In 1964 I was only a year old, so I don't have any memory of that year. One thing I do know from my study of television history, however, is that the 1964-1965 season was a good one for TV series. That season saw the debut of such classics as The Man from U.N.C.L.E., Bewitched, The Addams Family, and Gilligan's Island. Very, very recently I had the opportunity to watch two shows that debuted that season. One of those lasted several years and I remember fondly from my childhood. The other lasted only one season and I had never seen before.
When I was in kindergarten and first grade, the two most popular shows among us boys were the recently cancelled Batman and the then ongoing Daniel Boone. Looking back, I suppose that Daniel Boone was Twentieth Century Fox's attempt (and a successful one at that) to capitalise on the popularity of Disney's phenomenal Davy Crockett episodes of Disneyland. The show featured Fess Parker (who had also played Crocektt) as the legendary woodsman, who had settled in Boonesborough in the wilds of Ken-tuck-E about the time of the American War for Independence. The series featured Boone's family--his wife Rebecca (Patricia Blair), his daugher Jemima (Veronica Cartwright), and his son Israel (Darby Hinton). For the first four years of the series, Boone was often accompanied by his Cherokee friend Mingo (Ed Ames). During its initial run Daniel Boone was very successful. For two years it ranked in the top twenty five shows according to the Nielsen ratings. Ultimately, it ran six years on NBC. And for several years in the Seventies it seemed to have had a fairly successful syndication run. It ran on several local TV stations. I remember myself that KOMU in Columbia, MO showed it on weekdays at 4:00 PM CST (perfect for kids who had just gotten out of school). Since that time it all but disappeared from American airwaves. It would pop up sporadically on TV schedules from time to time. I know that Pax showed it for a short time. And a few episodes were released on video some years go. But for the most part Daniel Boone has remained unseen for much of the Eighties, Nineties, and Naughts.
Fornutately, TV Land is showing a Daniel Boone marathon this weekend and will show it weekdays at 2:00 PM CDT starting this coming Monday. This has given me an opportunity to see a show from my childhood which I probably have not seen for nearly 34 years. To some degree Daniel Boone is what I expected it to be. The show is hardly historically accurate. For instance, although it is set during the years of the American War for Independence, I know of one episode that features an appearance by President George Washington! Too, it must be pointed out that Daniel Boone most assuredly did not wear a coonskin cap, as testified by his son Nathan in an interview. And it is not always accurate with regards to the portrayal of Native American cultures either. Mingo dresses like no Cherokee I have ever seen. And in a first season episode the Shawnee are actually portrayed as living in tipis! It must also be pointed out that during the first season it is clear in some episodes that some scenes were shot on a soundstage.
All of this having been said, I am not sure any of it matters. The Westerns which aired during the same era as Daniel Boone were well known for altering history (Bonanza was particularly guilty of this). And while I suppose that as someone who is part Cherokee I should be offended by the inaccuracies in the portrayal of Native cultures, I cannot say I am. This is primarily because Daniel Boone always portrayed Native Americans with respect, despite whatever inaccuracies in clothing or lodgings might occur on the series. Indeed, Mingo (who was easily the most popular character on the show) is portrayed as a reasonable, intelligent human being who speaks the English language (and several others as well) better than many of the settlers. He is not a stereotype by any stretch of the imagination! As to the shooting on soundstages that sometimes occurred in early episodes, I must point out that this was common practice on shows in the Sixties (just watch several episodes of Bonanza some time and you'll see what I mean).
The fact is that in seeing Daniel Boone for the first time in three decades I was pleasantly surprised. Daniel Boone was a very well done series. Much of this is due to the performances. Fess Parker does quite well as Boone, who, despite some similarities, is a totally different character from Davy Crockett (Boone is less the adventurer and more the family man). Ed Ames gives perhaps most consistent performances of the cast, endowing Mingo with a good sense of humour and remarkable wit. And Dal McKennon is perhaps the funniest character on the show as tavern keeper Cincinnatus. The scripts are well written, with well developed characters and little in the way of cliches. What is more, Daniel Boone was a very flexible TV show with regards to the different sorts of episodes that were written for it. The series was capable of serious drama, such as the first season episiode "The Returning," in which an old friend of Daniel's is accused of murdering a group of Cherokee. At the same time, however, it could be a purely action adventure show, such as the episode "The Returning," in which Daniel's wife is kidnapped. And the show was further capable of the occasional comedy episode (and what's more, do it well), such as the episode "The Tortoise and Hare," which centred on Boonesborough's annual foot race.
There are those times when one watches a show he or she loved from childhood, only to discover that it was truly dreadful. Fortunately, Daniel Boone is not one of these shows. While it has its occasional flaws, it is a truly well done and entertaining show. And I can easily see why five and six year old boys would have absolutely loved the series--there is plenty of action and adventure to be had for all.
The other show from 1964 which I had the opportunity to see was My Living Doll. For those of you who have never heard of the series, My Living Doll was a sitcom featuring Bob Cummings as psychiatrist Dr. Robert MacDonald. MacDonald finds himself in the predicament of having to care for a robot, designated AF 709, developed by his friend Dr. Carl Miller (Henry Beckman) when Miller must go to Pakistan on government business. Unfortunately for MacDonald, AF 709 looks exactly like Julie Newmar (who played her, of course). Furthermore, AF 709 is top secret, so MacDonald must take pains to keep anyone from learning that AF 709 is indeed a very advanced robot. MacDonald named AF 709 "Rhoda" and passed her off as Dr. Miller's niece, who was staying with him. He also "hired" her as his secretary at work (a job for which she is perfectly suited--she can type hundreds of words a minute and her memory banks hold thousands of bits of information). MacDonald also decided to teach Rhoda how to be the "perfect" woman--one who does what she is told to. In this final task MacDonald appears to have never quite succeeded, as Rhoda seems to have somewhat a mind of her own...
Produced by Jack Chertok (who also produced the classic My Favorite Martian), My Living Doll debuted on CBS on Sunday night, September 24, 1964. It had the misfortune of airing opposite Bonanza (then the number one show on American television) on NBC, and as a result it performed poorly in the ratings. CBS moved the series to Wednesday night in December. Unfortunately, this placed this series against The Virginian on NBC and The Patty Duke Show on ABC. Its ratings did not improve. To make matters worse, there was also strife on the set. Julie Newmar and Bob Cummings did not get along, with Cummings eventually walking off the set with five episodes left to air. Ultimately, My Living Doll would be cancelled after one season. This having been said, it seems possible that its ratings did not truly reflect its popularity. My Living Doll was popular enough that TV Guide did an article on the series and even featured Julie Newmar on its cover. As further proof of the show's popularity, The Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang traces the origins of the phrase "does not compute (one of the show's catchphrases)," back to My Living Doll. As further proof, even though it only lasted a season, My Living Doll is still remembered by many to this day--a rarity for a show that not only ran but one season, but was never reran in syndication!
Anyhow, like most of my generation I had never seen an episode of My Living Doll. For a long time the entire run of the series was feared lost. Since that time a few episodes had surfaced. Now it appears that even more episodes of the series have been found, so that the show is now poised for an official release on DVD. At any rate, I had the opportunity to finally see six episodes of My Living Doll. And I must say that I was pleasantly surprised.
Okay, the premise of the series would certainly be considered sexist by today's standards, but then I presume most people would realise that the show was made in 1964 when feminism was just getting off the ground. Keeping that in mind, My Living Doll is actually a fairly entertaining series. In all I would say that in its quality it is on par with Chertok's more famous series, My Favourite Martian. In fact, the episodes which I saw often included some very sophisticated and very funny bits of comedy. In "The Uninvited Guest" Rhoda develops the equivalent of a modern day computer virus after reading Alice in Wonderland (it seems that Lewis Carroll's mathematically precise rhymes interefered with her programming). In "Beauty Contest," Dr. MacDonald uses a televison remote control to interfere with Rhoda during the talent portion of a beauty contest in which his sister (who did not know Rhoda was a robot) entered her (MacDonald didn't want Rhoda to win for fear of her secret being discovered). The entire premise of "Something Borrowed" is hilarious--naive Rhoda accepts a marriage proposal from a many times married (and many times divorced) millionaire! Of course, it should be no surprise that the writing on the series would be sterling--it was written by individuals who also worked on such series as Bewitched, Gilligan's Island, and, of course, My Favourite Martian.
