Monthly Archives: September 2018

Whenever this country has a natural disaster — as Hurricane Florence is almost certain to be — I get really, really frustrated by how the nonsense of politics threatens human lives and property. We can be better prepared to deal with these things and we should be better prepared. It seems to be a given that this country will spend whatever it takes for military reasons, prepping to go out and kill all enemies even when they aren't coming for us. But being ready to deal with hurricanes and earthquakes — which are going to happen, we know — are treated with an attitude of "We'll figure out what to do about the damage after it happens."

I feel very bad right now for the folks in the Carolinas and surrounding states. They can't feel very confident that their government will be there for them; not with what's coming out of Washington. Thousands of Americans died in Puerto Rico because of Hurricane Maria but that's not a big deal if you can dismiss it all as a lie cooked up by the Democrats to make Donald J. Trump look bad. The man lives in a world where everything he touches gets an A-plus — an easy thing to achieve when you only recognize the grades you give yourself.

But disasters that claim lives and level homes cannot be a partisan thing. If you look back on this blog, you'll see me saying during all administrations that we needed to do more to be ready for these kinds of things. I blame the news media too. In the era of 24/7 coverage where all the channels and newspapers grasp for developments they can label "Breaking News," they couldn't find more time to show us what was happening in San Juan.

Sorry this isn't funnier but I'm in my cynical, helpless mood today. I just donated money to Operation USA, which is that charity I mention here. They will be there for the folks who are now threatened but they won't be everywhere. They'll be applying band-aids to gaping wounds but at least there will be those band-aids. Private charities haven't the resources to do much more than that. Our government does but you just know Trump will be sitting there saying, "Okay, send some money to North Carolina but Virginia doesn't get a cent because they didn't vote for me!"

Saturday evening, November 23, 1963 — the day after John F. Kennedy was assassinated — I first saw my favorite movie. Note that I said "favorite." I'm not claiming it's the best ever made because that would involve comparing it to other movies with completely different goals and merits, and I think that's a pointless argument. I don't know what the best movie ever made is and see absolutely no reason why I have to pick one and defend my selection. But I do know which one is my favorite: It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World.

Every time I say this, someone who doesn't understand the difference between "favorite" and "best" wants to argue with me. That's like telling someone who thought their mother's meat loaf was the most delicious food that they're wrong. Or if someone said his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world and you said, 'No, no! You're absolutely wrong! She's an ugly pig!"

Yes, it's long. It's supposed to be long. Yes, it's cluttered. The length and the clutter are part of the joy for some of us. You didn't laugh once during it? Hey, that ain't my problem. You might try not watching it again.

Those of you who do want to watch it again and who live near Los Angeles are in luck. You'll have that opportunity the evening of Wednesday, November 7. Not only that but you can see it where I did on 11/23/63 in the theater in which it first opened.

It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World debuted to the general public on November 7, 1963 at what was then called the Pacific Cinerama Dome on Sunset Boulevard in Hollywood. In fact, that was also the date that the Pacific Cinerama Dome opened to the general public. It's now the Arclight Cinerama Dome but other than that, it hasn't changed too much. And since it's the theater's 55th anniversary, they're running a number of other movies shot in Cinerama during the next month or so, like Grand Prix and How the West Was Won.

If you'd like to attend the 55th anniversary screening of It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, you can order tickets right now on this page.

Rumor has it there will be some kind of program or panel that evening but I can't figure what it might be. Only three named actors from the film are still alive — Carl Reiner, Barrie Chase and Nicholas Georgiade. Mr. Reiner is 96 years old and is not committing to many (maybe any) public appearances these days…and besides, he's not that fond of the film. Ms. Chase is lovely and wonderful but she had a small role and she isn't a panel. Mr. Georgiade is retired and outta state and, again, he had a pretty small role. (He's the detective who goes down to the crash site with Norman Fell.) But if the Arclight can throw something together, great.

Yes, I will be there. In fact, I'm taking my lady friend Amber to see it for the first time. I've introduced her to a lot of wonderful movies that were made before she was born but I held off showing her Mad World on home video because, as I'm sure you know, this is a film that truly needs a big screen and a big audience.

So far, the film I've shown her that she liked best has been The French Connection but this has more laughs, a better car chase and a cameo by The Three Stooges. If by some chance she doesn't love it, then attendees will be treated to a bonus feature that evening: They can come out to the lobby afterwards and watch the two of us break up. She's beautiful and wonderful but there are things in this world that you just can't forgive.

I haven't written anything here about the Serena Williams "meltdown" because I'm congenitally incapable of being interested in tennis. I have the feeling though that this view of the whole matter from Kevin Drum is correct.

• Bob Woodward's new book must scare the hell out of Donald Trump. There are a lot of things good and bad about Woodward but I'll bet Trump only knows these three words: Brought…down…Nixon.

