Fifty Years Ago Today

Fifty years ago today was Friday, April 4, 1975 … dunno whatever came of them, but on this day Microsoft (whatever that is) was founded by Bill Gates and Paul Allen…Pamela Ribon was born. She would become a TV, movie, and video game writer and producer. She has writing credits for such animated fantasies as MOANA, RALPH BREAKS THE INTERNET, and SMURFS: THE LOST VILLAGE. It astounds me that I’ve actually seen two of those…The first military Operation Babylift flight crashed 27 minutes after takeoff, killing 144 of the 305 people on board, including 78 of the 243 children. Two cargo doors blew off of the jet, largest in the world at the time, as it reached 23,000 feet during the evacuation of civilians in the closing days of the Vietnam War…

On the CBS Friday Movie that night was THE OTHER. Oooh, spooky.

And some of the other available TV offerings that night:

Personally, I am confused. Just as in my last entry about VAMPYRES, I saw today’s movie in Louisville, but I was working at the time in Indianapolis. Just to make sure I was right about that, I checked my records and newspapers of the day in both cities and…yeah. I saw the movie in Louisville, but my show was running that day in Indianapolis. Unfortunately I wouldn’t start keeping a daybook till the next year. Too bad. On those pages I would have noted where I was and why. Best I can guess, as with VAMPYRES, is that this day’s performance was cancelled and I went home for the day. Unlikely, yes, but possible. And I got nuthin’ better.

Today--in Louisville!--I saw SILENT NIGHT, BLOODY NIGHT. 

It was advertised locally as SILENT NIGHT, NIGHT OF TERROR, probably because the movie had stirred up some stink when released, even getting itself banned in some places. I just recently read the book A SCARY LITTLE CHRISTMAS, all about Christmas horror movies, a trend which started with, yes, SILENT NIGHT, BLOODY NIGHT.

My memories of that first viewing are almost zilch. I recall, I think, a kind of cheap, poorly photographed…something. And that’s it. If, that is, I’m remembering the right movie. I’ve seen SILENT NIGHT, BLOODY NIGHT and SILENT NIGHT, DEADLY NIGHT, and SILENT NIGHT, EVIL NIGHT (better known as BLACK CHRISTMAS), plus a flotilla of sequels. Thus, I’m not entirely, utterly sure which movie this is.

So definitely time to watch it again.

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First frame, there’s Mary Woronov. Now I know for sure which movie this is. I remember her. 

Ah, they’re trying to trip me up. This one has been retitled, rather clumsily, as DEATHHOUSE. Nah, they can’t fool me.

Here’s a scene with some old folks sitting around a table and one of them is John Carradine. I remember this scene.--not what the scene was about, just the set-up and how it looked.

Carradine plays an almost mute character, thereby wasting what was arguably his greatest asset--his voice. He rings a little bell rather than speaking. He does have one brief line, spoken off-camera in a gritty, raspy whisper. And I’d bet $200 that it’s not even Long John’s voice.

Our secondary leading lady is an astonishingly beautiful young woman name of Astrid Heeren. She is MUCH younger than her paramour, played by Patrick O’Neal. But that’s show biz, right?

I will say that with O’Neal, James Patterson, Carradine, Water Abel and Mary Woronov we have a pretty solid cast, with the beautiful lady the cherry on the top.

Though it doesn’t feel like giallo at any moment, the faceless villain, black gloves, roving camera, and first person p.o.v. obviously remind one of giallo.

Somebody has dredged hard into the PSYCHO playbook.

Never occurred to me before, but James Patterson (not the wretched writer, but the decent actor) looks just a whole damn lot like a late friend of mine.

Woronov plays one of the most cautious, sensible characters I ever remember seeing in a horror film.  No way this lady would venture into the basement of a haunted house checking out weird noises.

Hey, Sheriff! Wearing sunglasses while traipsing around in the dark with a flashlight might be counterproductive.

Oh, I see -- a couple of scenes later, the sunglasses are found by others, letting us know the sheriff, he ain’t doin’ so good.

I once read that the most-used line in movie history is “Let’s get out of here.”  Might be, since Woronov says it twice in about 15 seconds.

