DEADline

 

I am on a deadline to complete my latest memoir, which I have called A Life Without Cagney & Lacey, a title which has been met with little enthusiasm from my editor at McFarland Publishers.

That is the least of my issues. The writing is all but done…In fact, it is done; but with me, it is never done since re-writing is really something I consider a major part of the process.

Unlike most of the writers who ever worked for me, I don’t mind rewriting. First, it requires re-reading what I wrote… and since I wrote it… and it is all about me… well, need I explain further?

What is driving me a bit nuts is not the deadline for the book but the deadline for photos for the book. I don’t have that many photos in my possession… hardly any of the sort from the “good old days in Hollywood,” or even pictures at USC which everyone seems to feel is what suits this kind of life-story.

I just am not as sentimental a guy as most people think. True, I cry at movies and in the theatre, but the fact is I have a mild case of “dry eye,” and staring at a brightly lit stage or screen from a seat in a darkened theatre tends to make me a bit weepy. Add some sentimentality to what is being performed and… well, as I said, I get credit for a lot of “heart” that ain’t necessarily there.

What this means is that I didn’t save all those photos of working with Paul Newman in full make-up as a Mexican bandito on “The Outrage,” nor did I have more than one photo (and it had already been used in Cagney & Lacey… and Me) with the three leads of Charlie’s Angels.

I don’t remember being on the Christy set all that much, let alone having my picture taken with our teenage star, Kellie Martin… and when you read my account of my life in airports during the productions of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden in Savannah, American Dream in Chicago and Angel on My Shoulder in Los Angeles, you might understand why no one photographed me with Barbara Hershey, Peter Strauss, Richard Kiley, Jane Seymour, Lloyd Bridges, Ned Beatty, or even a then little-known bit player from Chicago named John Malkovich.

Going online to get a copy of the Ben-Hur advert that I worked so hard to promote in the 1950s, could cost me up to four thousand dollars… and then it isn’t clear the seller won’t sue me if I use it in my book. Same is true, although the price is somewhat less for photos of then new actor, Jean-Paul Belmondo with veteran Jean Gabin, from their early film together, A Monkey in Winter.

There was also a very young Tom Courtenay, another actor I had never heard of before, in Private Potter. I did the captions on those still photos for MGM publicity, weeks after finishing my final year at USC.

“What the hell,” some senior publicist at MGM must have said, “the kid’s a college graduate; let him do the captions. He can type.”

I never got myself photographed with “my” Lolita star, Sue Lyon. And try to find a picture of Ned Beatty before I fired his ass off my ABC pilot for American Dream? Fuhgeddaboudit.

I have already spent more dollars on having family photos scanned than I will probably ever receive in royalties. Do I want to spend even more dollars to buy celebrity photos … even if they could arrive from some on-line dealer in France before my deadline?

Oh, I have a lot of pictures with Sharon Gless and Tyne Daly but whether I change the title or not, this is still my life story WITHOUT Cagney & Lacey.

I am almost eighty-eight years of age. I can barely work the google machine to find out what percentage of those mentioned in my book have already met their maker… (a HUGE number, by the way)… there is little chance I am going to be successful in finding a way to legally acquire the photos I need to illustrate my life’s story in Hollywood, let alone figure out how to upload (or is it download?) the photos to get them sent off to McFarland within any reasonable time frame.

This is the kind of job a Stephen King would give to his $100K plus per annum assistant. Hey, I get it. I was always great at delegating shit. Now, the only folks I know who are age-appropriate for this kind of work… that I might be able to afford… are my offspring. Guess what? They are either moving, remodeling, or in the throes of hip-replacement therapy. No help there.

Assuming I get this book in on time, it then takes McFarland at least six to eight months to do their work and to get the thing out to Amazon and whatever bookstores may still be in business. That means, if I am lucky, sometime near the end of spring, 2026 my book, whatever it’s called, will debut. Did I mention I am nearly eighty-eight years of age? I want to be alive when this book comes out, so there is no way I am going to miss that deadline and have to try to make it till the fall.

Meanwhile, under the heading that there is more to life than literature: I have managed to view a couple of TV shows… a true Yin yang combo for your attention. And I do mean, ATTENTION, ATTENTION… regardless of what you have read in your Sunday New York Times, if you are over 35 years of age, you may want to do all you can to avoid TOO MUCH on Netflix. To state the obvious, it is far too much. Take the worst actor… by a lot… in Hacks, make her the star of a series, and basically tell her not to change a thing from what she does in the Jean Smart show, and you have Megan Stalter. But why would you want her? Apparently, Lena Dunham does. Want her, or not, she’s got her.

