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.

GOING WITH THE FLOW IS NO "SECRET"

Millions are reading "The Secret," Rhonda Byrne's best-seller that claims to provide the secret of enormous success in life. Utilizing quotes from philosophers and scholars living and not, Byrne tells about the Universe's generosity and the Law of Attraction, wherein whatever we wish for, we can attain. Our thoughts are like magnets and whatever we think, good or bad, we bring back to us. Ask. Believe. Receive. Byrne and her team of experts claim this is the ancient method to wealth, health and happiness. It may even help with obesity and cancer. (And if the book doesn't do it for you, there's a video and an audio book that can help.) Most importantly for book sales, Oprah endorses it, claiming she's known the secret all along. (But Oprah can do her own promotions, she doesn't need my help.)

Believe it or not, I'm not going to debunk it. For one thing, I'm still working my way through it, so it would be unfair. But for another, there's much to be admired in it. A positive attitude is imperative to get what you need in life, while negative thinking does lead to despair and depression. No doubt. Positive visualization has indeed been proven an effective aid in not only modern AND ancient medicine, but likewise in people setting and attaining goals. Figuring out what you want and giving it words, a shape, some tangibility is crucial in the process of organizing and energizing one's life. And it is true that negative thinking can lead to a downward spiral, whereupon one brings disaster upon oneself as a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy. The book even suggests creating a list of things that give you warm and positive feelings, such that you can snap yourself out of self-destructive behaviors and thoughts. So in a very real sense, the book does raise valid points to incorporate into one's thinking.

However . . .

(You knew that was coming.)

However, where I question (at this point--remember, still reading!) is where the book advocates careful control of one's thoughts. The abundant universe is non-judgemental about your thoughts, returning all of them back to you with interest, be they positive or negative. Thus, if you have a bad thought, you may be bringing bad thoughts back to you, collecting bad karma. If wishing for something, you should ask the universe, believe you are receiving it and act as if you've already received it. Fine, but if you have problems doing that or if you have a moment of doubt, then you have put the whammy on yourself.

Now, the fact is, anything that requires you to monitor yourself that self-consciously has got to be problematic. And anything that leaves you feeling one false thought will lead to dire consequence is bound to make anyone a bit neurotic. Denying what you feel--and we all have a mix of good and bad feelings from moment to moment--takes away energy. "Blocking" all negative thoughts is actually an energy draining activity. We must live in the moment, and no one's moments are all good and happy. Trying to control how we think and feel and respond at all moments drains life of spontaneity, and while we may wish to be positive forces in the universe at all times, NO ONE is, not 24/7.

It is not Byrne's encouragement that I'm negating. It is the intensity being suggested in the pursuit of the positive goals.

My recommendation: plant positive seeds in your brain as a matter of course. Indeed, do set goals, and do try to imagine living those positive fantasies. Such activities cannot but help. However, go with the flow--be honest with all your feelings and emotions and don't try to shut out those which may not please you or may not serve. Whatever that feeling you may have, it is yours and you must own it, otherwise the denial will cost you far more energy than the acceptance of it. Trying to control or hold onto life too tightly, be it a negative or even a positive moment, leads to a backing up, a constipation of the natural flow of life. We cannot control each moment in time, nor should we want to control it. The beauty and the discovery of life happens with ease, an ease that comes with acceptance. By going with and contributing to a natural flow, we grow, change, build. We participate, we don't stand on the sidelines waiting only for that we are sure is the good stuff. Sure, we may make mistakes, but by being involved in the process of even a mistake, we grow and learn. And this doesn't mean we don't make commitments -- indeed, a good relationship is continuous but not stagnant. Our love is not made of cement like a house's foundation but rather is loose and flowing, tethered perhaps but allowing for changes of current.

Healthy dialogue allows for contradiction, opposition. Byrne describes the law of attraction as like attracting like, but haven't we also heard that opposites attract? And don't we have evidence to support it? Magnets? Ying and Yang? James Carville and Mary Matalin?

In short, don't hold life to tightly. Yes, take the positive approach and dream as big and brightly as you can. Love as much as you can (which Byrne endorses). But to spend life cautiously, to act as if it all might break, to walk on eggshells constantly--that can't be conducive to good emotional health! Nature gives us the good and the bad as part of the cycle. If you want one part, you must accept the whole package.

But who knows? I'll finish the book. Maybe I'll change my mind. I'm staying positive.