That's a photo of me from around 1980.  I was not at a Playboy Club when it was taken.  I was on the set of a TV show I was writing and the lovely lady was a Playboy model playing a Playboy bunny but she was not an actual Playboy bunny.  Her name is Rosanne Katon and she's now one of the folks behind Operation USA, a wonderful charity that I support and plug here often.  Given how many lives it has saved around the world, I should probably plug it more often and send them even more money.

I was though a member of the old Playboy Club, Los Angeles chapter — the one in the massive Century City Entertainment Complex. Not only is the club not there anymore, neither is the massive Entertainment Complex. Here, stolen from another of my websites, is a remembrance of my visits to the club there…

I was given a free membership in 1981 (courtesy of Hef himself) and I couldn't resist going a few times, partly to see the Bunnies, partly to see what the Playboy Club experience was all about…and partly to see some of the oddest dinner show entertainment in town. I dunno who booked the room or what was on their minds but the shows all evoked what I call the Springtime for Hitler look. At times, it was like they were searching for people who actually did the kind of thing Bill Murray had parodied on Saturday Night Live.

The oddest was a lady…and given her act, it's ironic that I don't recall her name. But I'd never heard of her before and I'm pretty sure I've never heard of her since. Her act was all what I call "Ego Songs." Every one was about her: "I've Got the Music In Me," "I've Gotta Be Me," "This is My Life," "My Way," "I'll Make My Own World," etc. It was a variation on what the eminent philosopher Daffy Duck once called "pronoun trouble." Between the songs, she talked about — surprise, surprise — herself and her career, as if any of that was of vital interest to us. Then for her closer, she pulled out all stops and performed what still stands as the single greatest example of Excessive Ego I have ever seen on a stage.

The great singer-songwriter Peter Allen once wrote a tune called, "Quiet Please, There's a Lady on Stage." It was about Judy Garland, who was recently deceased when he wrote it. She was also his mother-in-law. It's a nice little tribute tune that quietly asks that people remember Ms. Garland (even though she is not named in the song) and to understand that despite her occasional public shortcomings, she was a great person. A very touching number.

Well, the woman at The Playboy Club closed with that song. Only she changed some lyrics and the emphasis of others and made it about herself. There's a line that goes, "Stand for the ovation," and she kept singing it over and over, commanding us to give her a standing ovation. People finally did, just so she'd shut up and end the show. If we hadn't, we'd all still be there listening to her screaming out, "Stand for the ovation." Then she took a tearful, humble bow, left the stage and came around to each table for praise, to offer autographs and to pass out business cards that told us where we could order her new album. Even the Bunnies in the room were muttering, "How can she parade around like that?"

The entertainment at The Playboy Club wasn't all dreadful. I remember one peppy dance revue that included ten or fifteen minutes of great stand-up comedy by a young Hispanic guy I'd never heard of before. First time I ever saw Paul Rodriguez.

Food at The Playboy Club was a mixed blessing…edible but not worth the price. The best thing was the steak and it came with a lavishly-produced baked potato. Your Serving Bunny would roll a cart to your table loaded down with toppings — butter, sour cream, bacon bits, chives, salsa, etc. A very big deal was made out of having your baker dressed precisely the way you liked it. My Serving Bunnies were always disheartened that I just wanted a little butter and I sometimes let them add bacon bits not because I like them on a potato but because I couldn't stand to disappoint a beautiful woman. The service was pretty decent except that Bunnies always had to keep dashing off to other tables to join in a chorus of "Happy Birthday" and the presentation of a little bunny cake with a candle in it. Some nights, it seemed every single table there was someone's birthday outing.

What I think killed The Playboy Clubs — or at least, that one — was that anybody could go to them…and did. There was nothing special about the clientele. You didn't look around and see a younger, hipper throng. You saw a crowd that apart from the absence of children, could have been at the Sizzler. I once asked a Bunny I knew there how often Hef came around. She said, "About once a year for some special press conference or event." Then, letting me in on a secret that could have cost her her tail, she told me, "He usually doesn't stay for dinner but when he has to, he has his own chef come in and prepare his meal special."

I started to really feel like an exploited tourist when I went there. The name, prices and "club" premise promised something more than a mediocre restaurant with bad entertainment and good-looking waitresses in what looked like uncomfortable costumes…but that's all you got. My research failed to turn up the date when the Century City club closed and I think I know why that information is so elusive. It's because when it happened, nobody cared.

All the Playboy Clubs closed, probably in some synchronicity with the sales of the magazine swan-diving downwards. Still, every now and then, someone tries opening a new one somewhere and it lasts about as long as a trusted aide in the Trump White House. The Playboy folks are trying one now in New York and I'm kinda fascinated as to why they think it'll work this time…and on 42nd Street near the Lincoln Tunnel, of all places. This sounds like such a surefire loser of an enterprise that there must be some obscure, non-obvious reason for optimism that I cannot fathom. We shall discuss what it might be in another post here in the next few days.