Hmmm. In addition to the questionable Carradine voice, at least one line each of Woronov and Patterson is obviously post-dubbed and, apparently, by other people. Makes me think there might have been a major attempt to “save it in post.”

Unfortunately, after about an hour of surprisingly decent horror movie, it goes off the rails just a bit in the ending, reaching too much for ‘art’. 

But, decent cast, non-embarrassing script, some clever direction, serviceable photography add up to something better than expected 

What? How was the music, you ask? You’re asking the wrong guy. I don’t notice music and, though I just finished watching it about 10 minutes ago, I couldn’t tell you if there was any music at all.

FIFTY YEARS AGO TODAY

Fifty Years Ago Today was Sunday, March 30, 1975…Easter Sunday, but it would have made little to no difference to me. I hadn’t been a churchgoer for the most current half of my life and was too old for Easter baskets and egg hunts. Might have indulged in some chocolate however, because--chocolate… On this holy day, a man named James Rupert in Hamilton, Ohio, killed 11 members of his family… Just yesterday, the 29th, Da Nang, Vietnam had fallen to North Vietnamese forces and everybody knew for sure that that terrible war was in its final stages…Top song in the U.S. was “Lovin’ You” by Minnie Riperton…

loving you minnie riperton

1975 was the year of my career in which I was least-employed as an actor. Early in the year, I had a dinner theater job which ran about 15 weeks, about 3 weeks shorter than projected. Then, deep in the summer, I had a gig which only lasted a couple of weeks and for which, because of some shenanigans in which I took part, I wasn’t paid. Finally, another paying job started the day after Christmas. And that was it for 1975. That was the last year in which I spent more time working for my dad than I did as an actor. Starting in ‘76, I would be much much busier almost all the time.

On this date I was working in that early-in-the-year show (A FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM) in Indianapolis.

Somehow, I managed, however, to see today’s movie in a Louisville theater. I don’t remember how that worked. Either I drove home immediately after the day’s performance and went straight to the movies, or else that Sunday performance was cancelled. Either is a viable possibility.

At any rate, I did go to the Penthouse Theater on 4th Street in Louisville to see what was, I think, my first X-rated horror film. The movie was VAMPYRES.

In recent days, particularly on the Classic Horror Film Board, I’ve noticed lots of Monster Kids voicing approval for this movie. I couldn't agree, thinking it much more softcore sex than horror. Oh, sure vampires and blood, but most of all, a couple of gorgeous women who seem to be allergic to clothing.

I’ll readily admit that all-American, straight, 25-year-old me appreciated the sight of these unclothed lovelies, but that didn’t make it a good film.

The main specific memory I have of my initial reaction to this skinflick was that the young blonde “Vampyre” was gorgeous and that the older brunette was…matronly. In my twenties I was evidently somewhat immune to the charms of older women. In my seventies, I expect I’ll view the older brunette as a very attractive and--from my current vantage point --very young beauty.

Let’s see.  Roll ‘em…

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No wasting time here. Right off the bat, even before the credits, we see a brightly lit scene of two stark naked ladies lesbianing to beat the band.

Then the credits, then some not very good acting from an elderly character man.

So far, about 25 minutes in, there’s some too-slow suspense, some overlit mystery, and some blunt softcore sex, just with better actors than in standard softcore fare.

These are daylight-strolling vampires, though, since it is England after all, not exactly sunlight vampires.

The ladies are pleasantly mismatched. One is a dark, fleshy, earth mother sort while the other is fair, slim, almost gamine. If the dark lady couldn’t quite pass as the mother of the blonde, she at least could be her considerably older sister.

They have a curious response to daylight. A curious, varying response, it seems. They seem to stroll easily enough during the day, but then when the sun rises on a new day, there’s a sudden urgency on their part to get away.

No fangs for these bloodsuckers, though one of them does manage a neck bite anyway.

So that was that. That was VAMPYRES. I wasn’t exactly right. It’s not just softcore schlock. It’s just almost just softcore schlock. There is an attempt at some horror film stuff, but it’s pretty meek, if occasionally bloody. 

In final analysis, the selling points of this film are the two naked ladies. Apart from that, this is a little muddled and it simply ain’t much.

