AUTUMN IN NEW YORK

I cannot remember the last time I turned to the stranger sitting next to me at intermission and asked, “So, what do you think?” It was an indication of my incredulity at just how disappointed I was in Other Desert Cities at the Hudson Theatre in New York’s Broadway district.

It isn’t often that a “straight play” gets the high-profile send-off by the New York press as this one has … a reflection, no doubt, of the star power of the cast, led by Julias Louis-Dreyfus, Ed Harris, and Allison Janney (with Joe Keery and Lily Rabe in support). It is even less often that I review a play still in previews, but Other Desert Cities was only three days away from its official opening when I arrived in New York with no plans for my first night in town and discovered there was one seat still available at the Hudson.

The play, by Jon Robin Baitz is very so-so. Why this work was resurrected from its introduction 15 years ago is one of those legit theatre mysteries I will not attempt to solve. I did find it curious that during the intervening time the play was “at rest” no one took the trouble to bring the politics referenced in the play up to date given the hyper-political environment in which we now live.

 A check of my watch showed that, even with intermission, the running time was a very typical two hours and fifteen minutes. Meaning the play wasn’t that long; it just seemed interminable.

Strangely enough, actor Joe Keery … making his Broadway debut … sorta steals the show from the stellar cast who play his parents and aunt. You might remember him from the Netflix award winning series, Stranger Things. In this play, Keery gets some help from the playwright(s) in that his part is … by far … the best written and the one with whom most audiences will identify (or will at least recognize).

Lily Rabe, who plays the young writer on whom this entire plot revolves, performs her play-ending monologue perfectly, which had me wishing she had given this kind performance earlier in the play. Louis-Dreyfus, Harris, and Janney? Like so many in that audience, I am a huge fan of what they have done throughout their respective careers. This evening? Not so much. Not bad, please understand, but nothing to write home … or a review … about.

In less than 100 hours from this writing, the NY critics will weigh-in. I will bet they will agree with me on this sub-standard play and its uninspired direction. We shall see.

NOTE: the NYC critics did come forward generally with more enthusiasm for the stars of the show than I may have demonstrated (I think it is only natural that being a product of Hollywood I am a little less starstruck than they) but all came close to agreeing with me about the (at best) unevenness of the play.

Meanwhile, back to the stranger who was sitting next to me. Turns out she came to the theatre not knowing what the show was about and, like many others I am sure, was attracted to the all-star cast, but was generally disappointed in the totality of what she had seen.

I rejoined that I was there because the subject of the play was that of a memoir written by a member of the family and the impact it had on those assembled for a Christmas weekend in Palm Springs, California. I added that since my memoir had just been released I was naturally curious about this play.

The attractive seat mate was understandably curious. “What memoir?”

Be still my heart.

I told her the title and on hearing the words “Cagney & Lacey” she gasped. “My father’s favorite show,” she exclaimed, then went on to expound on how, when she was a child, her dad had insisted she sit down with him on Monday nights so that they could watch the show together.

She quickly took to her phone and googled the title and up popped the Amazon advert with a picture of the cover of Before and After Cagney & Lacey.  I went on to further explain that the book has a predecessor, Cagney & Lacey … and Me.

The night at the Hudson was, to be fair, not a total loss. I am all but positive the woman bought both books.

The quarter page advertisement in the Sunday New York Times for Operation Mincemeat contained the title of the show, the name of the theater, and one quote from Taffy Brodhesser-Akner of the famed NY Times: “The Best Musical I’ve Ever Seen.” That alone was enough for me to call the ticket broker and book my airfare to The Big Apple.

 I know, I know, one might think that at my age, and being a guy who has spent a good part of his life making shows about cops and detectives, I might have done a bit of investigation … but no. I waited until after I had seen the musical from England before making an inquiry of Google as to just who Ms. Brodesser-Akner is and how long has she been reviewing theatre for the NY Times?

Turns out she is not on the staff of theater experts working for the Times. Rather, she is a staff writer for that paper’s Sunday magazine section and author of a successful novel, Fleishman is in Trouble.

Operation Mincemeat may be the “best musical” Ms. Brodesser-Akner has ever seen, but one day … maybe after seeing a show by Rodgers & Hammerstein, or Lin-Manuel Miranda’s Hamilton, or just about anything by Stephen Sondheim … she might want to write something in that Sunday magazine in the way of an apology.

Please do not misunderstand, Operation Mincemeat is a good show … a more than decent entry. It is not a great show, nor is it something that will go down in the ages as something worthy of worldwide veneration. Ms. Brodesser-Akner has weighed in on something she clearly knows very little about. Operation Mincemeat isn’t even the best musical currently on Broadway… a list that includes Wicked, Hadestown, Hamilton, Maybe Happy Endings, Chicago … and yes, Aladdin, MJ The Musical, Schmigadoon! and The Lion King continue to be on the Great White Way as well. All of them are better musicals than Operation Mincemeat.

Okay, moving on from the unqualified, self-anointed Times critic: the choreography and direction of Operation Mincemeat by Jenny Arnold and Robert Hastie are very good, at its best bringing to mind the English classic of Graham Greene’s Travels With My Aunt directed by Giles Havergal where four men in matching tan suits played all the parts, including the protagonist Henry Pulling and his eccentric Aunt Augusta. That was the best of its kind I have ever seen and that was over a third of a century ago. Moments (but just moments) in Operation Mincemeat are reminiscent of that.

The cast is uniformly good (not great) with Jeff Kready getting most of the huzzas from the packed Golden Theatre on 45^th street.