THE VANISHING NETWORK AUDIENCE

Well, what did they expect?! ABC is shocked that its viewership has dropped substantially for their supposed blockbuster, the Emmy-winning LOST, on Wednesday nights.

I must confess, I'm not a viewer of the fading hit--I saw a moment here and a moment there and was neither taken by its so-called charms nor willing to invest in its complicated storylines. But I know there are those who view it (or used to view it) as religiously as I view, say, MEDIUM or HOUSE (or MY FAVORITE MARTIAN re-runs, which are proving delightful!). From what I gather, it's a fairly high-quality enterprise--LOST, that is.

So why is it fading?

Perhaps the same reason that 6 DEGREES, with its fabulous cast of talented actors like Hope Davis and Campbell Scott, can't find an audience. Perhaps the same reason that the infectiously naughty MEN IN TREES keeps losing steam, despite some truly inventive scripts and the best range of characters since NORTHERN EXPOSURE. Maybe the same reason that BROTHERS & SISTERS isn't growing despite a Sally Field, Calista Flockhart, Rachel Griffiths AND Patricia Wettig--the award-power alone is dizzying!

But let's ask the killer questions: WHEN DID IT EVER MAKE SENSE TO KEEP INTERRUPTING RUNS OF SHOWS?! WHEN DID IT MAKE SENSE TO KEEP SLIDING SHOWS ALL AROUND THE SCHEDULE SO YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN TO CATCH THE PROGRAM, EVEN WITH A VCR/DVR?! Of course, ABC is not the only network to do this--they all do it now. But don't they ever notice that audiences don't want to invest in shows, particularly shows with building storylines, if they don't feel they will get to see all the episodes in sequence. Whatsmore, some of these shows (however worthwhile) then get cancelled because they "couldn't attract an audience"--and those who were into them don't even get the benefit of a satisfactory conclusion.

MEN IN TREES, for example, is rumored to have survived to next season, but who can believe them? They moved the show from Friday evenings to Thursdays immediately after GREY'S ANATOMY, which seemed a sign of faith--but then it was only there for a couple of episodes, then it was interrupted, then put into re-runs, then finally allowed a new episode, and then . . . hiatus, with no promise of return. (But then, remember, this is ABC, who has lazily scheduled re-broadcasts from the previous evening of GREY'S ANATOMY on Fridays at 8pm rather than come up with something new and inventive.)

Folks, whatever school programmers are going to is doing a poor job of educating them! Loyalty comes from viewers when the networks respect the viewers--and give shows a chance to build their following. Need I remind anyone that CHEERS and SEINFELD and ALL IN THE FAMILY were at the bottom of the ratings in their first seasons, and it was only the faith of the programmers--and the gift of time to catch on--that resulted in the creation of long-running television classics.

Frankly, it's not that we'd all rather watch amateurs doing silly, dangerous and occasionally talented things on so-called "reality" shows. It's just that we want to watch something that won't be taken away from us so readily. Otherwise, we just watch something mindless to kill time (and frankly, there's not a lot of time left in the day to kill!).

Finally, consider that shows like SEX AND THE CITY, THE SOPRANOS and SIX FEET UNDER, all HBO shows that were cultural landmarks, were allowed to run because their numbers were good for CABLE; they were allowed to become part of the water cooler discussion world because they were around long enough to evoke a response. Had these same shows posted the exact same numbers on NETWORK television, they would have been long gone after the first season. Isn't it time to realize that with all the options out there, there can be all kinds of programming that is valid for specialized audiences? There's no need to try to find one show that fits all sizes--because it doesn't exist and never will.

Why are viewers going away, Networks? Who wants to enter into a cynical situation willingly? We want to know you'll still respect us in the morning.

Of course, I should talk--this is my first blog in weeks after a lengthy break. Are you still there, readers? Life is getting better--I promise to write more often!

HERE & THERE

Now through March 11th, Brooklyn's Gallery Players is doing a lovely, simple and affecting production of VIOLET, with book & lyrics by Brian Crawley and music by Jeanine Tesori. (Tesori is the talented composer behind CAROLINE OR CHANGE and THOROUGHLY MODERN MILLIE). The tale of a young woman's bus journey to get a facial scar healed in the 1960's, it is really about a journey to discover the beauty inside her soul. Along the way, Violet meets two young soldiers who are enthralled by her, as well as many interesting fellow passengers on the bus and strange characters at stopovers along the route. M.R. Goodley has done a lovely and economical job staging the piece on the Gallery's small stage, and musical director Jeffrey Campos makes the most of the vocally gifted cast. It would be wrong to start singling out members of this tightly knit ensemble, but one cannot help but fall for the charming Rhyn McLemore who capably carries the show as Violet. (As her two soldier suitors, Flick & Monty, Collin Howard and Shad Olsen give able support.) This is one of those shows that Gallery does so well--small off-Broadway gems that didn't get the broader exposure one would wish them. See it during its last two weekends--who knows when you'll have the chance again?!