• Caught a little of Trump's 9/11 speech. One does get the feeling he thinks the big tragedy of that day is that today, he had to give a g.d. speech that wasn't mainly about his own greatness and the evils of those who don't acknowledge it.

• Bob Woodward's book gets released today. Donald Trump has nothing to fear but Fear itself.

So Les Moonves is out and the matter of how much dough he will receive is deferred, pending the outcome of ongoing investigations.  That may be due diligence or it may be a matter of just wanting the amount of any huge payoff to occur later, when outrage about his deeds may have cooled a bit.

But we're not going to talk about that now here because it's a Mushroom Soup Monday, the kind of day when I post a photo of a soup can to alert you that Mark is busy and won't be posting much more, if anything, besides this.  Thank you and please remember to tip your servers.

The late Thurl Ravenscroft had one of the most wonderful deep voices in the entertainment business. Here's about nine minutes of clips from shows, movies and commercials where you heard it — and this probably covers less than 3% of all he did…

• A lot of news reports called last week "The Worst Week Ever for Donald Trump." It will be interesting to see what will make the coming week even worse…

So everybody's discussing the anonymous (or as Trump would say, "annominoush") member of the president's administration who penned this op-ed for The New York Times. You don't need to click on that link. You've read it. And like me, you've been pondering two questions…

1. Who is it?
2. Is this person heroic for writing the piece or craven for hiding behind anonymity?

Taking the second question first, I once again come to the answer that no one engaging in public debate feels they can give: I don't know. How can you evaluate the motives of an individual when you don't know who that individual is and therefore, what his/her motives truly are?  Many opining for the "craven" option say, "They would accomplish so much more if they came forward by name."  But who knows what this person is accomplishing by being part of the administration and could no longer accomplish once ousted for treason?

I can imagine craven motives but I can also imagine that person thinking, "God, if I leave and they give my job to So-and-So, what a disaster that'll be!"  So I'm going to wait and see on that one.

On the first question — who is it? — I think I'll fall back on the answer that no one engaging in public debate feels they can give: I don't know. My first instinct in matters like this is to think that when it is revealed, it'll turn out to be someone most people have never heard of, the way Watergate's Deep Throat turned out not to be Henry Kissinger or Alexander Haig but Mark Felt. Or even how when CBS was looking for someone to replace Craig Ferguson in late night, there was all this speculation about Norm Macdonald or Neil Patrick Harris or Aisha Tyler…and when it went to James Corden, all the speculators said, "Who the hell is that?"

It's kind of a fun detective game when you know all the suspects; not so much fun when the killer turns out to be someone who wasn't mentioned before in the novel.
Here, Will Saletan makes a pretty good case that it's our Ambassador to Russia (and former presidential candidate), Jon Huntsman. Part of me thinks it is, part of me wonders if the fact that a journalist could figure it out means that's not the right answer, and part of me still thinks it'll be someone whose revelation will result in a lot of "Who the hell is that?"

I mean, it could be that somebody else wrote it but they decided to divert suspicion from themselves by studying some of Huntsman's writings and speeches and lacing the op-ed with words and phrases he has employed. It's possible.

One possibility that I have ruled out is that it's no one; that the Times made it up or is misrepresenting someone who isn't quite what they say they are. The answer will come out some day and the paper would suffer a major blow to its credibility if it wasn't a satisfactory answer.

I also, without even reading his book yet, believe Bob Woodward did have decent sources for what he asserts in it. Woodward seems to be something of a bully when people below the rank of President of the United States don't talk to him, and I thought his book on John Belushi showed he didn't understand the worlds of Hollywood and Show Business as well as he understood Washington. Still, I think he's too smart to make anything up. Which is why he's still Bob Woodward.

This morning on the Sunday Today Show, they ran this brief tribute to Marie Severin. There are a few factual problems in it. For instance, Stan Lee did not draw any of the Marvel heroes. (Before anyone objects to there being no mention of Jack Kirby — and this one doesn't — if it doesn't bother me, it shouldn't bother you. I am very happy with how often folks at Disney make sure Jack is mentioned as the co-creator of most of those characters and I am very confident that will continue forever.)

But as I told the various reporters who interviewed me for obits on Marie, you need to differentiate between characters she actually drew for a time in comics (Dr. Strange, The Hulk, Sub-Mariner, etc.) and all the others she only drew for cover designs or advertising art (Daredevil, Captain America, etc.) She was not the sole creator of Spider-Woman and a few of the dates given were off a bit.

Nevertheless, here's the important thing: Her death got national attention. I don't recall a single item in the mainstream press when Bill Everett — the creator of Sub-Mariner and co-creator of Daredevil) died in 1973. My, how things have changed. Here's the segment.