Wrong again, reader. Another classic from my youth, no moderator was ever as smooth and urbane as John Charles Daley. And when the host has 3 names, I knew the celebrity panel had to be classy too, even if I had never heard of Bennett Cerf or Arlene Francis. And Dorothy Kilgallen was sort of hot to my 7-year-old eyes.

8. Saturday Night Blackhawks Hockey: Only a few Blackhawks games were televised in the ’60s. But every Saturday night during the season, I would knock on my next-door neighbor Jeff’s door at 6:30. We would play a game of table hockey (he had a great set with 3D plastic players and a ball-bearing puck) and then settle in to watch the Hawks play another “Original Six” opponent. The TV set was black and white, but there was no problem picking out the Golden Jet, as Bobby Hull, Stan Mikita, and Glenn Hall did their best to bring Chicago a winner.

7. Ray Raynor and Friends and The Dick Tracy Show: Ray Raynor, playing the jumpsuited host during the morning in the former and Officer Pettibone during the afternoon in the latter, had my full attention. White Sox (and Cubs) scores, Chelveston the Duck and some decent cartoons kept me entertained.

#6-#1 Adulthood

6. Breaking Bad: After starting to watch the family drama Parenthood in its 4th season, Barb and I decided to go back and watch the earlier seasons–our first binge-watch. Our next binge-watch: Breaking Bad, a very different family drama. Mr. White and Jessie had special chemistry together, and not just the crystal-meth kind. We did not watch El Camino, the recent sequel. Heard it wasn’t all that good!

5. Hill Street Blues: The greatest show of the ’80s, it was the cop show that stood above all other cop shows, before and after. FOMAE (fear of missing an episode) led us to buy our first VCR. VHS of course–we didn’t want no stinkin’ BetaMax.

4. Veep: Laugh out loud funny and bitingly mean and all-around magnificent. Julia Louis Dreyfuss and the whole ensemble cast made Washington D.C. seem as miserable as it truly must be. I loved it even before there was a real dramedy in the White House.

3. Game of Thrones: Maybe I would have ranked it higher before the final season, but come on, #3 isn’t all that bad. Love and hate. Red Weddings and Walks of Shame. And battles. Lots of battles. So why isn’t Arya Stark starring in a sequel?

2. Seinfeld: Yada, Yada, Yada. And Julia Louis Dreyfuss too.

1. The music I heard in the car that day was Alabama 3 talking and singing their way through “Woke Up This Morning.” I cannot hear that song without seeing James Gandolfini, cigar smoke swirling around his head, driving past the Meadowlands and Satriale’s Pork Store. Tony Soprano on the move, inviting us to New Jersey and The Sopranos, the greatest TV series ever made.

You agree with me on all of these, right? If not, let me hear about it.

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Neil Diamond on Broadway. Will We See You There?

Yes, there will be Neil in New York City. But he won’t be there himself. He won’t follow Bruce’s footsteps and perform a long run of concerts in a Broadway theater. And he won’t be doing a regular gig at Madison Square Garden ala Billy Joel. But just as Jersey Boys celebrates the Four Seasons and Beautiful illuminates the wonderous Carole King, Rolling Stone reports that the time has come for a Broadway-bound jukebox bioplay of the life and times of Neil Diamond.

Big names have signed on to the proposed production. Anthony McCarten, who crafted the screenplay for Bohemian Rhapsody will write the show, while Michael Mayer (no, that’s not Mike Meyers) will direct. His credits include American Idiot and Spring Awakening, so he knows his way around a musical. And of course, the music will be Neil’s own tunes. No one has been cast for the lead role just yet and the opus has no title.

But guys and gals, I have to tell you, Barb and I are way out in front of the professionals on this one. We have been planning on writing and producing Neil’s story for years! It’s all mapped out and ready to go.

Act One–The Man in Black:

Scene 1: Growing up in New York City (Brooklyn Roads)

Scene 2: The Early Bang Years (Shilo, Solitary Man, I’m a Believer)

Scene 3: Hitsville (Holly Holy, Sweet Caroline, Brother Love’s Traveling Salvation Show)

Act Two–Hollywood Calling

Scene 1: Jonathan Soaring (Skybird, Lonely Looking Sky, Be)

Scene 2: Lenny Crashing (I Am…I Said)

Scene 3: A Fish Out of Water (Dry Your Eyes)

Scene 3: Jesse Robin Rising (Kol Nidre, Love on the Rocks, America)

Act Three–Glitz and Glitter

Scene 1: Song-writer or Super Star? (Yesterday’s Songs, Heartlight, Headed for the Future)

Scene 2: New Directions ( White Christmas, Home Before Dark, Pretty Amazing Grace)

Scene 3: One Last Hot August Night (Cherry Cherry, Kentucky Woman, Cracklin Rosie, You Don’t Bring Me Flowers, America (reprise)

Curtain Call–Sweet Caroline

OK, Mr. McCarten will have to fill in some characters and write some dialogue. But that should be easy for a pro like him.