TOO MUCH is a terrible show, but here is my caveat. My publishing deadline has put me in a foul mood. Dunham has proved herself in the past to be an off-center, brilliant filmmaker. And, finally, judging a series by one episode is not a very professional… or even smart… thing to do.

Having said that, you could not pay me to watch a second one. I know I could be proved wrong in the long run… but I am prepared to put a small amount of money where my critical sense lies. This show is simply Dunham doing too much with too little.

On the flip… or yang side… is Billy Bob Thornton, whom everyone agrees is one fine actor. Landman, his new series for Paramount Plus, is a winner. I loved it and, having seen all ten episodes, could not have been more impressed. Taylor Sheridan is a very good writer, proved it to me in the first two episodes of Tulsa King and has multiple hits to his credit such as Yellowstone, 1883 and 1923, none of which I have seen… yet. The supporting cast is fun but this is Thornton’s show and he runs with it. Lest it go unsaid, Sheridan’s writing partner on this series, Christian Wallace, appears to be no slouch either.

Back to the drawing board: speaking of which, I wonder if McFarland will accept sketches of Paul Newman and the other actors. I could make some drawings in lieu of photos. Problem is, no one would be recognizable; still, with the reduced stress, I might live long enough to see the yet unnamed book in print and McFarland could get an author still on this side of the grass. It might help them sell the thing. Win-win.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

 

MOONING OVER THE RIVER

 

Stellan Skarsgard and Nicola Walker lead a uniformly excellent cast in River, an offbeat police procedural which I can recommend with only one reservation: watch early enough in the evening so there is little chance of falling asleep while viewing.

The plot is convoluted, and the British dialect is thick enough to require focused attention. Very well acted and more than simply interesting. It is more than worth your time. Producer Chris Carey does it all in only six episodes on Amazon Prime.

Ms. Walker, who is a most agreeable TV lead, has another series also on Amazon Prime and, yet another, British Police procedural. This one is Unforgotten which plows the same cold-case ground as the very good Department Q. The difference is that the latter is set in Scotland and is much better written than its predecessor.

I barely remember Natasha Lyonne from Orange is the New Black but almost always recall her leaping off the TV screen in Russian Doll with a real tour de force performance. She comes close to that in Poker Face on Peacock but there is a caveat. After the first episode, the format of the show changes so that Ms. Lyonne rarely makes her appearance before the hour’s midway point. Big mistake.

I moved on after the third episode and you may feel that urge as well.

Paradise is sort of a mixed bag. Episode seven is terrific television, episode eight was a bore. The premise barely holds water… in fact, on close inspection, the plot has holes that would be the envy of a wheel of Swiss cheese. Nice cast, though… particularly Julianne Nicholson, James Marsden and Sterling K. Brown. Hulu has it.

I gave pretty much a rave review for The Last of Us when it first premiered on Max.  I am not a particular fan of dystopian views of the future on Planet Earth but this, I thought, was exceptional… especially the third episode (hope, I am right about that episode number as I am writing this from memory). I am not taking the time to research my last statement because what is important to this article is that the show is back… post pandemic and years after the first season premiered. Same cast, same premise and I just could not get into it. There was no “romancing” the audience. You come on board, or you don’t, seems to be the attitude of the show runner who I guess expected the viewers to rest in place until he got around to making the show again. Sorry. No cigar.

For several episodes… almost until the end of this new season… I feared for the future of Hacks on Max starring Jean Smart. The creators of the show did such a complete job of having the rivalry between the two leads come to an intense boil that I almost turned away from the show. Happily, I stayed on board long enough to see the two lead characters finally repair.

There was a lesson I learned from director Reza Badiyi in the early days of Cagney & Lacey. The teleplay called for a major argument between the two leads when Reza said “Cut,” halting the action. The director moved in close to his two actors and gave them what both later said was the best piece of direction they ever received:

“Don’t forget the love.”

This season, for a half dozen episodes, Hacks made that mistake and I felt it nearly ruined a terrific television series.