IT’S OPENING DAY!!

Yeah, yeah, sure, the major league season got under way in Tokyo about 10 days ago, but I’m telling you--THAT WAS NOT OPENING DAY!  

I’m all for international involvement in the great game, and I recognize the problems of travel, jetlag, schedule and so on. Still--THAT WAS NOT OPENING DAY.

Today--TODAY-- when Major League teams compete, for realsies, in Major League ballparks, THIS is Opening Day.

Once upon a time every Major League Baseball season opened in Cincinnati, Ohio. This honor was accorded to the Reds because they had been the first professional baseball team way back in 1869. So when a new season rolled around, the Reds would play an afternoon game on Opening Day while all the other teams waited till the next day, or, occasionally, till later that same evening. It’s not this way anymore. Nowadays, every team plows in on Opening Day. This stolen honor from the Reds is not the only charming tradition which has wilted under Baseball’s line drive toward corporate uniformity. 

The latest sign of this, and a sure omen of the Final Days, is that teams have taken to wearing corporate logos on their uniforms.  The Reds now wear a Kroger patch on the sleeve of their beautiful, simple, red and white uniforms. That’s Kroger. 

I have no doubt that, within just a few years, major leaguers will dress like Nascar drivers or snooker stars, festooned with a raft of advertising blotches, their team colors barely peeking through.

With that in mind, let’s raise a faint cheer for Fenway Park, Yankee Stadium, Dodger Stadium, Orioles Park at Camden Yards, Angel Stadium, and Nationals Park. Parks whose “naming rights” have not been auctioned to the highest corporate bidder. (Others such as Wrigley Field, Kauffman Stadium, and maybe Busch Stadium straddle the middle ground.) 

The biggest part of the problem with this is the sheer, slimy, too-American greed of it. A lesser, but almost funny problem is the temporary nature of these designations. The poster boy for the fleeting nature of names is surely the Houston Astros. Their current stadium opened in 2000 and this year collects its fourth name in those 25 years.

But I don’t want to just be an old fogey about it (“Why, back in MY day…”) So let’s move along.

Fortunately, I was able to attend three of the old Reds’ openers …1976, 1981, and 1982. I can guarantee ya, those Opening Days were a big deal. Parades and parties, kids playing hooky, TV specials, and a ballpark near to bustin’. It was great.

But it’s the ‘81 opener which I remember today, now that I’ve gotten past the history and the grousing. It was the last year when you could say, without terrible exaggeration, that it was The Big Red Machine out on the field. Tony Perez was gone. Joe Morgan too. No sign of Cesar Geronimo. Pete Rose was there, but in the wrong dugout. He was now playing first base for the Phillies, that day’s opponent. But Ken Griffey was still a Red and Dave Concepcion and Dan Driessen. George Foster still present and, best of all, the great Johnny Bench still behind the plate.

The pitching that day was a Clash of the Titans. For the Reds, Tom Seaver. For the Phillies, Steve Carlton. It doesn’t get much better than that. Matter of fact, it was the first time in MLB history that two three-time Cy Young Award winners faced each other.

It wasn’t a classic duel, however. Seaver was excellent, only allowing two singles through seven innings, then yielding a double and a run in the 8th. He struck out four in eight innings.

Carlton also gave up only one run in 7 innings but he allowed nine hits and was wild, walking four and throwing three wild pitches. Tom Hume finished for the Reds and got the win. Sparky Lyle gave up a pair of runs in the 8th and was the loser.

Interesting note: Pete Rose led off with a single on the first pitch of the game…first pitch of the SEASON… and was thrown out trying to steal on the second pitch of the season.

But FINALLY, we come to the incident which inspired this saga. Third inning--Johnny Bench comes to the plate with a runner on second and two out. As the greatest catcher of all time settled into the box, I heard the two fans behind me--two guys in their mid-twenties, I’d guess--talking baseball. One of them says, “It’s Bench. He’s due!” The other guy says, “yeah, he’s due!” Now, I remind you that this was Bench’s second at-bat of the entire season. He had struck out in the first inning, making him 0-for-the year, so, of course, on his second turn at bat in the 1981 season, he’s “due”.