Now let’s talk about the casting. Most of the roles, such as Neil’s family, his various wives and lovers, the multitude of agents, musicians and producers, can be filled by the usual Broadway featured artists, the ones who win all the Tonys, but whom no one in Middle America has heard of.

But what about the lead, you ask? To star as Neil, we need someone who can play of span of ages, has acting chops and can belt out a tune. With a little help from the Wardrobe and Make-Up Departments, I can see Nick Jonas doing the deed. He might even pull in some fans who have never heard of our beloved Neil but know the Jonas Brothers and Priyanka Chopra. Hey Nick, can you transition from Disney to Les Misérables to Diamond all before the age of 30?

So do we have a name for this proud piece of pop? Of course we do. With apologies to Ian Fleming, James Bond and DeBeers, just get us front row tickets to This Diamond is Forever whenever the show opens on Broadway. We’ll be there.
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Hey, James Holzhauer. I Lost On Jeopardy Too!

James Holzhauer, a Chicago area native has lost on Jeopardy! Emma Boettcher, a University of Chicago librarian has defeated him. And when I was on the show (1988) I name-checked Eugene Finerman, a previous Tournament of Champions player, who had lived down the street from me in Rogers Park in our school years. No surprise, Eugene’s mother was our Chicago public high school (Go Sullivan Tigers!), librarian. Chicago-Jeopardy!-Library symmetry. Catch it!

All of this came to mind over the last few days, ever since our son got a text from a friend asking if it was true that I had been a Jeopardy! contestant. It seems that he had found my name on the Jeopardy! archives website. I admit I have checked that site every blue moon but have never found a record of my one lonely, non-record breaking, performance. But somehow the data has been recovered and now is there for all to see as ” Show #893 – Wednesday, June 22, 1988.”

Sadly, there is no video, but every answer, every incorrect question, just about every grunt and groan is documented. There is Linda, the previous champion, over-wagering (she was goaded by Alex) on the last Daily Double. Her misspelling of Navratilova as a response to “As hard to spell as she is to beat, it’s the last name of Czech tennis star Martina” cost her a place in Final Jeopardy. There is my other opponent (and the eventual winner) Neil being handed extra dollars because of a rare Alex error. And my mistaking “Blue Suede Shoes” for “Rockin’ Robin,” a faux pas that has haunted me until today.

The web site confirms that Neil and I both succeeded in giving the correct question on Final Jeopardy. Alas, it was too late for me by then, and I humbly accepted my perfectly documented second place prize of a “trip on Eastern to Orlando, Florida & stay at Hilton at Walt Disney World Village + Jeopardy! box game or computerized version.” The family did love that trip.

Of course, we had made a home VCR recording of the show. I even made a parody version, using the soundtrack of Weird Al Yankovic’s “I Lost on Jeopardy!” Sadly, both of those crumbled into dust before the digital revolution. My only remaining documentation has been a newspaper article from the Daily Herald, published before the actual show taping and turning yellower with age as every new Jeopardy! champion breaks some record or another. Now at last the website is my proof that I was really a contestant.

And Mrs. Finerman, if you’re still out there, this one’s for you!

Yesterday’s post: What if it happened?

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The Rolling Stones are Coming. Am I Going? Would You?

Sure you have seen the video by now. We all have. Mick is dancing around, doing his moves like Jagger, just weeks after heart surgery to replace a cardiac valve. According to the New York Times, it wasn’t open-heart surgery, but it was still plenty serious for a 75-year-old codger, especially one who has been reputed to take a non-medically prescribed drug or two in his past.

So the “No-Filter” tour is back on track. And the opening dates are right here in Chicago, at that bastion of acoustic glory, Soldier Field. Shows are June 21 and June 25 and I need to make a decision. To paraphrase the Clash, another bunch of British punkers, “Do I stay (at home) or do I go (to the concert?) I may own my own copy of “Sticky Fingers,” and have my favorite songs (“Bitch” and “Can’t You Hear Me Knocking,”) but I have never seen the boys live.

I would definitely plan on going to the Stones concert if it wasn’t a Stones concert. That is to say, I would be sure to go if the whole situation was in my control. The concert would start on time, the guys and gals behind me wouldn’t be slopping beer on my head, there would be a perfectly timed bathroom break with short lines at the johns, and I could helicopter away from the stadium just like Mick and Keith and the rest of the boys. But since none of those are going to happen, I need to make a decision based on the facts such as they are.