A break from episodic TV to watch an easy movie to sit through, pretty much describes Nonnas on Netflix. It stars Vince Vaughn, liked by some but not a guy I feel can headline a movie.  The film is based on a true story about the creation of a unique Italian restaurant in Staten Island, New York. What makes it special is that the chefs are all Italian grandmothers (nonnas) and each has a special favorite family recipe. Cute, huh? Not my kinda flick but my pal, Brenda Vaccaro, plays one of the nonnas; I couldn’t resist tuning in. As usual, Brenda was terrific; proof of that? I sat through the whole thing. It was sweet.

While thinking (and writing) of friends and associates, I must take note of the passing of yet another Cagney & Lacey alumnus, Mark Snow. He was with us in the earliest of days… writing the music for perhaps a half dozen episodes. As the show moved on… so did I and so did Mark, but he more than left his imprint by introducing me to composer Ron Ramin who scored dozens of Cagney & Lacey shows and who also wrote the music for just about every one of The Trials of Rosie O’Neill episodes. You probably would know Mark Snow’s work best for his composition that was the theme for the TV mega hit, The X-Files. A sincere salute to Mr. Snow and his family, which includes sister-in-law, Tyne Daly.

Readers send in suggestions of TV shows and movies for my review and I tried looking at three this week, The Rookies, The Agency and No Good Deed. At least the last one (which I looked at first) had Ray Romano in the lead. I could not get through the first episode. Purportedly there are a lot of Cagney & Lacey references in The Rookies, for which I am a known sucker. Not this time. What an awful show. The Agency…? Even worse.

Back to season five of The Gilmore Girls.

Barney Rosenzweig

THE GOOD, THE BAD, AND THE UGLY

Three shows are very definitely in the “good-to-very good” category: Dept. Q… a unique police procedural in which the entire first season of nine one-hour episodes is about one “cold case” and its impact on the lives of the show’s principal characters. The whole thing, complete with interesting stylistic choices of revealing flashbacks, is set in Scotland, and more likely than not you will want to employ your subtitle option as the brogues can get rather thick. 

Englishman Matthew Goode plays the fish out of water police officer who leads this eclectic band of sleuths. It is on Netflix,and it is well worth your time.

Jessica Biel leads the cast of The Better Sister, an interesting idea for a most provocative character-driven mystery series.Elizabeth Banks is Biel’s polar opposite sibling and Amazon Prime just may have a hit on its hands with this (I presume) limited series.

The two leading women are solid, but I found the remainder of the cast to be, at best, somewhat sub-standard, save for Kim Dickens as Detective Guidry and John Finn as her boss. The series sags a bit mid-way but picks up the pace towards the end. The writing is a bit uneven and the direction pedestrian. The fact that it works as well as it does is a tribute to the leading actors and, just maybe, the fact that my old series, Cagney & Lacey, is referenced three or four times in dialogue. What can I say? I am easily seduced. 

Among the “good” is the particularly good A French Village, a period drama taking place after France’s capitulation to the German army in 1940. An interesting, different take on what would then soon become WWII. (I know, I know… Google says WW II began with the German invasion of Poland in 1939, but how is it called a “WORLD war” when not one country in the entire Western Hemisphere would be involved until the end of 1941?) Onward: while A French Village was first shown in France in 2009 it can now be seen here in the US on Amazon Prime, or for free on some PBS outlets. It is that rare series that combines good staging, photography, acting, and writing. Well worth your time.

Finally, in the “even better than very good” category is one of the best of the Cagney & Lacey writing staff, Terry Louise Fisher. Terry died June 10, way too young at the age of 79 in Southern California. My memoir, Cagney & Lacey… and Me, has many references to Ms. Fisher to whom I owe a great deal. A true professional who was diligent, hardworking, smart, and talented. She is the third Rosenzweig alumni to pass this month,and this is the fourth obit I have felt compelled to write this week. Hopefully, it is the last. 

The Woman in the House Across the Street From the Girl in the Window falls in the “bad” category… even though it stars thegenerally terrific Kristen Bell. It is on Netflix, and I suggest you avoid it.

The “ugly” is also on Netflix and is titled Kleo… a German spy “thriller” with a perfectly awful, and inordinately unattractive,cast. The series is set around the time of the fall of the Berlin Wall, but that is not the only structure which collapses in this sure-to-disappoint TV series. As if to add insult to injury, the dubbing job into English is even worse than any recently seen; and, trust me, that is an extremely low bar.

Revisiting Etoile proved worthwhile to this viewer. As stated in my initial review, it is not for everyone, but it is, at the very least, smart and stimulating. I was surprised to learn that the bosses at Amazon have cancelled the show, even before the already ordered season two. 

