A NEW SEASON BEGINS

Well, after weeks of well-placed hype, a new year has begun--and I'm not referring to the Jewish New Year! Nope. It's the start of a new TV season, and the networks are spitting out their golden moldies and their retreads. So if you're not watching re-runs of MY FAVORITE MARTIAN on Saturday nights on American Lifetime Network, chances are you are exploring the menu of delicacies served up by the broadcast networks.

DANCING WITH THE STARS kicked off their season with a three-night premiere that was, for the most part, rather entertaining. Tom Bergeron and the judges (Carrie Ann, Len and Bruno) are back, along with a slightly stiff Drew Lachey (subbing for new mom, Samantha Harris). This is a show that really works because ballroom dancing is in fact a discernible skill--and contestants with some degree of street creds in other areas must check their superiority at the door in order to find out what they can do on the floor. There is no guarantee of crossover success. Along the way, the poetry of human motion and human emotion combine to create a genuine portrait of people trying to learn an art form and execute the work at a reasonably high quality in front of millions of viewers. It's daunting and brave. (Wayne Newton doesn't really have to prove himself anymore, and yet there he is!) Early prediction--watch for the infectiously-charming Helio Castronoves to remain a leader throughout. And Jane Seymour, the oldest of the female competitors, is a lesson in class and deportment, undercut with just the right amount of giddy pleasure. Even the results show this week, with an effervescent Dolly Parton and the amazing Savion Glover performing, was delightful. Welcome back! (ABC, Monday and Tuesday nights)

PRIVATE PRACTICE, the spin-off series from Grey's Anatomy, picked up where it left off in its sample episode from last season. Addison Montgomery (Shepherd), played by an angular Kate Walsh, moves to California to join the alternative-lifestyle practice of her old college chums. Marin Duguy from the pilot has been replaced by Broadway's Audra McDonald, and it's lovely to have her on TV again. (She actually seems to awaken and challenge the often somnambulent Taye Diggs.) Tim Daly is back as a laid-back holistic healer but so far has nothing real to do. In fact, the only truly engaging storyline of the opening episode belonged to Amy Brenneman, whose psychiatrist had to quickly figure out and intervene during a patient's psychic break in a department store. Grey's Anatomy initially charmed with its detailed human portraits amidst standard medical show plotlines, but by the end of last year it had become just another primetime soap. Will Private Practice similarly devolve? Will it waste the talents of a gifted (and high-priced) ensemble? Time will tell. (ABC, Wednesdays, 9 pm).

BIG SHOTS, promoted as the male Sex in the City/Desperate Housewives counterpart, also features a pricey and attractive cast (Dylan McDermott, Christopher Titus, Michael Vartan and Joshua Malina) who say things like "men are the new women." But they're not, are they? As portrayed here, they are mostly inept oafs. Anyone looking for an honest look at men today is likely to be disappointed--no crime for a glossy TV comedy, I guess, but are we being entertained enough? THAT is the question. So far, aside from a couple of quotable quips, the inventiveness level here is fairly flat. (ABC, Thursdays, 10 pm)

On the other hand, what seemed like a potentially vacuous premise--a department store nerd who ends up a reluctant spy when subliminally-defined encoded government secrets are downloaded to his brain (perhaps by accident)--turns out to be a witty and suspenseful brew, due to a charming cast and honestly felt details that surprise and enlighten. CHUCK had me alternately on the edge of my seat AND giggling. Zachary Levi as Chuck is fun to watch and amazingly available--you feel you know him, and while his circumstances are extraordinary, his responses are believably real. His annoying best friend, Morgan, is played humorously by Joshua Gomez with just the right calibration--bothersome but loyal, he stops just short of being too much. And the stunning Yvonne Strzechowski makes the improbable CIA agent Sarah Walker the most attractive and strangely likable spy since Barbara Feldon's warm presence graced Get Smart. Add to that some genuinely funny writing, some spectacular special effects, and some truly first-rate suspense action superbly directed and edited and you've got a surprise winner. CHUCK may not be high-brow entertainment, but there's a really lovely aesthetic at work here and it's genuinely FUN! (NBC, Mondays, 8pm)

RELIGION GUILT-FREE

Impossible? Perhaps.

On this holiest of days, Yom Kippur (the Day of Atonement), I wish my fellow Jews a good fast, a day of peace, and that they may be inscribed in the Book of Life for another year. (Minus the fasting, I wish the same for all my non-Jewish friends as well.)

I still am trying to find my way to a spirituality I can live with on a permanent daily basis. I DO in fact believe in a power greater than ourselves, and that there is some sort of purpose out there, even if it only seems random to us because we are not capable (speak for yourself, Judd) of fathoming the larger picture. I am proud of my Jewish heritage and rituals but not in love with organized religion (as I've written before). So on a day like today--a unexpectedly rainy one--I'm at a loss, torn between a desire to spiritually reflect and a sense of guilt that I am not being "traditional," even though I'm not a traditional person in almost any sense of the word.

Religion, in my opinion, is a wedding of morality/ethics and faith. The morals and ethics of a religion (those tenants that make us good human beings) are a set of guidelines that we try to subscribe to and hopefully succeed in following. (Of course, all practicing religions would be out of business if we even had a 20 percent success rate--the idea that we are all "sinners" seems to be the key selling point.) And then there's faith--a belief that beyond clear and apparent evidence, the things we hope and pray for will ultimately come true--peace, love, prosperity, health, etc.

But doesn't the only hope for this combination (which I suspect most people really do need) lie in our defining for ourselves what is ethical, what is moral, and what is likely? Should we let others define these for us? Ultimately, since we are personally responsible for our actions and behavior, should we not first make sure we agree with what we practice? I feel we SHOULD believe in something--it is part of human nature. But why do we feel the need to have others define that belief? This is not to knock any organized system, but they are theologies with track records, certainly to be considered but never likely to be as perfectly tailored as a system that we personally adopt as our code of belief and behavior. Like any man-made structure, religions suffer from human failings. And history has shown repeatedly that blind adherence to any one belief system, particularly to a fundamentalist degree, has led to atrocities of the worst kind--all perpetrated when we knew that God "was on our side."

By all means, celebrate holidays and rituals. The fact that a Day is set aside for atonement and reflection is laudatory. ANYTHING that makes us take pause, to think about our lives and how we treat our fellows, is valuable to the quality of life for sentient beings. And guilt is certainly a good motivator in exploring how we treat our brothers and sisters. But the guilt should remain where it belongs, in the strange behaviors we have perpetrated--not in the process of how and why we explore our spiritual side. Any belief draws credibility when we take personal responsibility and act accordingly, so it perhaps it is best that it comes directly from our own design.

But as I say, who am I to tell anyone else what to believe? I'm still figuring it out for myself.

ART VS. RELIGION

For centuries, there has been a strange dichotomy between the arts and religion, particularly in the United States. In religious circles, art devoted to religious topics is considered good,while art that depicts human desire and autonomy is not so good. The purer the religious devotion of a given sect, the plainer (to non-existent) the art seems to become. Fundamentalists are usually not passionate art lovers, choosing to channel their energies to the deity. Thus while one of the indisputably greatest art patrons of all time is the Roman Catholic Church, there are fundamentalist movements (in all religions) that have branded art heretical and artists blasphemous. The arty and the artistic have always been morally suspect in our culture. Our American founding fathers, mostly good protestants, shied away from artistic endeavors and flashy decorations, and artists to this day are still viewed in this country as strange, lewd and slightly sinful, even as the culture thrives on their images and creations and the society spends millions to enjoy the work.