Further information can be found at www.galleryplayers.com. Individual tickets for each performance are $18 for Adults and $14 for Children 12 and under and Senior Citizens. Individual tickets can be purchased at www.galleryplayers.com or by calling (212) 352-3101. Performances take place Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays at 8PM, and Sundays at 3PM.

DISCLAIMER: The author is NOT a professional reviewer, and is indeed friends with many at the Gallery Players. However, this is a blog site, comprised of opinions of the author. If I didn't like the show, I probably just wouldn't write about it. Consider this "review" as a friend passing on the word about other friends' good work.

ON BROADWAY

David Hare is one of the major playwrights working both sides of the Atlantic, with such hits as PLENTY, THE SECRET RAPTURE, STUFF HAPPENS, VIA DOLOROSA and THE BLUE ROOM, as well as the screenplay for THE HOURS. (Later this season, he'll direct Vanessa Redgrave in Joan Didion's THE YEAR OF MAGICAL THINKING.) So one could understandably get excited about the idea of seeing Julianne More and Bill Nighy, two of our more interesting, risk-taking film actors appearing onstage in Hare's THE VERTICAL HOUR. Unfortunately, in performance, you'll be more likely to be thinking about how soon they'll let you rest horizontally. It's not the actors' fault--they give competent, committed performances--and the script is high-minded with some interesting ideas, but it feels like all the action (and passion) has happened in the past and now they all just talk about it. And talk. And talk. Deeply held secrets are ultimately unsurprising, and the dark night of the soul just somehow doesn't dig deep enough. (And if reporters are supposed to stay objective, why is being a war correspondent a profession that "helps people"?) The set and lighting is simple but effective, and the whole evening has a professional sheen, but quite frankly, it's just not all that interesting. (At the Music Box Theatre on Broadway.)

MUST SEE

A bit further under the radar than AN INCONVENIENT TRUTH, (the stunning documentary about global warming and the fight being waged by Al Gore) is a film that is even more disturbing--WHO KILLED THE ELECTRIC CAR? Narrated by America's fantasy President (Martin Sheen, long a political activist when not Jed Bartlett on The West Wing), this is the tale of America's electric car--not a fantasy but a functioning reality that was then quashed by the forces who support the continuing dependence on oil--ie., the oil companies, the car manufacturers, and, oh yes, those Texas oilmen who run Washington. (Just yesterday, it was announced that the fuel efficiency calculations the Bush Administration has been using for calculating estimated miles per gallon are off by at least 20 years in terms of the technology and driving patterns of American citizens.) The documentary tracks from the time California Air Resources Board mandated a reduction in fuel emissions from the country's auto manufactures, leading to an active search to create newer, more fuel-efficient vehicles. (Political pressure eventually caused California to repeal their own measures.) Apparently, GM and several other companies created the EV1, an electric car that could be plugged in at home to charge and would get at least 60 miles per charge--with no emissions and at a much lower fuel cost than either gas or the hydrogen fuel cell technology being touted as this administration's favored "alternate" energy source. Since the average American driver only drives 29 miles a day, this was not a bad alternative. The EV1 owners loved them passionately, not only for their "green solution" but because they were quiet, stylish and handled beautifully. But this threatened American oil interests and so the cars had to die--literally. (The most powerful section of the film is when GM recalls all their leases for the EV1's, literally hauling them all away and crushing them rather than allowing them to exist on the road as an example of what could be.) This film, sadly, explains much about what has gone crazy in this country and the ways in which power has been grossly misused. Governments don't protect us or our future--they're here to service the business activities of those in power, the oil people. And hence you have the war in Iraq, the ravaging of nature preserves for petroleum resources, global warming and high prices at the gas pumps.

Of course, documentaries these days are no more held to journalistic ethics than is, say, the White House. Facts can be distorted, and numbers can be made to add up any way you please. (Michael Moore is an entertainer first, after all, and an effective one even as he gets us all riled up.) But so much of this story was clearly under-reported that we all missed a major event going on under our very noses--and at a time when the battle over fuel is key to all major economic discussion in this country. If this film doesn't raise your dander, nothing will. (Who Killed the Electric Car?, following a national theatrical release, is now available on cable on-demand.)