I desperately wanted to turn around and confront these two geniuses. I wanted to remind them of the reality of the situation. I wanted to advise them to take more care with their analysis. I wanted to tell them both that they were morons and I was surprised to find them in public without a keeper.

But I didn’t. I sat, watching the game, shaking my head, remembering how many times I’d heard Marty and Joe on the radio telling us that the Reds’ fans were the smartest and most knowledgeable in all of baseball. It would be a few more years before I learned that all fan bases--or at least their announcers--laid claim to that same baseball distinction. 

For the record, Johnny Bench took a base on balls in that third inning of the first game of the 1981 baseball season. I don’t know if a walk satisfies the criteria of “due” or not.       

But that was then, this is now. And now is Opening Day, the most optimistic day of the year.  So ....

“Wait’ll THIS year!!”

Let the Auditioner Beware

An audition story. Not my audition but I suffered through it second-hand, now it's your turn. 

Birmingham Theater, outside Detroit. A young man in our cast had big news-- an audition in New York City for LES MISERABLES, the day after tomorrow. He had to learn 32 bars of specific music from the score, get to New York in less than 48 hours, make his way to the audition by the specified time, sing this musical passage, and get back to Michigan in time for that night’s show. A lot to do, but exciting because it seemed a genuine chance to be in a Broadway hit. 

He had to get a LES MIS score, copy the specified section, learn the music, hire an accompanist so he could rehearse, and arrange travel from Detroit to New York and back in the same day. 

Somehow he found the score. I don't remember the details but it was an expensive arrangement. He paid for two hours with an accompanist and made an airline reservation which, since it was last minute, cost him hundreds of dollars. He was okay with all that because he loved LES MIS and felt he was getting a real shot. 

Two days later--the guy, safely returned from his adventure, told us his audition story…

He'd taxied from Birmingham to the Detroit airport, flew to New York, got a taxi to midtown Manhattan. Both cab rides quite costly. He got to the audition just before his scheduled time, drew some deep breaths, and was called into the room. 

There he encountered a pianist and two people behind the table. The guy in charge was, he said, thin and dapper with a fancy tie and vest and a pointy little goatee. Goatee Guy said, "Welcome! Glad you could make it. What are you going to sing for us?” 

This confused the young man and he stammered, “I was told to learn this music…” and Goatee Guy said, “Oh, you don't have to do that. Sing whatever you want.”

The young guy, having gone to all this trouble and expense, said “I'll just sing the piece from the show.” “Fine,” Goatee said, “go ahead.” So the young man sang his music. He said it went well and Goatee Guy complimented his voice. The young guy said, “thank you.” And Goatee Guy said, “But we cast the role yesterday so… thanks for coming in. We’ll keep you in mind.”

And that was it. 

The young man taxied to the airport, flew back to Detroit, and got a cab to the theater in time for that evening's performance. Kind of shell- shocked, he told his story. I remember he had a strained little grin on his face. He was a nice kid who had gone way out of his way to prepare for this audition --following his instructions exactly-- and who spent at least two weeks of his pay to make this happen. 

A favorite piece of wisdom: actor William Redfield wrote, “One can never be truly happy in the theater until he learns to expect no justice from it.”

Professional News Gaffes

The things you can learn on TV if you just pay attention. At least if you pay more attention than the newsreaders often pay. Here are some lovely screw-ups made by reporters in years past. None of these are recent because I gave up watching the news about 4 years ago. Yes, there's just too much misery amongst the comedy.

There was a segment, for some reason, about SURVIVOR. The segment closed with the anchorwoman, this fabulously beautiful moron, saying that the finale of the show's first season actually drew 51 viewers. A whole 51. I would have thought a higher number. That'll teach me. I mean, she's gorgeous, so obviously she's right. Right?

I was so relieved to just hear on the news that the police brought in a "canine dog" to search for a perp. That's right. Not just a dog...a CANINE dog.  The NYPD don't go halfway.

A WNBC news anchorwoman announced the sale of the cowardly lion costume from Wizard of Oz  “worn by Bert Lahr…”  which she pronounces “lair”  She then says they’re also selling the piano from CASABLANCA… “Uhh…Humphrey Bogart was in that movie, wasn’t he?”