I must also point out that My Living Doll also benefited from a solid cast. Although he didn't get along with Julie Newmar (or anyone else, for that matter), Bob Cummings did well as Dr. MacDonald. His easy going charm suited the character quite well. Doris Dowling did very well as MacDonald's sister Irene, who was absolutely clueless about Rhoda's true nature. By far the most impressive performance is given by Julie Nemar as Rhoda. Never mind that Newmar just oozes sex appeal even when she is standing still, she can play a robot very convincingly. Much of this is no doubt due to Newmar's background as a dancer. Being much more aware of her movements than an actor without a background in dance, she could easily move like something not quite human (she put this skill to good use as The Catwoman on Batman as well, where she moved like, well, a cat...). Newmar also has a much better vocal and emotional range than many actresses of her time or any other. In the episode "Something Borrowed" she went from a New England lockjaw to a Southern "hillbilly" accent without breaking a sweat! I have to say that it is a shame CBS cancelled My Living Doll even though it was clear Cummings would no longer be a part of the series--it could have easily continued without him as long as Newmar played Rhoda!
To sum things up, My Living Doll compares favourably to other series of its sort that aired during the same era. When it is officially released on DVD, I would fully recommend anyone buying it, particularly those who love the imaginative comedies of the Sixties.
Saturday, August 26, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Gene Kelly as Director
Today would have been Gene Kelly's 94th bithday. Most people are familiar with Kelly as a dancer, choreographer, actor, and singer, and the star of such classic films as On the Town, An American in Paris, and Singin' in the Rain. But Kelly also had a career directing movies, some of which were the very classics in which he starred.
In some ways it can be said that Kelly more or less eased himself into the director's chair. As early as Cover Girl in 1944, he was choreographing dance sequences in his movies (with regards to Cover Girl, Kelly choreographed the famous Alter Ego sequence with Stanley Donen). Starting with Anchors Aweigh, Kelly choreographed nearly every dance sequence in every movie he made. With On the Town, Kelly would not only receive credit as actor and choreographer, but would share the director's credit with Stanley Donen. Kelly and Donen had met when the former was the star of the 1940 musical comedy play Pal Joey and the latter was a member of the musical's chorus. Together they had worked on Cover Girl, Living in a Big Way, and Take Me Out to the Ballgame (for which Donen had also written the story).
For their directorial debut, On the Town, Kelly and Donen would make cienmatic history. On the Town is the first feature length musical to be shot on location (what's more, that location was New York City). This was largely due to Kelly's insistence that they do so. On the Town then looked different from any musical before it. Audiences certainly took to the film--for a time it was MGM's top grossing film besides Meet Me in St. Louis.
With the success of On the Town Kelly and Donen became an important part of MGM's "Freed Unit," a team of directors, composers, writers, and actors headed by Arthur Freed. It was the Freed Unit that provided MGM with some of the greatest musicals of all time. Kelly and Donen more than did their part. Their next film together would be the legendary Singin' in the Rain. Quite simply, Singin' in the Rain is considered by many to be the greatest musical of all time. Although it won no Oscars (worse yet, it was only nominated for two--Best Music and Best Supporting Actress for Jean Hagen), Singin' in the Rain has received much acclaim since then. In both 1982 and 2002 Singin' in the Rain appeared in Sight and Sound's top ten best films of all time. In AFI's 100 Years...100 Movies list, it was counted as the 10th greatest movie of all time. The United States Library of Congress has named the movie "culturally significant" and it was selected for preservation by the National Film Registry. It probably would not be an understatement to say it was the highlight of both Kelly and Donen's careers.
Sadly, the first project which Gene Kelly directed by himself would not be nearly as successful. Invitation to the Dance was Kelly's dream project. Essentially the movie is three stories told entirely through dance (the first, "Circus," centred on a lovelorn clown, the second "Ring around the Rosy," told of a bracelet passed from owner to owner, while the third story, Sinbad the Sailor combined animation and live action in a story featuring the hero of Arabic legend). If this wasn't revolutionary enough, there was no dialogue in the entirety of the film. Sadly, MGM executives thought the film would not make money and released it four years after it was made. This is sad, as it is one of Kelly's most interesting movies. Indeed, "Sinbad the Sailor" in particular features some of his best work.
Kelly's next stint as director would also be the last time he would work with Stanley Donen. The two once more shared the director's credit on It's Always Fair Weather. The film not only reunited Kelly with Donen, but with screenwriters Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had written the classics On the Town and Singin' in the Rain. In fact, Comdem and Green had originally conceived of It's Always Fair Weather as a sequel of sorts to On the Town. That having been said, It's Always Fair Weather is a very different film from On the Town. While On the Town was happy and upbeat, It's Always Fair Weather is quite a bit more cynical . This perhaps explains why It's Always Fair Weather has never been nearly as popular as On the Town, much less Singin' in the Rain. In my humble opinion, however, it is a classic nonetheless. Indeed, it features some of the best sequences in any of Kelly's films, including a dance with trashcan lids, Cyd Charisse's dance to “Baby You Knock Me Out," and, lastly, Kelly's dance on rollerskates. It's Always Fair Weather failed at the box office and was one of the last great Hollywood musicals ever made.
By the time of It's Always Fair Weather Kelly and Donen's relationship had become strained. Not only would they never work together again, but they would not be friends either. From that point on when Kelly directed a film, it would be on his own. The Happy Road was the film Kelly directed following It's Always Fair Weather. It was a comedy in which an American boy and a French girl run away from boarding school. Kelly played the American boy's father. The film did not do spectacularly well at the box office and I rather suspect that it has been forgotten by all but the most ardent Gene Kelly fans.
Kelly's next film would be a bit better remembered. The Tunnel of Love was a romantic comedy starring Doris Day and Richard Widmark as a couple desperate to adopt a child. The film is full of the sort of miscommunication and misunderstandings that would fill Doris Day's latter work. Although I am not sure I would consider it a classic, it is a very funny film and a credit to Kelly as a director. The Tunnel of Love is historic as the first film which directed in which he himself did not star. In fact, he doesn't even have a cameo!
Kelly's next turn in the director's seat would come in 1962. Gigot was a comedy set in France during the turn of the twentieth century. The central character is Gigot, a mute janitor played by Jackie Gleason (Gleason had also conceived the story), who has the misfortune of befriending a prostitute and her daughter. Gigot is touching and funny by turns, often both at the same time. The film also features one of Gleason's best performances of his career, in a role in which he had no lines. Like The Tunnel of Love, it is also a credit to Kelly as a director.
It would be another five years before a film directed by Gene Kelly would be released. That movie was A Guide to the Married Man. a comedy in which a man (Robert Morse) gives a co-worker (Walter Matthau) lessons on how to cheat on his wife without getting caught. Arguably, A Guide to the Married Man is Kelly's best non-musical comedy. Indeed, Kelly proves once and for all that the timing he learned as a dancer and choreographer can be easily adapted to comedy. The film features plenty of one liners and some of the most outlandish humour ever seen in a movie made in the Sixties. Best of all are the performers of Matthau and Morse, who are perfect in their roles. For movie and TV buffs, the film also features tons of cameos, from Jack Benny to Sam Jaffe. Although I haven't often seen it cited as such, I would say it is indeed a classic.