I mention all this because of the odd experience I am currently having with a show I'm directing, MASS. MURDER, which is opening this Thursday at 8 pm. (See the article below from September 1st--maybe you'll even buy a ticket!) It so happens that September 13th is RoshHashanah. Of course, Jewish holidays run from sundown to sundown, so that technically speaking the holiday WILL be over by the 8 pm curtain . . . that is, if you're reform. (Orthodox Judaism celebrates the holiday for two days, such that Jews all over the world will have experienced the holiday together.) Being the director but not the producer, I really didn't schedule this, nor did I even think about it when told the dates, which I guess one could say is my "fault." And, as I say, we do open after sundown, such that those attending opening night are safe from bolt lightning, even if I will be punished for attending the dress rehearsal. (But then again, dress rehearsals are frequently punishing anyway.)

The funny thing is, I feel really elated that the show is playing on the Holiday, and I'm trying to figure out why. Normally, for the High Holidays (Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur making the equation complete), I stay home, meditate and write in my journal (often some extra pages), and reflect upon my life. This is my version of religious practice, in my own words, a one-on-one. I love my Jewish heritage and the rituals and mores of the religion, but I'm less enamored of "organized religion," and the seeming self-righteousness it can engender. I cannot afford a year-long membership in a temple, and certainly will not spend a ridiculous sum for tickets to attend two days a year when I can "pray" at home in ways that mean more to me spiritually. I do feel connected and reflective with a higher power on those days, as well as to my fellow Jewish brethren. But being surrounded by strangers who are judging each other or pledging to be more active in the synagogue with their monetary and time promises--this does not work for me. And yet because I was raised a good, middle-class conservative Jew--and because, I suspect, my core Jewishness incorporates an ingrained neuroticism--I always feel guilty as I observe but not publicly. Like it's good that I do it, but I'm not really doing it right. (On the other hand, for many years I felt enormously disconnected and uncomfortable in the temple while simultaneously doing "the right thing.")

Now why--if I'm "praying" in my own words and thoughts by writing meditations in my journal and speaking from my heart, reviewing my deeds and evaluating my actions of the past year-- am I doing it wrong? Is not using my brain, the words, the very artistic impulses that I have been gifted with the greatest way to express my thanks for what I have been given?

Strangely enough, this show seems to be giving me an answer. Three darkly comic one-acts dealing with rudeness, injustice, avarice, bullying, and vengeance, they look very powerfully (if humorously) at the sense of entitlement we feel and the actions we excuse in the name of self-defense and self-preservation. And for a change, I feel I'm doing something highly religious on the High Holidays--I'm using my art and my abilities to get people examining their own morals and morality. I certainly didn't set out to do so, and whatever conclusions the audiences draw for themselves are fine with me. But my neurotic guilt didn't come crashing in as usual when friends pointed out my scheduling flub. In fact, I felt strangely on target. If the theater is my form of religion, then certainly it can't be ill to welcome a new year and explore issues by using the work to do so? I'm even tapping into a sense of belonging, of community, as I spend the evening with my fellow artists and audience members. I'm home.

I suddenly don't feel so on the fence about Rosh Hashanah. Of course, I will STILL write and meditate that day, but I will also celebrate the art I was born to pursue, and that's very pleasing to my sense of spirituality.

Now if only I had a project for Yom Kippur--we'll be closed long before the 21st . . . !

DARK, FUNNY & MURDEROUS

For those who like their comedies twisted, Edward Musto's work is like a box of good dark chocolate. Unlike Forrest Gump's drugstore candy box, you know what you're getting inside and you savor it with anticipation. Musto, who's previously been an Edgar Award nominee for mystery writing, knows how to create a great twist--and then twist it around a bit further for good measure! (His play, The Ninth Circle, is included in Martin Denton's collection, Plays and Playwrights 2003, published by The New York Theatre Experience, Inc.)

Having been a fan (and friend) for many years, I am delighted that I am getting to direct a delicious bill of three of his one-acts, under the umbrella title, MASS. MURDER (all of which feature murder and mayhem in Massachusetts). SHUTE BRANCH takes place in a quiet library extension, where the Librarian has advice for a young reader. BURNT SUGAR CAKE shows that you can't have your cake and eat it too, even in the world of soccer moms and well-kept yards. And in MANNERZ, we see how one young man chooses to leave a legacy. The wonderful cast includes Elizabeth Gee, Nell Gwynn, Eric Hunt, Bellavia Mauro, Annie Pesch, Robbie Rescigno and Abigail Ziaja, with costumes by the redoubtable Catherine Fisher. The show is being produced under the banner of La Muse Venale, M. Stefan Strozier's acting company, and will be performed for five performances only at the Blackbird Studio Theatre, 347 West 36th Street, 13th Floor, September 13-16. Sure, I'm biased, but this has been a truly fun project to work on and should be a blast to watch. The performance schedule is Thursday, Friday & Saturday nights at 8pm, with matinees on the Saturday and Sunday at 2 pm. SEATING IS LIMITED, so contact Theater Mania at 212-352-3101 or www.theatermania.com, to purchase tickets ($18). Click here for more information.

And Now on Home Video . . .

Without a doubt, Peter Morgan had a banner year, penning both of the Oscar-winning lead film roles: Idi Amin, which won the award for Forrest Whitaker (THE LAST KING OF SCOTLAND) and Queen Elizabeth II (for Helen Mirren) in THE QUEEN. Morgan also brought us the stage hit, FROST/NIXON, wherein the classic David Frost interviews with the disgraced President created an indelible portrait (and Frank Langella in turn received the role of a lifetime). Indeed, Morgan seems to be the "go-to" guy for great translations of real life figures into art. He himself didn't collect the Oscar or the Tony this season--but I'm sure there was plenty of comfort for him on the way to the bank.

Of course, it doesn't hurt if your leading lady is as gifted as Helen Mirren. Mirren is a great screen goddess, capable of a roar or a whisper that speaks volumes of truth, as anyone who's seen her work on PRIME SUSPECT can attest. Her previous Oscar nods (GOSFORD PARK, MADNESS OF GEORGE III) were entertaining and skilled, as were her various stage forays (she played last in New York City in DANCE OF DEATH opposite Ian McKellan), but her portrayal of the living monarch so perfectly captures England's figurehead as to completely blur the line between drama and documentary. (It also doesn't hurt to have the brilliant Stephen Frears as your director.)

In any event, THE QUEEN is available on DVD and cable, and while James Cromwell and Michael Sheen give admirable support, it is Mirren's show. (Although the real Princess Di, in memory alone, manages to be a remarkable antagonist.) It is well worth watching to understand some very real changes in the monarchy due to a particularly touchy period in Britain's modern history. Well worth watching.