The beautiful moron again  “...bystanders struggled to lift them to safely.”

 …and again… “...a congratulory tweet…” 

“....this fictitional character…”    Brooke Baldwin  CNN

“Anti-homophobic slurs”    Reagan Medgie WCBS2  3/15/17   (think about it)

Of the planet Jupiter … “It’s at its closest distance to Earth right now -- 415 miles.”

Lester Holt NBC Evening News   4/6/2017

“...an intentional manhunt spanning 26 countries...”

The beautiful moron. Of Barbra Streisand… “...her new debut album…”  

“...video shows smoke waifing around the stadium…”  The Byfl. M'rn.

“...the cross which Jesus was crucifixed upon....”  San Diego newswoman

“so selfish-less”

We are told that the gunman was “brandishing a semiotic weapon”

“Rita and her two children were just babies…”  NOT the beautiful moron

“...an upstairs neighbor is responsible for the murder of a seven-year-old woman…”   THIS is the beautiful Moron.

A slightly less beautiful moron spoke of Alec Baldwin “the six-year-old actor.”

ALMOST BROADWAY

My first Broadway show came after I’d been in NYC for 12 years. I had a couple

of reasonably close calls before that.

1984: Rehearsing TRIXIE TRUE, TEEN DETECTIVE in Delaware. One night,

Jennifer called to tell me that I had an audition in NYC the next day for SUNDAY IN

THE PARK WITH GEORGE. I’d have to get out of rehearsal… I MUST get out

because casting director John Lyons said it was an emergency audition, they were

seeing four guys and “one will leave with the job.”  The role was the American tourist

and understudy for Louis the Baker. 

I called our director and asked for a day off. I was hopeful because, though I  was

always onstage, much of it was sitting, listening. He said, “sorry, I can’t spare you.”  I

whined and begged but, “no, sorry.”  That was that.

Next day at rehearsal I sat onstage all day, listening to others, and did nothing

myself. No songs, no scenes, no nothing. Didn’t speak a word.

1988. Open call for the upcoming LEGS DIAMOND. Casting director Meg Simon

behind the table. I sang and read and got a callback on the spot. 

At the callback, Meg Simon again, also the director and musical director. I sang

and read a scene from the show (with a charming Irish lilt eff oi seh so muhself).

Then a callback in the large audition room at Equity, for Peter Allen. He was the

star and composer and kind of a big deal for a minute. THE BOY FROM OZ was

about him, with Hugh Jackman playing Allen.

I watched seven or eight guys go through the same routine: a guy would go into

the room, audition, exit, and wait. After 15-30 seconds, a young lady came out of the

room, told him he was free to go, and called the next auditioner in.

I was the last guy. 

There was a mess o’ folks behind the table.  20-something people packed in there

including Meg Simon.  Seated comfortably at the center of the table was Peter Allen. 

He greeted me and told me to sing. I did. Felt good. The crowd even applauded. I

then read my Irish scene. Got a couple of sweet laughs. 

Finished, thanked, and asked to wait outside. Just like everybody else. 

So I waited. 20 seconds passed, 30 seconds, 45 seconds… Nobody came out of

the room. A minute, two minutes…I’m not sure how long, but much longer than

anyone else had waited. Had they forgotten me? I stepped to the door, peeked through

the little triangle in the frosted window…and saw The Last Supper. 

Everybody was leaning toward Jesus, uhh, Peter Allen. People were gesturing,

several talking at once, some pointing. It looked like frustration. Clearly opinions

were being expressed. I read it as people championing … me. 

Except. Peter Allen sat, silent, wearing a frown, arms crossed, slowly shaking

his head side-to-side. 

It seemed painfully clear. People in that room had liked me. Except for one.

Twenty people wanted to make me a STAR! Peter Allen wanted me gone. 

Finally the lady came out of the room. “That’s all we need.”  And I left.  Jobless.

Later-- a handwritten postcard from Meg Simon. Something like: “thanks for

your audition. Sorry we couldn’t cast you, but we’ll see a lot of you in the future.”

  Never saw the woman again.