Sadly, Kelly's next film would be quite a comedown from A Guide to the Married Man. In the Sixties Twentieth Century Fox attempted to follow the success of The Sound of Music with other huge musicals. They then hit upon the idea of doing a film adaptation of the hit Broadway musical, Hello, Dolly. Kelly, well known for his work in musicals, was signed to direct. Sadly, the end result would be a disappointment. Even Kelly's direction seems rather ordinary. But then, in his defence, the film was perhaps doomed from the start. Barbara Steisand was cast as Dolly Levi, a role for which she was not suited. What's worse, there is absolutely no screen chemistry between her and her co-stars (of course, it must be pointed out that Walter Matthau absolutely hated Streisand...). To make things even worse, even the script was poor--the plot moved at a snail's pace. Beyond being saddled with a project which gave him little to work with, I also seem to recall (although I may be mistaken) that Helllo, Dolly was made about the time when Kelly's wife (Jeanne Coyne) fell ill (she would die of leukaemia in 1973). It could then well be that his mind was not on his work.
Fortunately, Kelly's next film would be a good deal better. The Cheyenne Social Club stands as the only Western he ever directed, as well as a classic teaming of two acting greats--Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda. It is also one of Kelly's better comedies. The plot revolves around a cowhand (played by Stewart) who just happens to inherit a brothel from his long lost brother. The interplay between Stewart and Fonda (who were very old friends by that time) is priceless. And the comic timing in Kelly's direction is as good as ever. I first saw this movie as a child (for all I know it may have been the first film directed by Kelly that I ever saw) and I have never tired of it since.
Sadly, The Cheyenne Social Club would be the last entire film Kelly would direct. He did direct the new sequences of That's Entertainment II, but for all extents and purposes The Cheyenne Social Club would be the last film he directed. I do find this sad to a large degree. The conventional wisdom has always been that in the team of Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen, it was Donen who had the bulk of the directorial talent. And, given Donen's career (without Kelly he directed Royal Wedding, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and Charade, among other films) it is hard to argue that line of thought. But it can not be said that Kelly was not a talented director in his own right. While The Happy Road and Hello, Dolly may have misfired, Kelly directed several other movies on his own that hold up quite well. Indeed, I would say that Invitation to the Dance, A Guide to the Married Man, and The Cheyenne Social Club could be counted as classics. Although he is best known as a dancer, choreographer, singer, and actor, Kelly then deserves his fair share of credit as a director as well.
In some ways it can be said that Kelly more or less eased himself into the director's chair. As early as Cover Girl in 1944, he was choreographing dance sequences in his movies (with regards to Cover Girl, Kelly choreographed the famous Alter Ego sequence with Stanley Donen). Starting with Anchors Aweigh, Kelly choreographed nearly every dance sequence in every movie he made. With On the Town, Kelly would not only receive credit as actor and choreographer, but would share the director's credit with Stanley Donen. Kelly and Donen had met when the former was the star of the 1940 musical comedy play Pal Joey and the latter was a member of the musical's chorus. Together they had worked on Cover Girl, Living in a Big Way, and Take Me Out to the Ballgame (for which Donen had also written the story).
For their directorial debut, On the Town, Kelly and Donen would make cienmatic history. On the Town is the first feature length musical to be shot on location (what's more, that location was New York City). This was largely due to Kelly's insistence that they do so. On the Town then looked different from any musical before it. Audiences certainly took to the film--for a time it was MGM's top grossing film besides Meet Me in St. Louis.
With the success of On the Town Kelly and Donen became an important part of MGM's "Freed Unit," a team of directors, composers, writers, and actors headed by Arthur Freed. It was the Freed Unit that provided MGM with some of the greatest musicals of all time. Kelly and Donen more than did their part. Their next film together would be the legendary Singin' in the Rain. Quite simply, Singin' in the Rain is considered by many to be the greatest musical of all time. Although it won no Oscars (worse yet, it was only nominated for two--Best Music and Best Supporting Actress for Jean Hagen), Singin' in the Rain has received much acclaim since then. In both 1982 and 2002 Singin' in the Rain appeared in Sight and Sound's top ten best films of all time. In AFI's 100 Years...100 Movies list, it was counted as the 10th greatest movie of all time. The United States Library of Congress has named the movie "culturally significant" and it was selected for preservation by the National Film Registry. It probably would not be an understatement to say it was the highlight of both Kelly and Donen's careers.
Sadly, the first project which Gene Kelly directed by himself would not be nearly as successful. Invitation to the Dance was Kelly's dream project. Essentially the movie is three stories told entirely through dance (the first, "Circus," centred on a lovelorn clown, the second "Ring around the Rosy," told of a bracelet passed from owner to owner, while the third story, Sinbad the Sailor combined animation and live action in a story featuring the hero of Arabic legend). If this wasn't revolutionary enough, there was no dialogue in the entirety of the film. Sadly, MGM executives thought the film would not make money and released it four years after it was made. This is sad, as it is one of Kelly's most interesting movies. Indeed, "Sinbad the Sailor" in particular features some of his best work.
Kelly's next stint as director would also be the last time he would work with Stanley Donen. The two once more shared the director's credit on It's Always Fair Weather. The film not only reunited Kelly with Donen, but with screenwriters Betty Comden and Adolph Green, who had written the classics On the Town and Singin' in the Rain. In fact, Comdem and Green had originally conceived of It's Always Fair Weather as a sequel of sorts to On the Town. That having been said, It's Always Fair Weather is a very different film from On the Town. While On the Town was happy and upbeat, It's Always Fair Weather is quite a bit more cynical . This perhaps explains why It's Always Fair Weather has never been nearly as popular as On the Town, much less Singin' in the Rain. In my humble opinion, however, it is a classic nonetheless. Indeed, it features some of the best sequences in any of Kelly's films, including a dance with trashcan lids, Cyd Charisse's dance to “Baby You Knock Me Out," and, lastly, Kelly's dance on rollerskates. It's Always Fair Weather failed at the box office and was one of the last great Hollywood musicals ever made.
By the time of It's Always Fair Weather Kelly and Donen's relationship had become strained. Not only would they never work together again, but they would not be friends either. From that point on when Kelly directed a film, it would be on his own. The Happy Road was the film Kelly directed following It's Always Fair Weather. It was a comedy in which an American boy and a French girl run away from boarding school. Kelly played the American boy's father. The film did not do spectacularly well at the box office and I rather suspect that it has been forgotten by all but the most ardent Gene Kelly fans.
Kelly's next film would be a bit better remembered. The Tunnel of Love was a romantic comedy starring Doris Day and Richard Widmark as a couple desperate to adopt a child. The film is full of the sort of miscommunication and misunderstandings that would fill Doris Day's latter work. Although I am not sure I would consider it a classic, it is a very funny film and a credit to Kelly as a director. The Tunnel of Love is historic as the first film which directed in which he himself did not star. In fact, he doesn't even have a cameo!
Kelly's next turn in the director's seat would come in 1962. Gigot was a comedy set in France during the turn of the twentieth century. The central character is Gigot, a mute janitor played by Jackie Gleason (Gleason had also conceived the story), who has the misfortune of befriending a prostitute and her daughter. Gigot is touching and funny by turns, often both at the same time. The film also features one of Gleason's best performances of his career, in a role in which he had no lines. Like The Tunnel of Love, it is also a credit to Kelly as a director.
It would be another five years before a film directed by Gene Kelly would be released. That movie was A Guide to the Married Man. a comedy in which a man (Robert Morse) gives a co-worker (Walter Matthau) lessons on how to cheat on his wife without getting caught. Arguably, A Guide to the Married Man is Kelly's best non-musical comedy. Indeed, Kelly proves once and for all that the timing he learned as a dancer and choreographer can be easily adapted to comedy. The film features plenty of one liners and some of the most outlandish humour ever seen in a movie made in the Sixties. Best of all are the performers of Matthau and Morse, who are perfect in their roles. For movie and TV buffs, the film also features tons of cameos, from Jack Benny to Sam Jaffe. Although I haven't often seen it cited as such, I would say it is indeed a classic.