OVERLOOKED AND WORTH SEEING

Right around the time that Forrest Whitaker was completing a clean sweep of the spring acting awards, it became apparent that another sentimental favorite was being ignored: Peter O'Toole. Granted, his small film had come out at the very tail end of the year with very little promotion. The actor, the most-nominated (without a win) in Oscar history, had received a Lifetime Achievement award the year before, but had accepted it warily, saying he still wanted to win one outright and that he still had more performances in him.

Well, he was right. He does, even well into his 70s. And while VENUS got some attention for his nomination--and then disappeared almost immediately after the award season ended--it is a film that should be seen in its own right.

O'Toole plays Maurice Russell, an aged wreck of a matinee idol who now mostly gets work as film corpses or occasionally roles as an old Pantaloon--in short, he is now a day player. But while there's snow on the roof, there's still fire in the furnace, and what one person may consider open-minded and adventurous behavior another might consider to be the exploits of a dirty old man. When one of his best friends (Leslie Phillips) takes in his teen-aged great niece as a supposed caretaker, Maurice is besotted. Jessie (Jodie Whittaker) is not the most proper young lady, but her very slovenliness is like catnip for the old sod, and he begins a campaign to woo her, the one thing she has no defenses for, and one of the more unusual May-December romances (if one can call it such) ensues.

Hanif Kureishi's screenplay, inspired by the Junichiro Tanizaki's novella, "Diary of a Mad Old Man," is biting, sharp-tongued and pulls few punches. Under Roger Michell's direction, the film is appropriately claustrophobic and cramped, like Maurice's world, and the chiaroscuro lighting often catches just a brow or a famously blue eye now set in a creased and aging road map of a face. But O'Toole's performance is as brave as any he's ever given, touching and yet even loathsome and very human. Whittaker takes equal chances, risking total unlikeability to create a realistic object for Maurice's affections. And Vanessa Redgrave turns in a marvellous cameo as Maurice's wife (or ex-wife--we're kept guessing, and for good reason). This is not a sunny film, nor a film that will leave you uplifted. Like NOTES ON A SCANDAL, it is yet another sad tale of the shrinking world of the elderly, and it is performed with an equally unsentimental sharpness. And one hopes that O'Toole has MANY more performances in him. But as long as there's a master working, one should catch this film.

Now available on demand, on cable, and in video rental stores.

AND ON CABLE

Speaking of Allen Coulter, DAMAGES, the new F/X legal series, is gritty, disturbing, twisting and twisted--which, of course, makes it great fun. Glenn Close could well be tired of playing iron maidens of dubious personal character--is EVERY strong woman selfish and evil at heart? Nonetheless, she does it so well and they're no doubt fun to play. (Meryl Streep did a similar turn in THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA--but there, the stakes were in high fashion versus murder--okay, I guess that's the same thing!) Rose Byrne holds her own as a young associate who works for Close's super lawyer, Patty Hewes, who has to adjust her own moral sense to keep her job while balancing the loved ones in her life. (Oh, and did I mention the show starts with a bloody, half-naked Byrne in a police interrogation room, needing a lawyer herself?) A superb theater-trained supporting cast includes the always protean Tait Donovan, Zelko Ivanek, Phillip Bosco, and, in a role that finally taps a deeper vein in his talent, Ted Danson as a wealthy Enron-like executive. (Before getting trapped in TV comedy land, Danson was riveting on the big screen in character roles in films like BODY HEAT.) The camera work is dark and foreboding, the editing edgy, and the scripts witty and terse. This nasty series (it is F/X, after all) will keep you biting your nails wondering what's to happen next--and wondering who is a good guy and who is a bad guy. Damages, Tuesday nights at 10 pm, F/X Channel.

COUCH POTATO CATCH-UP (KETCHUP?)

For those high-minded, low-motivated souls who want to see the latest (and best) movies of 2006 & 2007—but somehow can’t rouse oneself out of genetically-planted inertia—it is a boon thing that On Demand services were created. (Can’t wear out our tootsies braving a trip to a video store, or even to the mailbox, for Heaven’s sake!)

Two flicks (among millions) that I previously missed I’ve now had the chance to catch up with—and though I may be the last soul on the planet to view them, I can now recommend them to you.

HOLLYWOODLAND: The sad, mysterious death of George Reeves, TV’s Superman, is grippingly re-visited (without any firm conclusion) in this wonderfully noir feature by one of cable’s best directors, Allen Coulter (THE SOPRANOS, SIX FEET UNDER, DAMAGES). Ben Affleck gives the performance of his career thusfar, stunningly lacking in vanity, as the tragic Reeves, an actor who aspired to serious consideration and yet felt like a clown in a stretchy jumpsuit, playing a superhero in this cheap and pathetic new medium called television. (Whether this is truth or conjecture is the filmmaker’s prerogative—Reeves death was ruled a suicide, but to this day, questions remain, which is precisely where Coulter wants us for this outing.) Diane Lane is stunning as a Hollywood mogul’s wife who pretty much “keeps” Reeves, and Bob Hoskins and Joe Spano are appropriately menacing as studio men with shady reputations to uphold. Yet the film is told in flashback and really belongs to Adrian Brody, the Oscar winner for THE PIANIST, who is still slowly unveiling his talents to the public. Brody is a poet of moral conflict. As the hapless detective tracking the case, his face is an increasingly dented mask that nonetheless reveals a wide range of contrasting emotions as he pieces together a case while barely holding his own life together. HOLLYWOODLAND is fascinating, knowing the ways in which show business and television now operate—and the continuing obsession Americans have with stars and their pursuit of stardom. (Have Lindsay, Brittany or Paris seen this one? They might think twice before some of their choices if they did!)

THANK YOU FOR SMOKING: in the 80s and 90s, Ivan Reitman made a name for himself as one of the most successful directors of light comedies with a vaguely political edge. Now his son, Jason, seems to have taken up the mantel, with a slightly darker edge and a less glossy veneer. The results are quite positive. THANK YOU FOR SMOKING (based on the novel by Christopher Buckley) is sitcom-quick but subtly more stinging. Aaron Eckhart, by stealth the most versatile leading man in Hollywood, gives one of his sharpest turns yet as Nick Naylor, a tobacco industry lobbyist who takes pride in both his ability to spin and his love for his young and impressionable son. He is shameless as he defends an industry he fully recognizes as evil and self-serving, and yet (as he explains to his kid), EVERYONE in America deserves a good defense. His chief antagonist is the wonderful William H. Macy as a Vermont senator currying favor with a rabid anti-smoking/pro-Cheddar platform, and there are numerous star cameo turns from Robert Duvall, Maria Bello, Joshua Jackson, J.K. Simmons, and Mrs. Tom Cruise (Katie Holmes). Young Cameron Bright, seemingly the successor to Haley Joel Osment in the deep-thinking kid department, provides a great moral tent post to the piece as Naylor’s young son, and Rob Lowe is once again effectively glib as a power broker who never lets a care crease that pretty face of his. But it is Eckart’s film and he has never been more affable, even as he approaches total moral bankruptcy. This is a fun summer watch that also manages to be a good litmus test of American marketing and mores.