The “surprise” for me at the early termination was not because of the cancellation of the show itself … I get (though it disappoints) that this series is at a denominator well above the usual standard for TV execs when ordering something into production in the first place… my surprise is that Amazon would risk the wrath of creators Amy Sherman-Palladino and, her husband, Daniel Palladino…arguably the two very best producers of anything on television in a generation, whether on a network or one of these premium platforms.

For now, before revisiting the Palladino’s mega hit, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, a show I admired more than almost any that comes to mind, I will content myself with finishing the (yet-to-be-seen-by-me) last half of the team’s, just this side of spectacular, 153 episodes of The Gilmore Girls.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

TWO FOR THE SHOW

Tough week to be eighty-seven. At that tender age, I am going into my third surgery in the last ten months for a persistent and resistant hernia, while almost simultaneously two important people in my life passed away at that very same age.

The first woman to ever play Christine Cagney in a movie I made for the CBS network was Loretta Swit. She was better known for her role in that network’s classic comedy, M*A*S*H, where she gained her star-status in the role of “Hot Lips.” She died at 87 in New York.

Loretta and I had a good working relationship throughout the entire production of that movie for television, but that soured when Christine Cagney and Mary Beth Lacey moved on without her to become the iconic TV series, Cagney & Lacey. Ms. Swit was not dismissed, or anything like that, she was simply not available due to her regular job as “Hot Lips” Houlihan which interfered with anything but off-season movie or stage work. Still, it seemed as if she never got over the “slight.”

I write in my book Cagney & Lacey…and Me, what I think are some interesting things about that period of our collaboration and, as I have so oftentimes before, commend that memoir to one and all. Buy it on Amazon. I am running out of copies to autograph.

College mate, Harris Yulin, also recently died in New York. He, too, was my prime age of 87, when a failing heart proved fatal last week. Harris is mentioned more than once in my new book, A Life Without Cagney & Lacey. That is something more than another shameless “plug.” After all, the book will probably not be out and for sale until next year, but I mention it because he was more than just a blip in my life.

Harris Yulin and I were good friends in college. We shared the same “best friend” whom each of us admired more than all others and who had a life-time impact on both of our lives.

For years I was more than a little envious of my friend Yulin, who had the courage of his convictions to drop out of USC, where he was a pre-dental major in deference (I would imagine) to his doctor-father, in order to pursue a career in New York as an actor.

As a young publicist for MGM on my first business trip to New York, I recall climbing those five flights of stairs to his cold-water flat in the Village while my wife luxuriated in our suite at the Plaza Hotel, paid for by MGM. I was on a liberal expense account, owned a home in the San Fernando Valley with a swimming pool, drove a sports car, and was so jealous of my starving actor friend that for months I had nightmares where he was the lead character.

Harris did not starve for long. His talent was soon recognized and in the 1960s he began a long and rewarding career as an actor on stage and screen and succeeded as a director of multiple theatrical productions. He worked for me in my independent film, Who Fears the Devil (aka The Legend of Hillbilly John) and he played featured roles in two of my series, Cagney & Lacey and The Trials of Rosie O’Neill.

Harris appeared in over one hundred film and television series’ roles, got an Emmy nomination for Frasier, and was featured in some major movies, including Training Day, with Denzel Washington, Scarface with Al Pacino, Doc (as Wyatt Earp) with Stacy Keach and long-time companion Faye Dunaway, as well as Night Moves with Gene Hackman. He was on the mailing list of these Notes From a Warm Island, and I often had a response from him to something I had written. I have known him for most of my life. He was one of the brightest, most talented people in a vast collection of such folks I have been fortunate enough to associate with over the years. I have no desire to follow in this, his latest “adventure,” but he truly lived a life worthy of envy.

Barney Rosenzweig

GATEWAY TO SUMMER

A personal Note: So many of you wrote with congratulations on the word of my book finding a publisher that I am compelled to thank you all without actually taking the time to answer each and every one of these very special-to-me emails. If each “congrat” turns into a book sale, McFarland publishing just may have a hit on its hands. By the way, although nothing is quite set, a good guess would be the book will be out sometime in 2026. Believe me, I will keep you informed.

One More Thing: A few of the readers of these notes corrected me about my heavy-handed criticism of Pulitzer Prize winning author, Percival Everett. It seems, contrary to what I implied, Everett did not write the screenplay version of his book, Erasure. That overly acclaimed film, titled American Fiction, was written by director Cord Jefferson. My bad. Everett should not have been blamed for that adaptation. 