Sadly, Kelly's next film would be quite a comedown from A Guide to the Married Man. In the Sixties Twentieth Century Fox attempted to follow the success of The Sound of Music with other huge musicals. They then hit upon the idea of doing a film adaptation of the hit Broadway musical, Hello, Dolly. Kelly, well known for his work in musicals, was signed to direct. Sadly, the end result would be a disappointment. Even Kelly's direction seems rather ordinary. But then, in his defence, the film was perhaps doomed from the start. Barbara Steisand was cast as Dolly Levi, a role for which she was not suited. What's worse, there is absolutely no screen chemistry between her and her co-stars (of course, it must be pointed out that Walter Matthau absolutely hated Streisand...). To make things even worse, even the script was poor--the plot moved at a snail's pace. Beyond being saddled with a project which gave him little to work with, I also seem to recall (although I may be mistaken) that Helllo, Dolly was made about the time when Kelly's wife (Jeanne Coyne) fell ill (she would die of leukaemia in 1973). It could then well be that his mind was not on his work.
Fortunately, Kelly's next film would be a good deal better. The Cheyenne Social Club stands as the only Western he ever directed, as well as a classic teaming of two acting greats--Jimmy Stewart and Henry Fonda. It is also one of Kelly's better comedies. The plot revolves around a cowhand (played by Stewart) who just happens to inherit a brothel from his long lost brother. The interplay between Stewart and Fonda (who were very old friends by that time) is priceless. And the comic timing in Kelly's direction is as good as ever. I first saw this movie as a child (for all I know it may have been the first film directed by Kelly that I ever saw) and I have never tired of it since.
Sadly, The Cheyenne Social Club would be the last entire film Kelly would direct. He did direct the new sequences of That's Entertainment II, but for all extents and purposes The Cheyenne Social Club would be the last film he directed. I do find this sad to a large degree. The conventional wisdom has always been that in the team of Gene Kelly and Stanley Donen, it was Donen who had the bulk of the directorial talent. And, given Donen's career (without Kelly he directed Royal Wedding, Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, and Charade, among other films) it is hard to argue that line of thought. But it can not be said that Kelly was not a talented director in his own right. While The Happy Road and Hello, Dolly may have misfired, Kelly directed several other movies on his own that hold up quite well. Indeed, I would say that Invitation to the Dance, A Guide to the Married Man, and The Cheyenne Social Club could be counted as classics. Although he is best known as a dancer, choreographer, singer, and actor, Kelly then deserves his fair share of credit as a director as well.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Samuel L. Jackson in Snakes on a Plane
The Seventies was perhaps the Golden Age of disaster movies. There was Earthquake. There was The Towering Inferno. There was The Poseidon Adventure. There was the seemingly never ending series of Airport movies. Nearly all of these movies featured ensemble casts of hasbeens or, if you wish to be more polite, retrocelebrities. Nearly all of them had plots so goofy that they veered well into camp. And nearly all of them had fairly high death tolls for their characters. The Seventies was also a decade with B horror movies full of, well, snakes. There were movies about people who turned into snakes (Ssss and Night of the Cobra Woman). Movies about people who controlled snakes (Snakes and Jennifer). And, inevitably, movies about snakes on the rampage (Rattlers). While the casts of these B movies were often filled with unknowns, they also featured their fair share of, um, retrocelebrities (Les Tremayne was the star of Snakes). And the plots were also so goofy that they veered into camp. And like the disaster movies, they could have some pretty big death tolls.
As a movie in which hundreds of deadly snakes are released on a plane, Snakes on a Plane is both a disaster movie and a horror movie full of snakes at the same time. Given this, it is perhaps the perfect Seventies movies, despite the fact that it was made in the Naughts. Indeed, it even features its share of retrocelebrities (Julianna Margulies of ER, Rachel Blanchard of the TV show Clueless, Todd Louiso, who may be best known from High Fidelity, and Lin Shaye, perhaps best known as the mom from Detroit Rock City). It also has one of the goofier plots to come down the pike in a while. The one thing that separates Snakes on a Plane from the disaster movies and B movies of the Seventies is that it is actually good.
Snakes on a Plane succeeds where the disaster movies failed in that it does not take itself too seriously. Director David Ellis and his writers apparently realised that they had a concept on their hands that was best played for fun. This is a film that is largely played tongue in cheek, with its fair share of over the top moments. What makes the movie even more fun is, that like any good place of camp (whether intentional, as in the Sixties Batman series, or unintentional as, well, some of those old disaster movies), the cast plays it straight. While the audience might see some humour in the situaton, it can be guaranteed that the characters don't.
Indeed, perhaps the best description of Snakes on a Plane is the way flight attendant Claire Miller (Margulies' character) describes turbulence on a plane--it is like a rollercoaster ride. Snakes on a Plane moves at a fast pace. There are plenty of frights in the film, even if one is not an ophidophobe (there is one scene in one of the plane's restrooms that I can guarantee will have the men in the audience squirming in their seats...). There is also plenty of action and suspense, as FBI agent Neville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson playing one of his baddest heroes) must not only battle hundreds of snakes, but keep the plane in the air as well. Even the climax, which stretches the bounds of believability pretty far, is exciting. The film even has a good deal of sex appeal (I must admit that I find the blonde flight attendant Tiffany, played by Sunny Mabrey, to be a total babe).
Regardless of what others might say, I personally believe Snakes on a Plane is a great film. Indeed, it is perhaps the most fun I have had at the movies all year (even counting Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest). This is a film that delivers what it promises--a good, solid, popcorn movie full of frights and thrills. There simply aren't enough of those these days.
Of course, I am guessing some of you may be asking, "If it is so good, then why wasn't its weekend box office better (for those of you who haven't heard, it only made 15.3 million dollars)?" As you might expect, I think it simply fell victim to its own hype. For literally months now there has been a good deal of buzz on the World Wide Web about this movie. And I think that buzz may well have resulted in a backlash against the movie. Indeed, I can't really blame people if they decided not to see the film after all the hype. After all, the last time I can remember that there was this much hype about a small film was The Blair Witch Project, which was a total dud in the minds of many (including myself). Regardless, I am encouraging everyone to ignore the hype, ignore those reviews that claim this is not even a good movie, and go see this film. Believe me, you'll be thanking me on your way out of the theatre.
As a movie in which hundreds of deadly snakes are released on a plane, Snakes on a Plane is both a disaster movie and a horror movie full of snakes at the same time. Given this, it is perhaps the perfect Seventies movies, despite the fact that it was made in the Naughts. Indeed, it even features its share of retrocelebrities (Julianna Margulies of ER, Rachel Blanchard of the TV show Clueless, Todd Louiso, who may be best known from High Fidelity, and Lin Shaye, perhaps best known as the mom from Detroit Rock City). It also has one of the goofier plots to come down the pike in a while. The one thing that separates Snakes on a Plane from the disaster movies and B movies of the Seventies is that it is actually good.
Snakes on a Plane succeeds where the disaster movies failed in that it does not take itself too seriously. Director David Ellis and his writers apparently realised that they had a concept on their hands that was best played for fun. This is a film that is largely played tongue in cheek, with its fair share of over the top moments. What makes the movie even more fun is, that like any good place of camp (whether intentional, as in the Sixties Batman series, or unintentional as, well, some of those old disaster movies), the cast plays it straight. While the audience might see some humour in the situaton, it can be guaranteed that the characters don't.
Indeed, perhaps the best description of Snakes on a Plane is the way flight attendant Claire Miller (Margulies' character) describes turbulence on a plane--it is like a rollercoaster ride. Snakes on a Plane moves at a fast pace. There are plenty of frights in the film, even if one is not an ophidophobe (there is one scene in one of the plane's restrooms that I can guarantee will have the men in the audience squirming in their seats...). There is also plenty of action and suspense, as FBI agent Neville Flynn (Samuel L. Jackson playing one of his baddest heroes) must not only battle hundreds of snakes, but keep the plane in the air as well. Even the climax, which stretches the bounds of believability pretty far, is exciting. The film even has a good deal of sex appeal (I must admit that I find the blonde flight attendant Tiffany, played by Sunny Mabrey, to be a total babe).