"CONNECT, GEORGE, CONNECT"

No, I'm NOT referring to Dubya seemingly missing the point that Al-Quaeda's gained strength, we've lost thousands of lives, and that Scooter Libby's punishment was not harsh but on the most forgiving end of the federal guidelines, nor that the government is here to serve the people versus his personal business interests and those of his friends. ("When you come down to visit me in Texas in retirement, you'll find me proud to see I acted on principle, not politics." Yeah, right. How about acting on FACTS?!)

Believe it or not, today's column is not political. (And those arty types know that the above quote is from SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE.)

Riding the subways of New York these days, look around you--IF you are able to pull yourself away from your ipod. More and more people are wired, literally--earphones, headphones, peering into tiny little screens to watch some downloaded video. These devices are wonderful, mind you--small, compact, light, usually good sound fidelity.

But are we isolating ourselves into oblivion? Are personal entertainment devices and cellphones and blackberries and gameboys causing a social breakdown (not to mention severe neck injuries, thumb injuries, and hearing loss)?

It's often said one shouldn't speak to strangers and to a certain extent caution is wise and prudent. But simple social interaction, an exchanged glance or smile on the subway, even a simple courtesy seems to be getting rarer and rarer. People are retreating into private worlds even when crammed into a world of many physical bodies and, whatsmore, they are refusing to acknowledge their very environment. Like many poorly-advised young acting students, they are so busy negating what they're given and replacing with "substitutions" that they're not giving real life a chance. In doing so, an individual's very humanity dies by degree. Not healthy for the society. Not healthy for the individual.

We are enriched by social interaction far more than we are ever depleted. And while I'm not advocating banning miniature electronics by any means--hey, I still love my little Zen and enjoy having Jennifer Hudson ripping through "And I am telling you" while I demurely hold onto the subway bar--I think we need to remind ourselves not to retreat so far as to miss the wonder of ongoing life happening right in front of us.

Oh, and while Dubya's brilliant foreign policy continues, we need to remain ever vigilant.

MOST OVERLOOKED FILM OF 2006

At the risk of sounding like an old fart--which is little risk at all, since I usually do!--there's precious little in film comedies these days for thinking adults (versus protracted adolescents). And why would there be? Folks who are entertained by reading and by Bill Moyers don't spend as much time or money at the movies these days. (HAROLD AND KUMAR GO TO WHITE CASTLE, anyone? Not a slam, mind you--I haven't even seen it.) But the fact is that an intellectual, literate comedy is generally not what brings them in by the carload to the local box office. Stars, therefore, go slumming in "art house" films when they want to do something presumably more thoughtful, taking a cut in pay in order to save their souls (so to speak).

The effect when that film is a) risky in style, b) released by a major studio on a larger scale, and c) literate (God help us) is more chilling than the air-conditioning in a freezing multiplex. Sometimes the film itself doesn't really work--RUNNING WITH SCISSORS, for example, despite some wonderful work by Annette Benning and especially Jill Clayburgh. (If you can get past some serious tonality problems, this is a fun flick for a weekend night in front of the home tube.) And the word of mouth on the star-laden EVENING from the pens of Susan Minot and Michael Cunningham is deadly. But sometimes, a marvellous film was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and no one knew what to do with it--but they went ahead and made it anyhow. Sometimes the right things just happen, even for the wrong reasons.

And so my nominee for most overlooked, most ignored, and perhaps most undiscovered gem of 2006--and thereby now available on cable and on-demand in 2007, is . . .

STRANGER THAN FICTION.

See, many of you don't even remember the title. But under the direction of Marc Forster (MONSTER'S BALL, FINDING NEVERLAND, and the forthcoming KITE RUNNERS), a diverse team of actors (Will Ferrell, Maggie Gyllenhaal, Dustin Hoffman, Emma Thompson, and Queen Latifah, among others) turn in wonderfully honest and engaging performances in a truly different and thought-provoking (but never knee-slapping) comedy.

Will Ferrell (who's done his share of populist comedies plus a few under the radar indies) is marvellously sweet and understated as Harold Crick, an IRS auditor living a mundane life--until he suddenly hears his life being narrated by an unidentified female narrator. He realizes he is a character in her book (even though he's actually alive and real), and while he is at first annoyed by her commentary and her familiarity with his mundane habits, he becomes alarmed when she speaks of his imminent demise! After consulting two different psychologists (Linda Hunt and Tom Hulce in lovely cameos), he ends up with a literature professor, played with charming discretion by Dustin Hoffman, in an attempt to track down just whose book he is habituating. (We are already ahead of him by this point, as blocked writer Emma Thompson has shown us her dilemma in trying to figure out just HOW to kill off Harold Crick under the watchful eye of her publisher-assigned assistant, Queen Latifah.) And wouldn't you know that all of this pressure would happen just at the point when Harold's life may change, thanks to a protesting, tax-evading baker (Ms. Gyllenhaal)?

I can't tell you more. Or I'd have to kill you. I can tell you that you will identify with Harold, as we are all the central characters of our own stories. This is not a new idea, to be sure, but the various takes on it in STRANGER THAN FICTION are achieved with charm and flair, and the film raises questions that will have you scratching your head about your own life. And when the company is this enjoyable, it makes for a lovely ride. Forster's touch never falters nor hits a wrong note, resulting in a whimsical but not annoying tale that takes you on a most enjoyable ride.

Overlooked in 2006? You bet (despite some awards for screenplay and a few passing nods for Ferrell and Thompson). But then, if there weren't overlooked films at the Box Office, we'd never have those little gems to discover on the quiet nights at home. So now's the time to catch up.

THEY KNEW WHAT THEY WANTED

We must be pretty dense as a people--after all, how many times and in how many ways do they have to give us the same message? "We will do whatever the hell we want."

Bush has commuted the sentence of Lewis "Scooter" Libby, Dick Cheney's former Chief of Staff who leaked the secret identity of a CIA agent to get at her husband, a political rival of the White House Boys and then lied to cover it up. Found guilty, he owes $250,000 (which his cronies will pay), and his 30-month sentence was commuted by Dubya. In short, he gets a slap on the wrist. Like the MasterCard commercial says, priceless.

This comes, of course, on the heels of Dick Cheney trying to close down the government office that wanted to subpoena his visitor log because he feels its no one else's business but his own whom he consorts with (and who, of course, contributes to his causes and benefits from his political largess).

All this while we supposedly fight a war for our freedoms, our democracy. Well, I suppose if you define democracy as the right to do whatever YOU want while others pay for it, I suppose they would consider it worth fighting for after all. Selfish men, unfortunately, can flourish under a democracy as easily as in any system, IF they control the keys to the kingdom.

And then, of course, they have freedom of speech--to decry any one who protests their war-like actions as being unsupportive of the troops. (Need we remind anyone that the contracts for rebuilding Iraq were not sent to open bid but given directly to Haliburton?)

This is, of course, primarily an arts column. It just goes to show how soulless the times are that even an arts maven cannot go unscathed by the selfish actions of selfish men. It is theater, of a sort--pretending to lead a country for the country's good, but like Richard III, they almost dare us to marvel at their greed, their evil deeds, their selfishness. They're not partisan, oh, noooo . . . indeed, what they do benefits neither Republicans nor Democrats, neither Liberals nor Conservatives. It supports business, their business, and it crosses multinational lines. This is not about religion. It's not about countries, philosophies, forms of government. It's strictly business and you're either part of the team or you're there to be strip-mined.