MUSIC. MUSIC, MUSIC

OH, MY NOLA (Harry Connick, Jr., Columbia)

Harry Connick, Jr., has done it again. This multi-talented artist just keeps getting better with time, stretching himself with wide ranges of music and performance experience. (His turn on Broadway last season in The Pajama Game was a big hit.) But perhaps the biggest sign of his maturity as an artist is that his work no longer needs to be THAT important—that one can play and dabble in different areas and create freely, joyfully, without holding on too tightly. Some of Harry’s earlier albums were marked by earnestness, a sense that this was an amazingly gifted prodigy. (Though completely different in style, one might say the same of Josh Groban’s efforts—incredibly gifted but a bit precious at this, still the start of the game.) The last few efforts Harry has made, however, are born of confidence. No longer having anything to prove, he can just cut loose and make music. This was true of his last popular music album, the highly enjoyable Only You, and now it’s even more evident in Oh, My Nola. The art is so good that it’s artless and Harry is just plain having FUN—and so do we with this collection old time favorites re-visited, songs it would be great fun late on a Saturday night in a honky-tonk or club to revisit. “Working in a Coal Mine,” “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” “Jambalaya (on the Bayou)” . . . the effect is infectious fun, with Harry sounding relaxed and the arrangements sounding by turns hot and playful. Looking for something fun to listen to—this is it!

NOT TOO LATE (Nora Jones, Blue Note)

Meanwhile, Nora Jones has returned with a third album, Not Too Late, another collection of sultry and sublime numbers rendered in her inimitable style. Ravvi Shankar’s daughter (lest we forget) is a talent that is in no hurry—she’s real and she’s here and she’s not about to disappear, such that we again will follow her anywhere she chooses to explore. This may not be her greatest album—that may still be to come—but from her very first till now, she has provided musicianship, talent and taste, all with a refusal to pander and a respect for her listener. Here’s to you, Ms. Jones!

PRICE OF FAME

Okay, okay a couple of months back, I mentioned that Anna Nicole Smith had had so much time in the spotlight that even Andy Warhol would cry out, “Enough! Enough!” And now, like so many before her, she’s gone—but her fame lives on and on.

The human being is gone, like her son before her, and an apparently troubled soul can finally get some rest.

But the image she so dedicatedly built and created lives on after her—and with all the legal mysteries surrounding her estate and the future of her young baby, doubtless she will be with us for many, many years to come. (Like it or not, even I am having to write about it, compelled to do so in part because the media keeps bringing the subject to my attention.)

Marilyn Monroe haunted us, not only with her image, but also with her talent and her pain. Anna (or rather her image) may haunt us with her fame and entrepreneurial nature. Not quite the same trade-off, in my humble opinion.

What is it with this country and our love affair with fame? Why do we all long to be so in the spotlight that we will suffer however many indignities to stay there? Even beauty appears not to be a natural thing anymore, but a renovation project, a makeover to be dissected and discussed at each water cooler in the country. Should we be mourning the death of substance?

When news of Anna’s sudden death hit the airwaves, people in offices around the country were shocked but not with sadness. Oh, yes, they all felt they should say it’s too bad for the human being and her young child and the string of tragedies that had taken place over only six months, played out nightly on the TV news as if it were as important as happenings in Iraq and Afghanistan. But there was an almost tangible need to suppress an involuntary giggle—as in, “Now what? You’re kidding, right? This takes the cake!” As if the overexposure had actually made us callous to any deeper feelings of sympathy.

If we cannot find more interesting things to feed our interest, we as a nation are in big trouble. Enough fake celebrities. Enough fake heroes and enough fake wars. There ARE real heroes out there. There ARE real soldiers risking their lives to support our country (even though there are politicians sending them there with their own agendas). There ARE real people who make the lives of their communities better. ABC World News Tonight does a one-minute piece each week, their “Person of the Week,” where they celebrate someone whose thoughtfulness and caring for others motivates them to do something to make life better for their friends and neighbors. One minute out of how many others of violence, pettiness, and politics?

When do we decide what REALLY matters? I'm sorry for Anna Nicole Smith, I really am. She paid a high price for something of no real value. And now, it should all ber put to rest and we should never hear about her again. But that's not likely to happen now, is it?