Regardless of what others might say, I personally believe Snakes on a Plane is a great film. Indeed, it is perhaps the most fun I have had at the movies all year (even counting Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest). This is a film that delivers what it promises--a good, solid, popcorn movie full of frights and thrills. There simply aren't enough of those these days.
Of course, I am guessing some of you may be asking, "If it is so good, then why wasn't its weekend box office better (for those of you who haven't heard, it only made 15.3 million dollars)?" As you might expect, I think it simply fell victim to its own hype. For literally months now there has been a good deal of buzz on the World Wide Web about this movie. And I think that buzz may well have resulted in a backlash against the movie. Indeed, I can't really blame people if they decided not to see the film after all the hype. After all, the last time I can remember that there was this much hype about a small film was The Blair Witch Project, which was a total dud in the minds of many (including myself). Regardless, I am encouraging everyone to ignore the hype, ignore those reviews that claim this is not even a good movie, and go see this film. Believe me, you'll be thanking me on your way out of the theatre.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Nero Wolfe...Merely a Genius
From childhood I have always enjoyed mystery novels and movies. Among the best mystery novels and novellas were those written by Rex Stout featuring the deductive genius Nero Wolfe. The novels and novellas are written in a breezy, friendly, and easy to read tone (told from the point of view of Wolfe's aide Archie Goodwin). They also feature some of the most complex and original mysteries ever to see print.
Nero Wolfe was created by Stout in the Thirties and first appeared in the novel Fer-de-Lance in 1934. Wolfe was unlike any detective ever seen in print. Perhaps the most noticeable thing about him was his sheer size. Wolfe stood 5 foot 11 inches tall and weighed 278 pounds (that's nearly 20 stone, for those of you in the Commonwealth). And while many fictional detectives were known for their eccentricies, Wolfe is arguably more eccentric than most. Although hardly agorophobic, Wolfe rarely left his brownstone and had a general rule (sometimes broken, but not often) of not doing business outside it. He kept a rigid schedule from which he almost never departed (what's more, Wolfe would become very upset if forced to depart from it). He was an absolute lover of luxury. Wolfe was a gourmand who employed his own personal cook (Fritz Brenner, who prepared all of his meals) and sometimes even cooked himself. He drank only the best beer (Remmers) and copious amounts of it. Atop his brownstone Wolfe kept 10,000 orchids, cared for by Theodore Horstmann. Wolfe also despised exercise of any sort (a walk around the block would be considered strenuous by him). Of course, above all else, Wolfe was a deductive genius and knew he was such (in Fer-de-Lance Wolfe tells his aide Archie Goodwin, "I am merely a genius, not a god."). Given his enormous ego, Wolfe could be tempermental and given to fits of pique over the smallest things (such as his strict schedule being violated, someone questioning his ability as a detective, and so on). Of course, it must be pointed out that Wolfe was not always overweight and fearful of exercise. When young he was apparently a man of action.
Given Wolfe's dislike of leaving his brownstone and his many eccentricies, it is a wonder he ever became a detective. After all, common sense dictates that a detective would have to visit crime scenes, interview witnesses, and look for clues. In Wolfe's case, all of this is accomplished by his employee Archie Goodwin. Goodwin is often described as Wolfe's legman, although he is a bit more than that. Goodwin is also Wolfe's personal assistant, bookkeeper, and driver. Goodwin is a licensed private investigator and has enough talent as such that he could run his own agency (in fact, he does just that in the novel In the Best Families). Indeed, in many respects Goodwin is a much more traditional private eye than Wolfe is. Like many hard boiled detectives, Goodwin was a snazzy dresser with an eye for the ladies and a keen disrespect for authority. He was intimately familiar with the streets of New York City, and was skilled with both is fists and a gun (he kept a .32 in his suit). He was also gifted wtih an eidetic memory, so that he could recall nearly everything he had seen or heard, and could type faster than most stenographers. In some respects, Archie Goodwin could be considered the protagonist of the Nero Wolfe series moreso than Wolfe himself. The novels and novellas are narrated from his point of view and he appears in nearly every scene.
In creating Nero Wolfe, Rex Stout had a stroke of genius in that he blended three different subgenres of the detective novel. As someone who dislikes leaving his brownstone, Wolfe is almost literally an armchair detective. This links him to other such armchair detectives as Dr. Priestley and Hercule Poirot. At the same time, however, the Wolfe books have strong links to the genre of the hard boiled detective (such as Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe). Like many of the hard boiled detectives, Wolfe (and to a lesser degree Goodwin as well) is a cynic who generally takes cases only for exorbitant fees. And while Wolfe almost never engages in physical confrontations (one gets the feeling he would think such beneath him), Goodwin sometimes gets into more than enough fights for both of them. Finally, it must be pointed out that Wolfe also fits the archetype of the deductive genius, of which Sherlock Holmes is the best known example. Like Holmes, Wolfe could solve a case with what might seem to others a few diverse clues.
Naturally, the series featured several continuing characters besides Wolfe and his household. In fact, Wolfe sometimes employed other operatives besides Archie. Most often this was Saul Panzer, often considered the best private detective in New York. Wolfe would ocassionally make use of Orrie Cather, a bright man who though he could replace Goodwin as Wolfe's assistant. And while Wolfe was often impatient with women, he did employ female detectives Dol Bonner and Sally Colt. Bonner actually appeared in a short story of her own, as well as a Tecumseh Fox (another Stout private detective) novel.
Naturally given Wolfe's profession, he occasionally crossed paths with the police. Most often this was in the form of Inspector Cramer, the head of Homicide in Manhattan. Cramer is a relatively intelligent, hard working, and honest cop who is often annoyed by Wolfe's eccentricities. Despite this fact, Cramer and Wolfe respect each other and, though both would probably be loath to admit it, probably even like each other. Cramer is assisted by Sgt. Purley Stebbins. Stebbins can be gruff, but he was also honest, brave, and hard working. While he and Archie occasionally get into it (Stebbins does not care for private eyes), it ultimately seems that they like each other. This is not the case with another police officer appearing in the series, Lieutenant George Rowcliffe. It is not that Rowcliffe is dishonest, but he is not particularly bright and his methods often leave a lot to be desired (he has no problem badgering witnesses). Wolfe and Rowcliffe had been at odds ever since Rowcliffe executed a search warrant on Wolfe's brownstone.
In addition to the police, Wolfe also dealt with other professionals. His lawyer was Nathaniel Parker. Parker is actually one of Wolfe's few friends, the two having known each other for years. Another of Wolfe's friends is Dr. Vollmer, who lives down the street from the brownstone. Vollmer is often called upon to examine the dead bodies that have a habit of turning up in Wolfe's cases.
Nero Wolfe was a success almost from the beginning. Stout wrote nearly one Nero Wolfe novel a year until his death. He also wrote several novellas featuring Wolfe and Goodwin. The first two novels (Fer-De-lance and The League of Frightened Men) were made into movies (Meet Nero Wolfe from 1936 and The League of Frightened Men from 1937). Sadly, Stout was disappointed in how the movies turned out and forbade any more film or television adaptations of the Nero Wolfe stories. There were several radio shows based on the series (one in 1943, one from 1945-1946, one from 1950 to 1951, and finally one that aired on the CBC in 1982). Despite Stout's wishes, Nero Wolfe would finally make it to television following his death. In 1977 Paramount made a failed pilot starring Thayer David as Wolfe and Tom Mason as Goodwin. In 1981 there was a short lived series that aired on NBC. While William Conrad (best known as Cannon of the series of the same name) was perfectly cast as Wolfe, I always thought Lee Horsley was hardly suited to play Archie Goodwin (he is a bit too stout--I always thought of Goodwin as being lankier). Worse yet, they decided to update the series to the Eighties. By far the best adaptation of Nero Wolfe in any medium was one that aired on A&E from 2001 to 2002. The series was set in a time period that appeared to be the Forties or Fifties. What is more, Maury Chaykin and Timothy Hutton were perfect as Wolfe and Goodwin respectively. It is a shame that A&E decided the series was too expensive to produce (apparently Dog the Bounty Hunter is cheaper....) and cancelled it.