Notes from Broadway 

Seen on the Great White Way in the last week of May, what follows are brief reviews of more than a half dozen shows. I admonish you to google the NY Times for more detailed reviews should you feel the following are being given short shrift. Now, in order of their being seen:

May 27--- PURPOSE: A so-called “straight” play of some significance and a multi-award winner from Chicago’s Steppenwolf, one of the finest theatre groups in America. It is this company that introduced us to August: Osage County and now, with Purpose, has come close to equaling that very good play. I cannot climb on board with the notion that it is a great piece of writing, but it is a most entertaining work and is important (I think) in that it makes a play about a black family very accessible to the primarily white audiences who attend Broadway plays.

May 28, Matinee--- DEAD OUTLAW: My ex-wife’s uncle was the internationally famous jazz drummer, Buddy Rich. Late in his life, when he was being rushed on a stretcher to the emergency room at UCLA, a nurse trying to keep pace with the speeding gurney asked the patient if he had any allergies. “Country and western music,” Buddy replied.

I thought of that as I took my seat at the Longacre Theatre and viewed the set on stage which consisted of a bandstand with a banjo, a couple of guitars, a harmonica dangling from a music stand, an upright piano, and drums. I shook my head as I tried to remember why I had picked this show for my limited time in The Big Apple. Well folks, it was a most happy surprise. It could perhaps be my favorite show of the week. Andrew Durand, in the title role and Jeb Brown as the bandleader are both excellent, the music is a hoot and… believe it or not… this story about a mummified early 20thth century Oklahoma train robber turns out to be “based on fact.” I sat through most of the show with my mouth wide open. That’s a good thing. 

May 28, Evening---Pirates! The Penzance Musical: My father never taught me any of the “manly arts.” I never learned how to fix a car, to hunt, to fish, or to build a decent bookshelf. My dad was a musician and a very top-notch music teacher. He could play just about every musical instrument, but his temperament was such that he was never able to teach either of his sons his skills. He did, however, succeed in imbuing me with a love of theatre and specifically the theatrical works of Gilbert & Sullivan as presented in those days by the D’Oyly Carte Opera Company of Great Britain.

I grew up with the patter songs and eagerly awaited Martyn Green’s appearance in Los Angeles on… was it every even numbered year that they would come to America? Somewhere there is a home recording of me… at the age of three… singing every song from The Mikado. My kids know a bit of this. When they were pre-pubescent, I took them to Europe and the only theatre I remember attending with them was at D’Oyly Carte.

Gilbert & Sullivan had over a dozen shows produced by D’OylyCarte over a hundred-year span until well into the 20th century. Then the copyright expired and it turned out anybody could present one of the Gilbert & Sullivan classics. The result was just about anybody and everybody did; and most of these companies are pretty awful. That is probably why younger folk cannot “…whistle all the airs from that infernal nonsense, Pinafore.”

This production is billed as a “loving reinvention of Gilbert and Sullivan’s masterpiece, The Pirates of Penzance.” I steeled myself for the advertised “reinvention,” and went… alone. No one else in my party was the least bit interested, and I was not insisting that they join me.

The play opened with two actors (David Hyde Pierce and Preston Truman Boyd) as Gilbert and Sullivan themselves,explaining what we were about to see and why (those damn copyright issues) the play was now set in New Orleans instead of Penzance. A jazz saxophone was added to the mix for Sullivan’s music. I began to sag.

For the longest time I felt I was watching an undergraduate group of more than a little inebriated college students do an adhoc version of a classic. The score of Penzance was infiltrated by important pieces from HMS Pinafore, Iolanthe, and The Mikado. I began to despair, but more than once David Hyde Pierce would come forward to present a relatively classic version of one of the patter songs which would resuscitate my interest. 

And then I noticed something.

The theatre was packed; and the audience was having a very good time. W.S. Gilbert would be pleased. Sir Arthur? Probably not.

May 29--- CALL ME IZZY: This is Jean Smart’s one woman show at Studio 54. My friends, Linda Bloodworth-Thomason and Harry Thomason first introduced me to Ms. Smart back in the 1980s in their very smart CBS sit-com, Designing Women. Ms. Smart was terrific then and still is. The play? Notsomuch…. but that could change. I saw this production in previews and there are some structural changes that could easily be made in the play itself that would make it clearer and better. Maybe that will happen, maybe not. I hate going to previews but that is all Ms. Smart was doing while I was in town.