Disgusted.

If not thrown in jail for having an opinion, we'll get back to talking about art eventually.

QUICKIE RECOMMENDATIONS

On cable: If you haven't seen it yet--and I'm always the last to see everything, I fear--Tod Field's LITTLE CHILDREN is powerful, engrossing, steamy and disturbing. It works well on the small screen, capturing the small, trapped lives of small people in a small town. Oscar-nominated performances from Kate Winslett and Jackie Earle Haley in no way disappoint, and rising-star Patrick Wilson successfully plays yet another beautiful young man who has lost his moral compass. Not a fun movie, perhaps, but it will keep you on the edge of your chair with unease for the full 2 hours & 18 minutes. Now available on demand and in your local video store.

On disc: Barbara Cook hits her 80th year soon and shows no signs of slowing down, bless her. Like the late Rosie Clooney before her, each year brings more color and warmth into each and every syllable. What is traded in crystalline clarity (though she sounds damned good!) comes back a thousand-fold in nuance. NO ONE IS ALONE, her latest album, is a version of her most recent Carnegie Hall concert, but for various reasons is recorded instead in the studio, and the relatively relaxed situation makes a lovely contrast from her excellent but highly theatrical concert recordings. An intimate performer as always, this really feels like a private conversation, a sharing of favorite songs, and if none of them feel new, well, hey--sex with a great lover who knows you can be a wonderful thing, too! Available in most stores, on the DRG label.

SELF-SERVICE

When a news outlet's columnist writes about their own ventures, it's wrong and self-serving. When a blogger does so, it's . . . all in a day's work, I guess.

Hence, I can't resist mentioning that Gallery Players 10th Annual Black Box continues on. Still playing this weekend is Joe Lauinger's full-length play, BURY HIM, directed by Alexa Polmer. Lauinger is a Gallery stalwart and portraitist of some sensitivity--indeed, his play WEDDING ALBUM was a collection of inter-related two-handers stemming off one wedding, in which we got to know a myriad of folks intimately vis a vis their relationship to the bride, the groom or the main event. Other works have included office co-workers, divorced people working through sorting and assigning the things and people in their lives, and numerous other human negotiations. I'm seeing BURY HIM tonight, so I'd tell you more but I don't know much, other than a) I believe it deals with the death of a family patriarch and how family members (especially the daughter) move through the aftermath, and b) the production, which performs tonight and tomorrow at 8 pm and Sunday at 3 pm, features a talented cast along with Joe's insightful writing. (The world being a small place, I also just found out that a play of Joe's is being performed in the Dayton FutureFest this summer in Dayton, OH. Having participated a couple of summers ago and knowing the folks he will be working with, I'd say Joe's in good hands.)

Why is this self-serving? Because on the THIRD weekend of the Black Box Festival, June 21-23 (Thurs-Sat @ 8pm, Sun @ 3pm), there will be a delightful bill of four plays by three other regular Gallery Players writers: the talented Daniel Damiano, the gifted Staci Swedeen, and . . . yours truly, who will have two plays on the bill--VIOLATING UNCLE PIGGY and A TEMPORARY LAPSE. The rehearsal processes, under the direction of Amanda Friou and Rich Ferraioli respectively, has been lots of fun, and the young and vibrant casts have been going out on the high diving board fearlessly, so I'm fairly certain this should be a fun evening. To order tickets for this limited engagement, call 212-352-3101 or purchase tickets online at www.galleryplayers.com.

QUICK THOUGHTS

As I wait for the cable repairman (who's just about to miss the window of his four-hour appointment time), I'm still thinking about last Sunday night.

On the Tonys, we saw hard work rewarded. Certainly, shows that broke new ground were celebrated, like SPRING AWAKENING (not yet seen) and GREY GARDENS (truly lovely exploration with killer performances). Other classics were revisited, like the venerable JOURNEY'S END, the eloquent plea to stop man's senseless propensity for war. There were many fine artists and craftspeople honored and rightly so. And doesn't the network understand that awards shows are just another form of reality TV, like IDOL or DANCING WITH THE STARS. People are actually more interested in the acceptance speeches representing years of hard work and struggle than they are with flashing well-known starts credentials. This process of chasing folks off the stage with music that drowns that out only serves to make the thank yous MORE mundane, rushed and problematic--and then the cruelty of chasing folks off. It's like getting the hook! And yet having a host can usually tie things together and keep a show moving. This year's Tony's--disjointed, ungrounded and somewhat dull, despite a rather good season with a lot of potential entertainment clips to show. Sigh . . .

Folks are more concerned about the BIG Tony, Mr. Soprano. Great show up until the last 20 seconds--suspenseful, taut and tingle-producing. But while the various messages interpreted into the great blackout are indeed interesting, the fact remains that one feels tricked, cheated. Even THAT may be an appropriate response, but I believe that an audience's loyalty deserves better than that. Time is precious; devotion and loyalty rare. Why squander that? Maybe THE SOPRANOS won't feel it, but other HBO series will as they develop, mature and end, as all things must. Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me.

But still, Mr. Chase, thanks for the terrifying, funny and intense ride.

BEFORE "JOURNEY'S END"

A sad fact of human nature: we wait until the last minute to do things, particularly if something is "good for us" but might take more work or thought.

The best-reviewed show of the entire Broadway season was/is JOURNEY'S END, R.C. Sherriff's WWI drama, lovingly revived at the Belasco Theatre. It is expected to win the Best Revival Tony. And it will close this Sunday because no one has been going to see it. It's been playing to half-empty houses and the production will probably lose its entire investment.

So of course, when we went to see it last night (I didn't say I was better than anyone else, did I?), the show was mobbed by all those fellow theatergoers who had meant to get there sooner. And watching the brilliant cast (led by Boyd Gaines, Jefferson Mays, Stark Sands and authentic Brit Hugh Dancy) in David Grindley's sensitive production of this harrowing and absorbing anti-war, piece you couldn't help but be saddened that more people weren't getting to experience it.

What does it say when we (the public) stay away from thought-provoking theater, especially when this beautifully done? That we just don't want to think? That we as a society don't want to question? That we refused to be moved? Are we doing ourselves harm as a society if we refuse to ask ourselves the big questions until a personal tragedy forces us to do so?

You may say, "Why trouble ourselves? There's enough on the nightly news. Life's hard. Why go looking for more to stir the pot? And who cares about World War I? We've got our own situation."

But . . . isn't it our apathy, our blind faith and our abdication of responsibility to others in power to do the thinking for us that has led us to this place in our history--when for the first time, you really can't feel that "American behavior" is beyond reproach.

If art is to not only enlighten but to stir us to action, don't we at least have a responsibility to make sure we get exposed to it?! Not just the easy fun stuff--the stuff that asks more of us.

For those who can run there, hurry over to the Belasco Theater at 44th & 6th Ave. JOURNEY'S END will close at the Sunday matinee.