Of course, given the success of Nero Wolfe it is not surprising that there has been some speculation given the character. Some of this has involved Wolfe's activities as a young man, but perhaps there is no more controversial subject than that of Wolfe's lineage. In a 1956 issue of The Baker Street Journal John D. Clark put forth the theory that Wolfe was the illegitimate son of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler (as Holmes called her, THE woman, featured in the Homes story A Scandal in Bohemia). In his fictional biography of Wolfe, Nero Wolfe of West Thirty-fifth Street: The Life and Times of America's Largest Private Detective, William S. Baring-Gould seconded this theory. And while Rex Stout wrote the introduction to this biography, he never confirmed nor denied the theory that Wolfe was indeed Holmes' son. That having been said, there are a few clues that could point in that direction. Wolfe resembles Sherlock Holmes's older brother Mycroft to a large degree. Both are deductive geniuses (in fact, Mycroft's talent at deduction was supposed to be greater than Sherlock's). Both are overweight. And both tend to avoid exercise. In fact, some have suggested that Mycroft would be a more likely candidate as Wolfe's father than Sherlock. Another possible clue is what may or may not be a coincidence in the vowels occuring in the same order in the names ShErlOck HOlmEs and NErO WOlfE. It must be also be pointed out that Wolfe's birthplace is Montenegro. It is concievable that a woman of the world such as Adler could have gone there after a tryst with Holmes. Of course, the most blantant clue is the portrait which hangs in Nero Wolfe's office. Although I can't recall that Stout ever came out and said that it was indeed a picture of Sherlock Holmes, he gave enough clues that nearly everyone has read very much of the series knows that it is indeed the famous detective. It is possible that Wolfe had the portrait in his office simply as a source of inspiration. But, then again, it is also possible that Wolfe kept the picture in his office for some far more important reason--namely, the man in the portrait was his father. Even though the evidence is nearly non-existent, I have always liked the idea that Nero Wolfe was the son of Holmes. It would seem to me fitting that the two greatest detectives in the English langauge should somehow be related.
As to the idea that it was Mycroft Holmes and not Sherlock Holmes who was Nero Wolfe's father, I have never liked that idea for two basic reasons. For one thing, I am one of those people who actually believes Sherlock was in love with Irene Adler (call me a romantic, but only a man smitten would speak of a woman the way Holmes does her....). It seems entirely realistic to me that at some point the two could have had a romantic relationship and even had a son together. For another, I honestly don't think Mycroft would exert himself enough to even ask a woman to dinner, much less anything else.... After all, we are talking about the one fictional character (well, maybe besides Maynard G. Krebs) who hates exercise and work more than Nero Wolfe himself!
Rex Stout died in 1975, but his most famous creation has outlived him. Robert Goldsborough wrote seven further adventues of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. John Lescroart wrote two books about a son of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Alder named Auguste Lupa, who is strongly hinted to be none other than Nero Wolfe as a young man. A fan club dedicated to Nero Wolfe, the Wolfe Pack, has been around since 1977. They meet every year in New York City. Like possible father, Sherlock Holmes, I rather suspect Nero Wolfe's popularity will continue unabated. No doubt the rotund detective will still be popular in 2076, a full century after Stout's death.
Nero Wolfe was created by Stout in the Thirties and first appeared in the novel Fer-de-Lance in 1934. Wolfe was unlike any detective ever seen in print. Perhaps the most noticeable thing about him was his sheer size. Wolfe stood 5 foot 11 inches tall and weighed 278 pounds (that's nearly 20 stone, for those of you in the Commonwealth). And while many fictional detectives were known for their eccentricies, Wolfe is arguably more eccentric than most. Although hardly agorophobic, Wolfe rarely left his brownstone and had a general rule (sometimes broken, but not often) of not doing business outside it. He kept a rigid schedule from which he almost never departed (what's more, Wolfe would become very upset if forced to depart from it). He was an absolute lover of luxury. Wolfe was a gourmand who employed his own personal cook (Fritz Brenner, who prepared all of his meals) and sometimes even cooked himself. He drank only the best beer (Remmers) and copious amounts of it. Atop his brownstone Wolfe kept 10,000 orchids, cared for by Theodore Horstmann. Wolfe also despised exercise of any sort (a walk around the block would be considered strenuous by him). Of course, above all else, Wolfe was a deductive genius and knew he was such (in Fer-de-Lance Wolfe tells his aide Archie Goodwin, "I am merely a genius, not a god."). Given his enormous ego, Wolfe could be tempermental and given to fits of pique over the smallest things (such as his strict schedule being violated, someone questioning his ability as a detective, and so on). Of course, it must be pointed out that Wolfe was not always overweight and fearful of exercise. When young he was apparently a man of action.
Given Wolfe's dislike of leaving his brownstone and his many eccentricies, it is a wonder he ever became a detective. After all, common sense dictates that a detective would have to visit crime scenes, interview witnesses, and look for clues. In Wolfe's case, all of this is accomplished by his employee Archie Goodwin. Goodwin is often described as Wolfe's legman, although he is a bit more than that. Goodwin is also Wolfe's personal assistant, bookkeeper, and driver. Goodwin is a licensed private investigator and has enough talent as such that he could run his own agency (in fact, he does just that in the novel In the Best Families). Indeed, in many respects Goodwin is a much more traditional private eye than Wolfe is. Like many hard boiled detectives, Goodwin was a snazzy dresser with an eye for the ladies and a keen disrespect for authority. He was intimately familiar with the streets of New York City, and was skilled with both is fists and a gun (he kept a .32 in his suit). He was also gifted wtih an eidetic memory, so that he could recall nearly everything he had seen or heard, and could type faster than most stenographers. In some respects, Archie Goodwin could be considered the protagonist of the Nero Wolfe series moreso than Wolfe himself. The novels and novellas are narrated from his point of view and he appears in nearly every scene.
In creating Nero Wolfe, Rex Stout had a stroke of genius in that he blended three different subgenres of the detective novel. As someone who dislikes leaving his brownstone, Wolfe is almost literally an armchair detective. This links him to other such armchair detectives as Dr. Priestley and Hercule Poirot. At the same time, however, the Wolfe books have strong links to the genre of the hard boiled detective (such as Sam Spade and Philip Marlowe). Like many of the hard boiled detectives, Wolfe (and to a lesser degree Goodwin as well) is a cynic who generally takes cases only for exorbitant fees. And while Wolfe almost never engages in physical confrontations (one gets the feeling he would think such beneath him), Goodwin sometimes gets into more than enough fights for both of them. Finally, it must be pointed out that Wolfe also fits the archetype of the deductive genius, of which Sherlock Holmes is the best known example. Like Holmes, Wolfe could solve a case with what might seem to others a few diverse clues.
Naturally, the series featured several continuing characters besides Wolfe and his household. In fact, Wolfe sometimes employed other operatives besides Archie. Most often this was Saul Panzer, often considered the best private detective in New York. Wolfe would ocassionally make use of Orrie Cather, a bright man who though he could replace Goodwin as Wolfe's assistant. And while Wolfe was often impatient with women, he did employ female detectives Dol Bonner and Sally Colt. Bonner actually appeared in a short story of her own, as well as a Tecumseh Fox (another Stout private detective) novel.
Naturally given Wolfe's profession, he occasionally crossed paths with the police. Most often this was in the form of Inspector Cramer, the head of Homicide in Manhattan. Cramer is a relatively intelligent, hard working, and honest cop who is often annoyed by Wolfe's eccentricities. Despite this fact, Cramer and Wolfe respect each other and, though both would probably be loath to admit it, probably even like each other. Cramer is assisted by Sgt. Purley Stebbins. Stebbins can be gruff, but he was also honest, brave, and hard working. While he and Archie occasionally get into it (Stebbins does not care for private eyes), it ultimately seems that they like each other. This is not the case with another police officer appearing in the series, Lieutenant George Rowcliffe. It is not that Rowcliffe is dishonest, but he is not particularly bright and his methods often leave a lot to be desired (he has no problem badgering witnesses). Wolfe and Rowcliffe had been at odds ever since Rowcliffe executed a search warrant on Wolfe's brownstone.