May 30--- SUNSET BLVD.: Arguably my biggest disappointment of the week, probably because of all the shows I had set for myself, this was the one I wanted to see more than any other. The word on Nicole Scherzinger as Norma Desmond was “sure Tony Winner.” Turns out they were right about that… even though I would dissent. I found her very one-note as I did the so-called choreography and the very boring set design. The exception to all of that was the opening of Act II, which justifiably gets rave reviews from everyone as, on-camera, the leading man literally walks the streets of Broadway, singing the title song as he re-enters the theatre from a side entrance, continuing his aria, then appears on stage, still in sync, all the while being pursued by a steadicam and a sound technician to ensure, that we hear and see the entire imaginative presentation.Sunset Blvd. is a very good show… just not what I had hoped or had been hyped to believe it would be.

May 31, Matinee--- The Picture of Dorian Gray: Kip Williams, who wrote and directed this production, should give a tutorial to Jaime Lloyd, the director of Sunset Blvd. The two productions… which utilize similar visual techniques… are worlds apart in terms of imagination and creativity. Bravo, Mr. Williams… and Brava, Sarah Snook, who shares the stage ONLY with the brilliant camera crew who both follow and precede her around her complicated path on stage. You might remember this leading lady from the HBO (or is it still Max?) presentation of Succession, as one of the siblings in line for the Murdoch-like empire. In Dorian Gray, Ms. Snook not only plays every part, but she is also the narrator and does this while constantly in movement for two hours without intermission. Forget the Tony, which she won a week after I saw the show… she probably deserves an Olympic Gold Medal for sheer athleticism.

May 31, Evening---BOOP! The Musical: Full disclosure… my senior most son-in-law has recently inherited a piece of Fleischer Studios from his father, Stan Handman, and therefore has a real interest (along with my eldest daughter) in the success of this venture.

That said, I had heard just “so-so” things about the show itself, yet did feel obligated to be supportive and attend. Hello!?!Along with Dead Outlaw… the second surprise of my week. BOOP! The Musical, is a very good, old-fashioned Broadway musical. The book by Bob Martin is clever, if only partially politically correct, the music by David Foster is damn good, and Jasmine Amy Rogers in the title role of Betty Boop is a revelation. That’s it. Go see it before it leaves the Broadhurst Theatre. The show will never be this well mounted again.

June 1--- Oh, Mary!: It is the most ridiculous, yet uproariousstage presentation I can remember seeing… maybe, ever! Maryis Mary Todd Lincoln… a raging alcoholic; her husband is not only the U.S. President you think you knew, but a semi-closeted gay guy. Don’t even ask about John Wilkes Booth. Tony winner Cole Escola is the lead performer presenting Mrs. Lincoln as a wannabe Cabaret artist. The play that has been created by “they/them” Escola is an 86-minute, brilliant Saturday Night Live sketch on steroids. Hilarious.

An addendum: I opted to see Oh, Mary! and abandoned my pals who all attended Gypsy with Audra McDonald. I just didn’t wanna do it under the heading, been there and done that. I saw this show with Ethel Merman more than a half century ago andsaw it again with one of my favorites in the world, Tyne Daly,who walked away with a Tony Award for one of the best performances anyone has ever seen on a Broadway stage. Who, indeed, could ask for anything more? 

As to the Tony Award show itself… I thought the host, Cynthia Erivo, was amazing as was the synopsized version of Hamilton, but I thought the producers made some very poor choices in picking the shows to represent those currently on Broadway. The numbers from Operation Mincemeat and the Bobby Darin thing… even the number from the Tony Award winning Maybe Happy Ending did not compare to what they could have shown from the Betty Boop show or from what I have heard about SMASH, the musical.

That’s all folks, I’m back home in Miami. Give my regards to Broadway.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

​

THE WEEK THAT WAS

 

It has been a while since my last entry and no, I have not had my third hernia surgery in a matter of months (more on that another time); I have not given up watching shows (how about eight on Broadway just last week?); and I have not really taken a vacation from TV or anything else… although some quality time with my award winning poet grandson on summer leave from Sarah Lawrence in New York City might just qualify in that regard.

Feeling under the weather by more than I should, I braved the long-planned trip to The Big Apple, congested as I was, damaging my hearing on my American Airlines flight enough so that for the first time in my life I had to resort to sound amplification devices in the theatre. I am recovering slowly but do not be surprised if I ask that you speak louder when next we meet.