"GARDENS" IN BLOOM

In 1975, just as I was graduating (gulp) high school, the independent documentary film was on the crest of a wave, with the work of D.A. Pennebaker and the Maysles Brothers setting the groundwork for Barbara Koppelman, Errol Morris, Michael Moore, Morgan Spurlock and many others to come . Documentary film was becoming its own genre, American newsreel reporting giving way to more subjective explorations of non-fictive subjects. (One could argue this had already happened with Leni Riefenstahl and others in Germany, but this was a distinctly American wave.) Jumping on a fascinating news story, the Maysles Brothers created what was and has remained one of the most startling film documents of the 20th Century--GREY GARDENS, the cinema verite exploration of the world of Edith Bouvier Beale and her daughter, Edie, cousins of Jackie Kennedy Onasis, who after being passed over by the rich and the aristocratic in the 40s and 50s were now living in total squalor with over 50 cats, crumbling plaster and faulty plumbing in a once-grand mansion that had been called Grey Gardens in East Hampton. Even a high school senior saw the articles and pictures, and the film was one of the most talked-about events of the year. I remember desperately wanting to see it, but documentary films and teenagers living outside of major cities rarely came together. (And by the time I was in college, things had moved on.) Yet to this day, GREY GARDENS is on the list of top ten all-time great documentaries (as compiled by the Independent Documentary Association or IDA).

That someone would think to create a piece of musical theater from this 30 years later is pretty hard to believe, but that they would do it so well is amazing! GREY GARDENS: THE MUSICAL is currently at the Walter Kerr Theatre, adapted by Doug Wright (Tony winner for I AM MY OWN WIFE), with a score by Scott Frankel & Michael Korie. Michael Greif (RENT) has directed with sensitivity and imagination, and a gifted supporting cast (John McMartin, Bob Stillman, Erin Davie, Michael Potts, Matt Kavenaugh, Sarah Hyland and Kelsey Fowler take a bow) is anchored with lightening-bolt performances by Mary Louise Wilson (playing Edith in Act Two) and the incomparable Christine Ebersole (playing Big Edith in the Act One and Little Edie in Act Two).

If you weren't part of the select few who saw the off-Broadway production, you must see its Broadway transfer. If not always the perfect show, it is at the very least perfection in what it is trying to do--exploring people in a piece of history and their emotional lives, while doing said exploration in a most imaginative and theatrical way. To essay mental, physical and emotional deterioration is certainly a challenge worthy of Tennessee Williams, and to do so to people who, due to who they were AND to the cult status of this film, are icons of American culture is a risky challenge that could border on the kitsch. But GREY GARDENS heroines are treated unsparingly but with respect, and the result is a fascinating journey into madness. Act One is mostly supposition based on fact--one day in the life of the Bouvier-Beale household on the day Edie is to become engaged to a young fighter-pilot and senator-to-be, Joe Kennedy Jr. In a beautiful well-manicured estate, we detect some rot under the surface and the potential for the disaster of a lifetime. Act Two, more than 30 years later, shows how the rot had taken over and settled in, with mother and daughter now living like two bag-ladies in a place they hadn't the courage or strength to leave, surrounded by stray cats, raccoons, and filth.

What's so scary about the documentary--and what continues to work in the musical--is not that the mighty have fallen so far, but that it is easy to feel yourself sucked into the madness. These women have both lost it and yet not, such that you begin to fear for your own sanity--and begin to understand that unless the fates are kind, such a thing could happen to you. Ebersole's amazing dual performance of a glamorous, eccentric society star in the first act and a slightly unhinged former debutante in the second act is sure to remain in the pantheon of classic Broadway performances. But Ebersole and Wilson are not merely imitating the speech patterns and appearances of these two abandoned harpies (although they are indeed spot on as far as that goes). They indeed have channeled these women, and much as the documentary bares their souls, you feel these women on stage as truly as you do in the film.

There may be lags and limitations to a stage adaptation--one might wish for more of the cats and their presence (who seem to function as a feline Greek chorus in the film). But to see this kind of audacious exploration done with such talent and bravery deserves support and encouragement, for this is the realm to which great theater endeavors to take us.

Oh, and did I tell you it's also genuinely hilarious amidst the heart-break?!

Highly recommended for anyone who loves to see new, different and well-crafted theater.

. . . SO ROSIE WENT HOME

When I was growing up, one of my Dad's favorite hoary old jokes was, "Everyone was feeling rosy . . . so Rosie went home."

Rosie O'Donnell is a wild, passionate, emotional person, full of humor and smart observations. She is committed Mom to four kids, committed to her wife, committed to her love of theater, and enormously outspoken. A larger-than-life personality. I often find that my political views are exactly in line with hers.

But Rosie suffers from depression (as do I), and often looks to get her feelings hurt. It is one thing to feel free to put your thoughts out there. But you can't expect people to flip their opinions, even if they LIKE you, and defend your thoughts and actions against their own.

Elisabeth Hasselbeck is pretty, charming, smart, straight-as-they-come, and also outspoken--and as conservative as Rosie is liberal. They claim (or claimed) to love each other on THE VIEW and to respect each other's right to disagree. At times, neither of them listen very carefully to what the other is saying, so eager are they to get their points of view out there. For those who love to argue and debate, the hammer home approach is popular because, frankly, it's fun and aggressive. But you will note that my all-time favorite conservative--and one of the world's classiest intellectuals--was William F. Buckley, who never had to shout or hammer to make his point. He'd simply put it out there for you to agree or disagree.

Rosie got upset when Fox News, which Elisabeth loves, misappropriated Rosie's words, saying that Rosie call our troops "terrorists," which Rosie denies. She feels our government's actions create terror in other countries, which I agree with, but knows that the troops are following the orders of their leaders and risking their lives to defend our rights even under dubious circumstances. Again, I agree--and find spurious those who take opposing views to the war as disloyalty to the troops, which is a cheap and disingenuous argument used to enrage emotions and deflate opposition.

But Rosie tried to trap Elisabeth into saying that Fox News was inappropriate and conservative and further tried to box her into a position where she would have to deny her own comments in support of Fox News in order to support Rosie--it had to be one way or the other. Elisabeth said to her that she (Rosie) was a grown woman who could defend her own viewpoints. Rose called her a coward. And then Rosie asked to be released from the remaining three weeks of her contract from THE VIEW and ABC obliged.

I'm not playing with you anymore. You hurt me.

C'mon, Rosie. If you and Elisabeth can't find ways to play nicely together--and you supposedly like each other--then what hope is there for us to solve wars and major world conflicts. What kind of message are you sending your kids if you walk away pouting when you don't get your point of view validated the way you want it to be? I know what you wanted from Elisabeth and I don't disagree with your desire or your opinion, and I would have liked Elizabeth to have admitted Fox's manipulation (Elisabeth does tend to buy whole packages without looking or questioning the ingredients) but your BEHAVIOR sandbagged her, and your subsequent BEHAVIOR damages your credibility and your cause. A leader takes the licking and keeps on ticking, and the ways you move beyond the petty is even more of an inspiration and example than the actual argument itself. Taking your toys and going away is not the appropriate action--as Sanford Meisner used to say, "An ounce of behavior is worth a pound of words." And if the war can't be discussed or even argued about between friends, then nothing is ever going to be resolved. Is this really the message you want to send, the legacy you want to leave on THE VIEW?