First, who is there to go with? Barb is not a likely candidate; she won’t even go back to see McCartney or Billy Joel at Wrigley. As for the kids, I have dragged each of them with their spouses to different U2 concerts at the spaceship on the lake. None of them are begging to go to another concert of any sort with me. My friends have mostly seen the Stones long ago and aren’t willing to spend the bucks to do it again.

And there is that cost factor, though a quick look at StubHub shows that the ticket prices aren’t currently much above what you would pay for good seats at “Hamilton.” And with the Stones, you are still getting the originals (at least 60% of them) rather than a Lin-Manuel Miranda substitute. (I know, I know, Miguel Cervantes does a great job as AH. Saw him when the show first opened here.) So I could come up with the cash for a decent ticket.

It’s the venue that is the biggest detractor. Whether it is for a Bear’s game or a concert, Soldier Field is just so miserable to get to, and even more miserable to get out of. It ranks a close second in our nightmare scenarios to Sam Boyd Stadium outside Las Vegas, where we waited more than 2 hours before we were able to finally find a shuttle after attending a U2/Black-Eyed Peas show 10 years ago. The crush leaving the Soldier Field gates is frightening, even for someone without claustrophobia. Couldn’t the Illinois Sports Field Facilities Authorities have added at least one or two more exits from the stadium campus during the 2002-2003 renovations?

So no “Start Me Up” for me. No “All Down the Line.” And certainly no “Satisfaction.” Unless the Stones want to put on a show in my backyard (how about it?) I’m going to sit this one out, and just admire that old Mick can still get up and do his thing.

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Photo Credit Chicago Tribune

It’s Up To You! Be Scared by “Us,” or at the Edge of Your Seat for “Free Solo”.

Barb and I saw two movies this weekend, one in the recliners at the local Cineplex, and the other in the comfort of home, pooch at our feet. One scared me to death. It is not the one you would expect.

The critics love “Us.” Director Jordan Peele’s 2nd horror film is a sensation. The New York Times says “more unsettling” than “Get Out.” “Compulsory seeing,” according to the Wall Street Journal. And crowds have been responding, with the film taking in over $70 million this weekend, a true box-office bonanza. Not even “Captain Marvel” can match it.

The reviews will tell you about the symbolism, and the social commentary, and the references to classic horror films in “Us.” But do most viewers care much about all that? They will see the movie to get a fright, to see how a very much “off” doppelgänger family terrorizes the Wilsons, a middle-class family enjoying a vacay at the shore. Yes, there are some jumps and thrills, but nothing that I can’t see every Sunday night on “The Walking Dead.” I didn’t come close to leaping out of my seat. A closing shot, one that makes you rethink the entire movie adds a final jolt, but it just not enough.

On the other hand, I was sitting at the edge of my comfy chair while watching “Free Solo,” the recent Best Documentary Oscar winner. Have you ever been to Yosemite National Park? Do you remember El Capitan, the rock formation with the sheer wall that rises 3000 feet from Yosemite Valley? It’s a popular site for rock climbers. “Free Solo” documents climber Alex Honnold and his desire, bordering on obsession, for a free solo ascent to the summit. You know what free solo means, right? It’s rock climbing without a rope, without any tools, without any assistance. It means one false step can take you off the wall into a freefall with certain death. Watching it on the screen is what terror is all about.

We learn of Alex’s top-notch climbing record. He tells us his earnings from climbing are comparable to that of a “moderately successful dentist.” He says his late father had “what we would now call Asperger syndrome,” and following Alex through his years of single-minded determination, his relationship with his one and only girlfriend, and his casual reaction to the death of some of his climbing colleagues suggests Alex is also on the autistic spectrum. Perhaps this is what enables him to strive for his dream.

The photography in “Free Solo” is incredible, handled by a team of professional climber/photographers. The amazing visuals allow the audience to experience each step Alex takes, through his planning runs using ropes, to the free solo attempt he halted in the fall of 2016, to the final SPOILER ALERT successful climb in 2017.

The suspense of the 6-hour ascent, when any misstep could be fatal, is heart pounding. During certain moments in the climb, the base photographer is so frightened for Alex’s safety he turns away from his camera in terror. Still, the camera work is unforgettable, and the triumph at the summit exhilarating.

So make your choice. You can get your thrills watching what everyone else is watching on the big screen, or get it at home streaming on National Geographic. And remember, just one of these stories is real.

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