In addition to the police, Wolfe also dealt with other professionals. His lawyer was Nathaniel Parker. Parker is actually one of Wolfe's few friends, the two having known each other for years. Another of Wolfe's friends is Dr. Vollmer, who lives down the street from the brownstone. Vollmer is often called upon to examine the dead bodies that have a habit of turning up in Wolfe's cases.
Nero Wolfe was a success almost from the beginning. Stout wrote nearly one Nero Wolfe novel a year until his death. He also wrote several novellas featuring Wolfe and Goodwin. The first two novels (Fer-De-lance and The League of Frightened Men) were made into movies (Meet Nero Wolfe from 1936 and The League of Frightened Men from 1937). Sadly, Stout was disappointed in how the movies turned out and forbade any more film or television adaptations of the Nero Wolfe stories. There were several radio shows based on the series (one in 1943, one from 1945-1946, one from 1950 to 1951, and finally one that aired on the CBC in 1982). Despite Stout's wishes, Nero Wolfe would finally make it to television following his death. In 1977 Paramount made a failed pilot starring Thayer David as Wolfe and Tom Mason as Goodwin. In 1981 there was a short lived series that aired on NBC. While William Conrad (best known as Cannon of the series of the same name) was perfectly cast as Wolfe, I always thought Lee Horsley was hardly suited to play Archie Goodwin (he is a bit too stout--I always thought of Goodwin as being lankier). Worse yet, they decided to update the series to the Eighties. By far the best adaptation of Nero Wolfe in any medium was one that aired on A&E from 2001 to 2002. The series was set in a time period that appeared to be the Forties or Fifties. What is more, Maury Chaykin and Timothy Hutton were perfect as Wolfe and Goodwin respectively. It is a shame that A&E decided the series was too expensive to produce (apparently Dog the Bounty Hunter is cheaper....) and cancelled it.
Of course, given the success of Nero Wolfe it is not surprising that there has been some speculation given the character. Some of this has involved Wolfe's activities as a young man, but perhaps there is no more controversial subject than that of Wolfe's lineage. In a 1956 issue of The Baker Street Journal John D. Clark put forth the theory that Wolfe was the illegitimate son of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler (as Holmes called her, THE woman, featured in the Homes story A Scandal in Bohemia). In his fictional biography of Wolfe, Nero Wolfe of West Thirty-fifth Street: The Life and Times of America's Largest Private Detective, William S. Baring-Gould seconded this theory. And while Rex Stout wrote the introduction to this biography, he never confirmed nor denied the theory that Wolfe was indeed Holmes' son. That having been said, there are a few clues that could point in that direction. Wolfe resembles Sherlock Holmes's older brother Mycroft to a large degree. Both are deductive geniuses (in fact, Mycroft's talent at deduction was supposed to be greater than Sherlock's). Both are overweight. And both tend to avoid exercise. In fact, some have suggested that Mycroft would be a more likely candidate as Wolfe's father than Sherlock. Another possible clue is what may or may not be a coincidence in the vowels occuring in the same order in the names ShErlOck HOlmEs and NErO WOlfE. It must be also be pointed out that Wolfe's birthplace is Montenegro. It is concievable that a woman of the world such as Adler could have gone there after a tryst with Holmes. Of course, the most blantant clue is the portrait which hangs in Nero Wolfe's office. Although I can't recall that Stout ever came out and said that it was indeed a picture of Sherlock Holmes, he gave enough clues that nearly everyone has read very much of the series knows that it is indeed the famous detective. It is possible that Wolfe had the portrait in his office simply as a source of inspiration. But, then again, it is also possible that Wolfe kept the picture in his office for some far more important reason--namely, the man in the portrait was his father. Even though the evidence is nearly non-existent, I have always liked the idea that Nero Wolfe was the son of Holmes. It would seem to me fitting that the two greatest detectives in the English langauge should somehow be related.
As to the idea that it was Mycroft Holmes and not Sherlock Holmes who was Nero Wolfe's father, I have never liked that idea for two basic reasons. For one thing, I am one of those people who actually believes Sherlock was in love with Irene Adler (call me a romantic, but only a man smitten would speak of a woman the way Holmes does her....). It seems entirely realistic to me that at some point the two could have had a romantic relationship and even had a son together. For another, I honestly don't think Mycroft would exert himself enough to even ask a woman to dinner, much less anything else.... After all, we are talking about the one fictional character (well, maybe besides Maynard G. Krebs) who hates exercise and work more than Nero Wolfe himself!
Rex Stout died in 1975, but his most famous creation has outlived him. Robert Goldsborough wrote seven further adventues of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. John Lescroart wrote two books about a son of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Alder named Auguste Lupa, who is strongly hinted to be none other than Nero Wolfe as a young man. A fan club dedicated to Nero Wolfe, the Wolfe Pack, has been around since 1977. They meet every year in New York City. Like possible father, Sherlock Holmes, I rather suspect Nero Wolfe's popularity will continue unabated. No doubt the rotund detective will still be popular in 2076, a full century after Stout's death.
Wednesday, August 16, 2006
Bruno Kirby Passes On
Character actor Bruno Kirby died August 14 at the age of 57. He was best known for playing the archetypal New Yorker in various movies and TV shows. He died from complications resulting from leukaemia.
Bruno Kirby was born Bruno Giovanni Quidaciolu, Jr. on April 28, 1949 in New York City. His father, Bruce Kriby, is also an actor (best known as Sergeant Kramer on Columbo). Bruno Kirby made his film debut in The Young Graduates in 1971. Throughout the Seventies he played small parts in such films as The Harrad Experiment, Baby Blue Marine, and Between the Lines. He made guest apperances on such series as Room 222, Columbo, and Kojak.
Kirby came into his own in the Eighties. In 1981 he played Albert Brooks' fellow film editor in Modern Romance. In 1984 he appeared as fast talking chauffer Tommy Pischedda in This is Spinal Tap (in my opinion, his best role). He would go onto appear in such movies as When Harry Met Sally (one of his best known roles, as Jess), City Slickers (where he played Ed Furillo, another one of his best known roles), and Donnie Brasco. He was a regular on It's Gary Shandling's Show. He also made guest appearances on Frasier, Mad About You, and Entourage.
I always liked Bruno Kirby. As a character actor he had a definite gift for comedy. He was perfectly cast in both When Harry Met Sally and City Slickers, perhaps the best foil that Billy Crystal ever had. It is certainly sad to know that he is gone, and gone all too soon.
Bruno Kirby was born Bruno Giovanni Quidaciolu, Jr. on April 28, 1949 in New York City. His father, Bruce Kriby, is also an actor (best known as Sergeant Kramer on Columbo). Bruno Kirby made his film debut in The Young Graduates in 1971. Throughout the Seventies he played small parts in such films as The Harrad Experiment, Baby Blue Marine, and Between the Lines. He made guest apperances on such series as Room 222, Columbo, and Kojak.
Kirby came into his own in the Eighties. In 1981 he played Albert Brooks' fellow film editor in Modern Romance. In 1984 he appeared as fast talking chauffer Tommy Pischedda in This is Spinal Tap (in my opinion, his best role). He would go onto appear in such movies as When Harry Met Sally (one of his best known roles, as Jess), City Slickers (where he played Ed Furillo, another one of his best known roles), and Donnie Brasco. He was a regular on It's Gary Shandling's Show. He also made guest appearances on Frasier, Mad About You, and Entourage.
I always liked Bruno Kirby. As a character actor he had a definite gift for comedy. He was perfectly cast in both When Harry Met Sally and City Slickers, perhaps the best foil that Billy Crystal ever had. It is certainly sad to know that he is gone, and gone all too soon.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
A Bygone Era
Today I feel a bit down. Much of this is due to the fact that it is allergy season. Much of it is due to the fact that I am none too happy with the state of my life. I realise that more often than not when I mention the way I feel in this blog I am unhappy. Believe it or not, there was a time when I was happy, but that seems to have been long ago.