MORE GOOD REVIEWS FOR "EDDIE"

A pleasant surprise--a new review from T.F. Rice, Hidden Valley Farm, Publisher of THE OTHER HERALD in Perry, NY.

Helping Allergic Kids (& Others) Feel Better About Their Peculiarities!
19 Apr 2007
by T. F. Rice
Author Judd Lear Silverman offers up encouraging words disguised as fun in the story EDDIE HAS ALLERGIES. Full of rhyming and other wordplay, this is a story the kids will want to finish. Laughter is one of the best medicines! And reading a story about someone else having similar difficulties can make a big difference in a worrisome child's life.

Allergies are an extremely relevant topic these days. If it is difficult for an adult to "deal with" their allergies, it must be awful for a kid to do so. Help is on the way... Silverman can't wave a wand and make the allergies go away... with mere words... but he's proved he can make a kid feel better in other ways! Hip- hip- hooray! -T.F.Rice

Now if I can just spread the word . . . !

IN PRAISE OF "DANCING"

In tandem with severe spring allergy season comes "TV Finale Season," and some of the symptoms are the same for both--watery eyes, a queasy feeling in the pit of the stomach, congestion and general malaise. TV Finale Season is characterized by end-of-season, end-of-series finales for dramas and comedies, while competition shows present their finals and/or semi-finals.

Many dramas suffer from cliffhangeritis, the need to overload their final show with so much bad news that those who are involved with their favorite characters simply won't rest until next fall--when they find out that the big deal their hero was going through was merely a blip they'll forget about by the first commercial.

In the hour-long department, GREY'S ANATOMY takes the prize for stuffing more melodramatic claptrap into an hour than just about any other show. The show, once one of the more intelligent offerings, has gotten enormously mushy, throwing in every kind of classic, melodramatic twist. On this season's finale, there was desertion at the altar on a wedding day, careers destroyed, memories restored and loves betrayed, near-death and break-ups by those who were "meant to be together." The smart and subtle shadings that made the show so watchable have been flattened out into heavy, even leaden layers of black and white. It's not fun to watch an hour of endless hand wringing. I simply don't care who Izzie's in love with anymore. George and Callie should grow up. Meredith can go ahead and jump back in the river. At least Addison's smart enough to go off and get her own show, (to be called PRIVATE PRACTICE) with much wittier characters and more believable conflicts and dialogue (at least in the pilot).

Far better scores go to GILMORE GIRLS, which ended seven years with far more subtlety: Rory's heading off to cover the campaign trail, her first job as a reporter, and while she's saying good-bye, friends and family make temporary peace, saying the things they wish they'd said in daily conversation. No one rushed to a quick decision--no flash marriages nor deaths--and while the possibilities for happily-ever-after were introduced (yes, Luke & Lorelei finally kissed after Luke threw a going-away extravaganza for Rory against all odds), we got the sense that these people would go on living their normal lives while Rory began her coverage of Barak Obama's campaign. That this show exited with some dignity is gratifying, especially when it began the season without the flippant wit that had previously characterized its charmingly dizzying manner.

And MEDIUM ended a multi-part cycle without losing its head (although many characters lost theirs!). The fact is that after all the bad behavior, Alison just walked into a meeting, pronounced the real killer and said "You want the details? I'll fill you in later!" Classic, fun, AND time-saving. These people knew we'd been watching and trusted we could handle it. We're not going away this summer worried to death about Alison, Joe and the kids--hopefully, after all they've been through, they'll get some rest and be fresh and ready come the fall!

But the real thriller comes this week.

No, not the AMERICAN IDOL finale--it figures that in a country that elected this administration for a second term and wonders why the world is in such deplorable condition, the remarkable grace, skill and talent of Melinda Doolittle would be passed over in favor of the moderately talented but cute Jordin and Blake. Let's face it--skill is not rewarded in this country, and intelligence is looked down on as an elitist activity! Sad, very sad.

No, I refer to the consistently entertaining DANCING WITH THE STARS on ABC, where after an increasingly competitive series of performances and eliminations, there are three couples left standing, only one of whom can take away the mirror ball: Laila & Max, Joey & Kym, Apolo and Juliana. Unlike IDOL, the contestants are "adults" who have trained hard, taken what the judges have told them to heart, and have put on their best game time after time. It's really impossible to predict who will win--all are so very different, and yet equally deserving. The suspense is terrific. But then think about it--how many shows appeal to so many different ages and demographics? This is a show that families actually want to watch together. The musical guests come from numerous age groups and music types, as diverse as the contestants themselves. Judges actually talk about the fine points of ballroom dancing ( toes turned out versus in, breathing through the whole body, posture) and people are enthralled. Everyone learns something and has a good time. The show is thrilling, with an expert hosting turn from Tom Bergeron. I don't even dare to predict the winner--but we'll be watching!

PARIS IS BURNING

Paris Hilton is going to jail in June. For 45 days. Just enough time to pick up some fashionable accessories that go with stripes. And a little orange jumpsuit for her chihuahua.

For those living under a rock, you may wonder why the poor little heiress is being tormented. Well, she violated her probation (twice), driving with a suspended license, which came from a DUI arrest this fall.

Eve, the rap "artist" also made news for DUI, as did (it seems) thirteen thousand other celebs and wannabe celebs. In fact, DUI seems to be replacing eating disorders as the attention-getting device of those who would be stars. (Maybe it's just that they lack the secret ingredient--talent--that makes them have to work harder for the attention.) But then again, while eating disorders are distressful to others but mostly dangerous to the individual, driving while intoxicated threatens everyone's health and well-being, making it that much more potent--in terms of garnering attention, that is.

Why, oh, why does the media insist we care?! Is the situation in Darfur so sad that they know we won't watch THAT footage, so they give us Paris entering and leaving a courtroom, fashionably attired? (The world got to see Naomi Campbell's daily outfits for her community service, served for beating the umpteenth assistant with a cell phone or a vibrator or a Nordic track or something--we remember the walk to and from but not even the crime, thanks to the cameras!) Does the Bush administration have such a stranglehold on actual war statistics and battle coverage that instead the media outlets go to such desperate places as releasing tapes of David Hasselhoff falling off the wagon and being berated by his kids for doing so? Are we feeling so impotent at brokering peace in the Middle East that instead we concentrate on brokering some kind of truce between Alec Baldwin and Kim Basinger? (Come now, is calling your daughter a "rude little pig" truly that bad a misdemeanor? And for all we know, maybe she IS behaving like a rude little pig--show me a kid who hasn't at some time or other!)

Something has gotten very corrupt in the media and no one is saying a word. It is like the news outlets are turning a blind eye to that which might sadden or even enrage the populace, choosing instead to stuff us with the meaningless exploits of debutantes. Even You Tube, developed as the people's reporting site, appears to be manipulated by those seeking attention. How did Eddie Griffin's destruction of a rare Ferrari make it to the air so quickly? Michael Richards' seemingly racist meltdown? Mike Daisey's contretemps with a Catholic school group walking out on his show en masse? And who leaked the Baldwin phone message to the media anyway? (Do YOUR personal phone messages end up on national television?)