I have also done some reading, which is not particularly characteristic of me, but Cagney & Lacey alumna Georgia Jeffries has written a very nice domestic thriller in The Younger Girl which I commend to you. And then Tyne Daly sent me Going Home, a novel by first time author Tom Lamont which, if I were a younger man, and the film industry was anything like it used to be, I might well have optioned to make a family friendly movie. Not so sure what Ms. Daly, who more often sends me books of poems, had in mind with this novel but whatever, it was a most enjoyable, if unremarkable, read.

I am also re-reading Mark Twain’s The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to prove to myself that I was right in believing that regardless of all the awards and praise, the 2024 Pulitzer Prize winning James, by the multi award winning Percival Everett, while possibly a very good idea, is a half-baked, under achieving work of fiction. I did not have to re-read more than the first chapter of Twain’s work to realize how right I am about that.

There are incredibly talented artists, both literary and cinematically, who sometimes take advantage of their gifts and present their audiences with something approximating a “first draft” of their work, rather than digging in and finding ways to make it deeper, richer, fuller, and better. Author Everett gives me the impression of taking the easy way out, not only with James, but with the film American Fiction made of his book Erasure… a great satirical idea that could have/should have been so much more important. The brilliant Woody Allen often gives the impression of doing the same thing… with his film of Play it Again, Sam being a primary example of that kind of laziness.

I am going to leave the world of the literary… again, not my long suit… with a couple of points: first off, “deeper, richer, fuller, better” is not something I own. It comes to me by way of Tyne Daly who I believe was quoting her mother, Hope, when she first told me these words nearly half a century ago. It became the mantra for our Cagney & Lacey writing staff.

Lastly, as I may have previously mentioned, I have typed “The End” to my 90,000-word autobiography, A Life Without Cagney & Lacey. Having done that, I then sat for days… not only trying to figure out what I was going to do with the remainder of my life but really questioning why I had bothered with this book project in the first place. Who, I asked of myself, would read it? Who would care? It is not as though I am Steven Spielberg or even the Barney Rosenzweig I once was.

Some friends, readers of these notes, and family, intervened and assured me that they cared, that others would too, and besides, they reminded me, many of the details and stories of my life were quite interesting, and the damn thing was already written. Why stick it in a drawer now?  My friend, author, Marcia Wilkie, intervened. She had read an earlier draft of my work and was always encouraging. This time she recommended a publisher, McFarland Press, which specializes in (among other things) autobiographies and memoirs. I took Marcia’s advice. Onward to deeper, richer, fuller, better. No agent. No connection to anyone in this publishing house. I followed their website’s instructions as to preferred font and type size, numbered the pages, and sent it in by Email with a covering note.

While in New York… in between those eight Broadway shows… came a return Email from the publishing house. This is the first paragraph:

Thank you for sending your memoir “A Life Without Cagney & Lacey.” It received a very warm welcome at our acquisitions meeting – it’s fantastic and we’d love to publish it!

A hernia recurrence, continued congestion, a hearing loss. Still, overall, not a bad week.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

MAY BE, MAYBE NOT

 

Not my thing. If I were a man of few words, that would be my review of Wonderful World, a drama series from South Korea with (I am told)14 episodes. I wouldn’t know as I stopped watching this Hulu presentation after episode two with the full knowledge that, very probably, the best was yet to come. I just could not take it anymore.

But that’s me. Many of you may really like this mystery/thriller/ revenge drama. It is, after all, professionally made… as, indeed, I have found most shows emanating from South Korea to be. The acting is sound (albeit a bit over the top for my tastes… but then, please remember, I began this review with “not my thing”).

I gather from the press release that the first two episodes are the set up for what follows… maybe on some rainy South Florida day I will turn this on again and see what episodes three through fourteen have to offer. Maybe not.

Luther originated in England over a decade ago, but I somehow missed it. I must have thought the title referred to Superman’s arch enemy rather than the lead character in the intelligent police procedural that this was… and still is… all these years later.

And what a treat to see Ruth Wilson, who I remember eyeballing in 2014 for the first time as the very attractive waitress/turned mistress in Showtime’s The Affair. In this antecedent to that role, she is the equally sexy, but now also the narcissistic and villainous adversary to actor Idris Elba, the John Luther of the show’s title who is an extraordinarily bright and insightful detective for the London Police force.