Anyhow, today my mind turns to an episode of The Andy Griffith Showw called "Man in a Hurry." In this episode a businessman from out of town, Malcolm Tucker, becomes stranded in Mayberry on a Sunday when his car stalls. He becomes increasingly frustrated as he tried to get his car fixed. It seems that the local mechanic, Wally, takes Sunday off and simply won't fix the car until Monday. Today this episode might seem a bit quaint to many, but there was a time when many places in America simply shut down on Sunday. Indeed, there was a time when businesses even in big cities would close on that day.
Of course, much of the reason for this was the fact that at one time the separation of church and state in the United States was not quite as clearly drawn as it is now. As a result many areas of the United States passed what is known as blue laws. These were laws that were meant to enforce observation of the Christian Sabbath. Because of these blue laws many businesses were strictly forbidden from operating on Sunday (exceptions were often made for grocery stores and drug stores). Even today many states still forbid the selling of alcohol on Sunday. Here I must point out that even when blue laws did not forbid a business from opening on Sunday, many such businesses would voluntarily close on this day. An example of this is from the aforementioned Andy Griffith Show episode. It is clear from the episode that Mayberry does not forbid the repair of cars on Sunday, yet Wally does not open his shop on that day. Quite simply, between blue laws and business simply closing on Sunday voluntarily, there was a time in the United States when very few businesses would be open on Sunday.
I am not Christian, but I must admit that there is an appeal in setting aside a day when very few businesses are open. Something I have observed that has changed from when I was a youngster is that American life moves at a much faster pace than it once did. There was a time when, like Mayberry on The Andy Griffith Show, life was downright laconic in American small towns. That time has long since passed. While the pace is much slower in small town America than it is in, say, New York City, it is still much faster than it once was. Setting aside a day when the majority of population could relax and rest and take a break from things could well be a good idea. Whether that day is Sunday really wouldn't make any difference to me. To me it's not the particular day off that would matter, it is simply having a day off when the usually fast pace of American life could, if not come to a halt, at least slow down.
Of course, I must admit that if this came to pass, I might well eat my words. I must admit that while I like the idea of people having a day off, I never much cared for blue laws. I like the convenience of being able to buy things on Sunday, without having to wait for Monday before I can do so. I rather suspect most Americans probably share in this view. Perhaps rather than having a day off Americans should just slown down. If Americans have greater health problems than other countries it could well be because so many of us insist on living at a pace to which the human body is not suited. Productivity and efficiency are admirable traits, but there comes a time when stopping and smelling the roses is important as well.
Anyhow, today my mind turns to an episode of The Andy Griffith Showw called "Man in a Hurry." In this episode a businessman from out of town, Malcolm Tucker, becomes stranded in Mayberry on a Sunday when his car stalls. He becomes increasingly frustrated as he tried to get his car fixed. It seems that the local mechanic, Wally, takes Sunday off and simply won't fix the car until Monday. Today this episode might seem a bit quaint to many, but there was a time when many places in America simply shut down on Sunday. Indeed, there was a time when businesses even in big cities would close on that day.
Of course, much of the reason for this was the fact that at one time the separation of church and state in the United States was not quite as clearly drawn as it is now. As a result many areas of the United States passed what is known as blue laws. These were laws that were meant to enforce observation of the Christian Sabbath. Because of these blue laws many businesses were strictly forbidden from operating on Sunday (exceptions were often made for grocery stores and drug stores). Even today many states still forbid the selling of alcohol on Sunday. Here I must point out that even when blue laws did not forbid a business from opening on Sunday, many such businesses would voluntarily close on this day. An example of this is from the aforementioned Andy Griffith Show episode. It is clear from the episode that Mayberry does not forbid the repair of cars on Sunday, yet Wally does not open his shop on that day. Quite simply, between blue laws and business simply closing on Sunday voluntarily, there was a time in the United States when very few businesses would be open on Sunday.
I am not Christian, but I must admit that there is an appeal in setting aside a day when very few businesses are open. Something I have observed that has changed from when I was a youngster is that American life moves at a much faster pace than it once did. There was a time when, like Mayberry on The Andy Griffith Show, life was downright laconic in American small towns. That time has long since passed. While the pace is much slower in small town America than it is in, say, New York City, it is still much faster than it once was. Setting aside a day when the majority of population could relax and rest and take a break from things could well be a good idea. Whether that day is Sunday really wouldn't make any difference to me. To me it's not the particular day off that would matter, it is simply having a day off when the usually fast pace of American life could, if not come to a halt, at least slow down.
Of course, I must admit that if this came to pass, I might well eat my words. I must admit that while I like the idea of people having a day off, I never much cared for blue laws. I like the convenience of being able to buy things on Sunday, without having to wait for Monday before I can do so. I rather suspect most Americans probably share in this view. Perhaps rather than having a day off Americans should just slown down. If Americans have greater health problems than other countries it could well be because so many of us insist on living at a pace to which the human body is not suited. Productivity and efficiency are admirable traits, but there comes a time when stopping and smelling the roses is important as well.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Bob Thaves R.I.P.
Cartoonist Bob Thaves, creator of the comic strip Frank and Ernest, died of respiratory failure at age 81 on April 1, 2006.
Thaves attended the University of Minnesota where he received both a Bachelors degree and a Masters degree in psychology. He was still in college when he started selling cartoons to various magazines.
It was in 1972 that Frank and Ernest was first published. The single panel strip featured the observations (often filled with puns) of two old men named, of course, Frank and Ernest. Frank and Ernest were not always featured as human beings. In fact, they could appear as nearly anything--animals, vegetables, home appliances, and so on. The comic strip was revolutionary in other ways as well. It was the fist newspaper comic strip to feature comic book style, block lettering, the first to utilise digital colouring, and the first to feature its creator's email address. It was among the first comic strips to have its own web site. In 1997 Thaves's son Tom began collaborating with him on the strip. He has now taken it over completely.
Thaves also drew a similar, single panel strip, King Baloo, in the Eighties.
Over the years Thaves won many awards. He won the National Cartoonist Society Newspaper Panel Cartoon Award in 1983, 1984, and 1986. He won the H. L. Mencken Award for Best Cartoon in 1985. And in 1990 he was named Best Punster.
Growing up I enjoyed Frank and Ernest. The gags did not always work. Sometimes the puns were truly atrocious. But it had an honesty and genuine quality to it lacking in many comic strips of the late Twentieth Century. It certainly looked like no other comic strip before or since it. It is sad to know that Thaves is gone.
Thaves attended the University of Minnesota where he received both a Bachelors degree and a Masters degree in psychology. He was still in college when he started selling cartoons to various magazines.
It was in 1972 that Frank and Ernest was first published. The single panel strip featured the observations (often filled with puns) of two old men named, of course, Frank and Ernest. Frank and Ernest were not always featured as human beings. In fact, they could appear as nearly anything--animals, vegetables, home appliances, and so on. The comic strip was revolutionary in other ways as well. It was the fist newspaper comic strip to feature comic book style, block lettering, the first to utilise digital colouring, and the first to feature its creator's email address. It was among the first comic strips to have its own web site. In 1997 Thaves's son Tom began collaborating with him on the strip. He has now taken it over completely.
Thaves also drew a similar, single panel strip, King Baloo, in the Eighties.
Over the years Thaves won many awards. He won the National Cartoonist Society Newspaper Panel Cartoon Award in 1983, 1984, and 1986. He won the H. L. Mencken Award for Best Cartoon in 1985. And in 1990 he was named Best Punster.
Growing up I enjoyed Frank and Ernest. The gags did not always work. Sometimes the puns were truly atrocious. But it had an honesty and genuine quality to it lacking in many comic strips of the late Twentieth Century. It certainly looked like no other comic strip before or since it. It is sad to know that Thaves is gone.
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