Manipulating the media has become THE game of the century. He who rules the media rules the world (something Rupert Murdoch has had embroidered on his pillows for decades). And so we get further and further from the truth we can't or don't wish to face. Foreclosures on homes are at an all-time high, the private farms of this nation are disappearing as fast as the polar ice caps (which if you haven't noticed are melting even faster than predicted). But why think about these things when we can worry whether or not Paris will be treated like all the other prisoners?!

Again and again, our apathy let's these media mavens get away with their nefarious deeds. If we withheld our viewing AND OUR DOLLARS, perhaps we would get some respect. Our power is in our purchasing power, in viewing numbers. Until we display a healthy show of outrage, they will continue to laugh at us. Can't we tell them no?!

Until then, I can hardly wait to see what Paris is putting on her iPod for her stay--Jailhouse Rock, anybody?

A PRAYER FOR ELASTICITY

Mendy: A Question of Faith first came out in 2003 and drew attention at several film festivals. Dealing with a young Hassid in exile form the Hassidic community and encountering a hedonistic lower east side/alphabet city NYC, it questions how modern religion (or rather, religion not modernized) fails to provide an in-between for those torn between extremism and an identity that allows personal spirituality into modern life. Adam Vardy's film is not the most sophisticated perhaps, shot inexpensively and written in rather earnest tones, is still quite brave in the questions it asks, it's unwillingness to settle for easy answers, and for the very fact that it's a film that while pointed will always have a hard time finding its audience. (Those who are religious will balk at the sex, the drugs, the rock and roll. Those who would be hip to the world portrayed will resist looking at a film that deals with religion and spirituality. Much of it is in Yiddish with subtitles. Not at all an easy sell.) But while the story's a bit schematic, a terrific performance by Ivan Sandomire at its center keeps it watchable, and it's a film that strangely becomes more and more a part of your thoughts the further you move away from it. It has staying power in your brain.

Which leads me to elasticity. It seems that the problem the world has now, more than any other, is its blind faith in absolutes--I'm right, he's wrong, it's got to be all one way. This bleeds into any discussion of the situation in Iraq, into politics, religion, even (to some degree) the horrifying massacre this past week at Virginia Tech. (In that case, rigidity calcified all the way into depraved indifference for human life.) Most philosophies and religions are ideas for life, and life takes so very many forms. Yet we seem to view things in concrete--a substance created by man. It is said that if you chip away at religion, chipping off the parts you don't like to accommodate the present, you soon will have nothing left. Maybe. But God (or your concept of God, fill in your own blank) created trees and plants that bend in the breeze so they won't snap, and a carefully pruned plant actually grows back stronger, healthier, better able to sustain life. When religions fail to incorporate the changes that have happened in life to our society and culture in the name of remaining pure, they are ultimately failing their purpose, which is to provide security and spirituality to those who turn to them for guidance. Absolutes maybe easier to understand or to swallow, but they are not healthy to follow. Views of women, of sex, of education, of culture--these have changed considerably of the past few centuries, and while the seeds of most religions provide wonderful tenants to construct a life, the rigidity of most "organized" religions fail to give a livable road map that can help people live realistic modern lives. Religion should not be an all or nothing thing but rather a guidance system, a place where man can get in touch with his deepest spirituality. Instead, it uses guilt to control a mob who are afraid to think for themselves or are too confused to know what is best for their own lives. Denial of reality depletes energy, even in the service of only maintaining pure or positive thoughts. Elasticity serves best in any relationship, be it between man and woman, man and man, or man and God. It allows one to find the best in each other and in ourselves, it encourages forgiveness and understanding. It accepts, even as it controls and provides boundaries. Pray by all means--but pray for the ability to flow with the changing times and follow the bungee cord so that you can find your way back to solid ground.

Mendy: A Question of Faith is now available on DVD.

"And the animals will love it if you do . . . "

(Do you remember what 60's pop legend wrote that lyric? The answer at the bottom of this entry!)

This coming Tuesday, April 17th at 7:30, is another wonderful Playwrights for Pets evening, entitled Fairy Tales: Shaken, Stirred & With a Twist. (Playwrights for Pets, according to the website, "was created to produce play readings in support of organizations dedicated to animal welfare." The April 17 performance will benefit Animal Haven.) The evening will feature plays by Janet Demarest, Judith Estrine, Ron Frankel, Maureen Hennigan and yours truly (Never Wear a Dead Man's Shoes--that's the piece of mine they're doing, not just a warning!). The terrific cast features Erin Cronican, Brian Fuqua, Elizabeth Gee, Laura Gillis, John Moss, Arlene Nadel, Barry Steely and Dana Watkins. Did I mention show time is 7:30 PM and that there's a free wine reception afterwards? It all takes place at the Baruch Performing Arts Center - "an incubator for the arts" - at 55 Lexington Avenue at 25th Street. There is a $10 suggested donation. Call (718) 768-4213 for reservations or e-mail gracomal@pipeline.com. For more information, visit www.playwrightsforpets.com.

The evening is recommended for "mature audiences." But of course, you're mature--or you wouldn't be reading this blog, now would you? Nor would you have been able to answer the trivia question above. (If you couldn't, it's by Paul Simon, a song called "At the Zoo" from his days with Art Garfunkel. "Something told me it's all happening at the zoo/I do believe it/I do believe it's true . . . " It goes on to tell what a great time you'll have if you go there and . . . "the animals will love it if you do . . . ")

Hey, it was a long week!

OH, WILBUR!!!

No, we're not talking about Mr. Ed here.

If anyone owes a debt for their continuing existence in the English-speaking 21st century, it is Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, better known to the masses as France's best-known dramatist, Moliere. And the debt he owes is to the brilliant 20th-century poet and translator, Richard Wilbur.

Though a gifted poet in his own right, the marriage of Wilbur's vivacious verse translations with Moliere's devlish satires is one made in literary heaven. There have been many other attempts to recreate Moliere's wit and his verse, but few have matched the genius and theatricality that Wilbur's translations have wrought. (Tony Harrison's unusual adaptation of THE MISANTHROPE does come to mind, but that was for a very special production featuring Diana Rigg and Alec McCowen, if memory serves.)

The ability to experience this wonderful cross-time collaboration is currently offered by a clear, literate and entertaining production of THE LEARNED LADIES, currently on display for the final weekend at The Gallery Players in Brooklyn. Efficiently directed by Neal J. Freeman, the play moves at galloping clip that keeps the satire and story alive and yet at the same time allows you to savor the words of master craftsmen in action. A colorful design scheme keeps the show visually lively, and there are standout performances by Heather Siobhan Curran, Patrick Toon and Laura Heidinger among others. While New York City always has enough Shakespeare to shake a stick at most seasons, we don't get enough opportunities to celebrate the French master. Here's an opportunity to see why he's hung on so long--presented by the folks who make his work and memory continue on as living, breathing theater.

Now through April 15th at The Gallery Players, 199 14th Street (between 4th & 5th Aves) Brooklyn. Buy tickets online at www.galleryplayers.com-OR- call (212) 352-3101.