The writing is smart enough, the pace is rapid enough, and Mr. Elba and Ms. Wilson deliver some of the best acting performances you will see in any episodic cop show… that is with the exception of my somewhat biased opinion about Sharon Gless and Tyne Daly as the dynamic duo featured in Cagney & Lacey.

Luther is also on Hulu, and as it aired for nine years, there are a plethora of episodes. Although no new ground is broken here, it is a grown-up, well-made, cop show that I am happy to recommend.

If you are at all like me, in that you take some comfort in being in the hands of true professionals, then scroll over to Paramount + and turn on MOBLand. Director Guy Ritchie, who has himself substantial credits in the world of motion pictures and television, has assembled an impressive cast of familiar… and very talented… British actors. Pierce Brosnan, Dame Helen Mirren, Tom Hardy, and Paddy Considine head a cast of English actors you will readily recognize if you have done any serious streaming at all from Game of Thrones to Peaky Blinders, to Downton Abbey.

There are ten episodes in season one… The Godfather it is not, but it is entertaining with good production values, terrific actors, interesting characters, and a plausible plot line with an experienced pro in Guy Ritchie directing the premiere episode.

FYI, there is an earlier use of the title Mob Land (the one reviewed here is MOBLand) and that other one, with a space between the words mob and land, is a feature film starring John Travolta. That movie is a couple of years older than this current production.

Like Luther, MOBLand takes place in the British Isles but is mostly in and around London so… just maybe… unlike Peaky Blinders… you won’t need to engage the sub-title feature on your TV screen.

One of the finest actors working today is the very versatile and beautiful Michelle Williams. I have lost track of how many Academy Award nominations she has received (I hate research, but a good guess is around a half dozen), and I know there are even more Emmy nominations as well as Golden Globe Awards. She was fabulous as Marilyn Monroe in My Week with Marilyn and was nothing short of perfection as Gwen Verdon in Fosse/Verdon which is still available on Hulu. Now she is once again on Hulu with a comedy(?) series, Dying for Sex.

Ms. Williams is predictably terrific, but I am insecure about what else to say about the show. It is… I am convinced… not for everyone. More than once, I was more uncomfortable than I like to be when watching a show. This series is about a 40something year old married woman with terminal cancer who wants to break out of her sexless marriage so that she can have as much and as varied a sex life as is imaginable.

Not that many years ago, I encouraged Sharon Gless… personally my favorite actress of them all… to acquire A Round-Heeled Woman by Jane Juska… the premise of which was an advert Ms. Juska took in the New York Review of Books which said, “Before my 67^th birthday, next March, I want to have a lot of sex with a man I like. If you want to talk first, Trollope works for me.”

Sharon took my counsel and eventually starred in London’s West End in a play based on the book. I bring this up to defend myself, in advance, that it was not the sex in Ms. Williams’ series that I found bothersome. There were plenty of comic moments, and I wanted to laugh more than I did but just could not. I like to believe it was the thing about dying of cancer at a young age.

I can tell a joke or two about my Mother’s cancer. She could be a very funny woman. But Myrtle Rosenzweig was much older than the character played by Ms. Williams and that just may be the difference.

I have gone as far as I can with this. It is on you. Suffice to reiterate, Michelle Williams is among the best at what she does, her supporting actors are all first rate, the show comes from the development mavens at FX who are among the very best at what they do, and the cancer survivor with whom I viewed the show, laughed a lot at the antics of the leading lady. Go know.

Finally, my initial enthusiasm for Étoile is waning. I want the show to be something like what I thought I saw in episode one. It is not progressing nicely, and I find myself regretting that I elected to review the series based solely on that opening night’s episode. Frankly, it seemed like a good idea at the time… and I was so confident the super-talented Palladinos would maintain the style and quality of that first chapter that I plunged forward with an outright rave for them and their work (past and present). Turns out they are human. The ballet equivalent of what happens in the game of football when the star player fumbles the ball is what has happened here. I am guessing in ballet that would be a stumble.

Whatever, Étoile, the series, is not what that first episode promised, and I am now attempting to climb back from that limb on which I placed myself with my initial review.

Lerner and Loewe’s Camelot has a song about the merry month of May. The show itself has a lot of laughs, some hope for optimism about the human condition, a smidgen of sex, and at the end everybody dies, is banished, or winds up in a nunnery. A mixed bag. Not unlike these May entries.

Barney Rosenzweig