The underlying story is based on a very real World War II scam perpetrated by England’s MI-5 against Hitlers’ Nazi Germany. There is a 2022 movie of the same name that deals with the same caper without any singing or dancing. It, too, is worthy and on Netflix and if you already have a Netflix subscription, about $300 cheaper to watch than this live production. FYI, Jesse Green, the real NY Times reviewer, was much tougher on this production than I.

Schmigadoon! at the Nederlander Theatre was next on my list, although my arrival was more than a little belated since it has been months since the show won the Tony Award for Best Musical. I must also confess to never having seen the very successful Apple TV series of the same name.

The Broadway show is a genuine hoot and it is an easy recommend to anyone who likes musicals … interesting in that it just may also be fun for anyone who does not like musicals.

Schmigadoon! is a spoof … of the musical. Oklahoma, Carousel, South Pacific, Sound of Music are all liberally “referenced” stylistically and musically throughout. So, too, are Finian’s Rainbow, Music Man and, of course, Brigadoon.

Fortunately for the producers, parody is hardly ever “actionable” but if it were, there is enough here to fill a court calendar for a year.

The point is, like the old Forbidden Broadway (but on steroids), this kind of stuff is great fun for any theater buff as they are “in” on the various references. For those who hate musicals, this Schmigadoon! makes enough fun of the genre to quite possibly endear itself with that group as well.

Something for everyone and I feel fine about recommending it for everyone and anybody. I may even break down and see what the TV series is doing.

The Roundabout Theatre Company is one I have found praiseworthy more often than not. So, when my plane out of the Big Apple was delayed on my final Sunday in New York, I popped over to check out Moliere’s The Imaginary Invalid that was in its final week of previews.

The first 90 seconds are applause worthy … the staging, the setting of the scene. All truly imaginary and, I suspect, a more than honest effort to get those of us in the audience transported back to a theater in mid-17^th century France … the time when this play was first produced.

If I had left after that first minute and a half, I might have spent the rest of my life wondering what they could possibly do for an encore. I did not leave, but there were moments when I wished I had.

Moliere wrote socially relevant stuff. So much so that the Catholic church at the time had him banned. But that was nearly 400 years ago. Some progress has been made … even in the MAGA universe in which we find ourselves today.

I concede that the costumes are lush. The set is lovely, the actors uniformly excellent, the direction … properly encourages the actors to be bawdy and/or over-the-top. I just have to ask why? Why do this and why would most any potential audience out there want to go see something like this? The Roundabout is a subscription funded theater company and apparently one that has artistic license to do just about whatever it is they want. Good for them. I wonder if they would be willing to give me my $200 back?

And finally … a final New York shoutout to my friend, Miche Bonett and her very lovely documentary salute to The Guardians of Broadway … meaning Phil Smith (longtime leader of the Shubert Organization), Jimmy Nederlander, Sr. (founder of the Nederlander Organization) and Paul Lubin (Vice President of Jujamcyn Theatres) all of whom passed before the documentary was finished.

It is a loving and beautiful little film which should go into release sometime in 2027. Theater buffs: take note.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

 

Barney Rosenzweig

THE ART OF THE PITCH

Some say that proper nouns are the first thing to go. What “some say” is certainly true in my case. For instance, I simply cannot remember the name of Joe Bologna’s favorite comedy writer (that is to say his favorite other than himself, or spouse Renee Taylor, of course). Whoever that pal of Joe’s is (or was), it is my understanding he was the first to state, “I have lost the will to pitch.” 

Over the years, I have repeated that piece of wit so often it has become my own. That doesn’t change the fact that it originated elsewhere. 

The show business pitch (short for sales pitch) is an art form all its own. There was a time when I deferred to no one in show business when it came to this skill set. I could sell my ideas to network development executives better than anyone, and that was not just my opinion. Back in the day, when we watched TV the way God intended, I surveyed multiple “buyers” at ABC, CBS, and NBC. 

“Who was the best pitch artist you ever met?” I would ask. Invariably the answer came back without hesitation, “you are, Barney.”

So, there you have it, solid evidence of my one-time acumen. To be fair, there was David Gerber (who ultimately was president of the television divisions of three major studios). His sales technique was to give his pitches with such energy, with manyof his words simply fabricated on-the-spot or drawn from a lexicon he had invented to supplement his semi-fictional vocabulary. “The Gerb,” as he was known to some of us, would often exhaust network execs into submission. 

I took advantage of this by gaining access to Mr. Gerber’s schedule of network meetings. I would then schedule my appointments immediately after his. Invariably, the network execs were so beaten up by Gerber’s whirlwind that on my arrival I found them to be relatively easy pickings.

All that is in the past.  Like Joe Bologna’s writer friend, I too have lost the will to pitch. Even, what would have once been for me, the easy stuff … maybe just a phone call... I simply do not have it in me anymore.

Take for example John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. Not the Elia Kazan movie version starring James Dean, but the new mini-series on Netflix, adapted by Kazan’s granddaughter, Zoe. I have rarely seen a more extravagant campaign or more money spent on newspaper advertisements hyping this show which was (as has become the fashion) filmed in New Zealand. 

Decades ago, I also produced an eight-hour miniseries called John Steinbeck’s East of Eden and filmed my award winner all in the good old USA … and much of that in the Steinbeck country of California’s Salinas Valley.

I haven’t seen the just-released Netflix version, so I will not go out on a limb and say mine is better. I do know mine is true to Steinbeck’s novel, that Jane Seymour, Lloyd Bridges, Soon-TekOh, and Bruce Boxleitner have never been better in their prestigious careers, and that Karen Allen was also terrific in this,her last role before becoming the leading lady in the very first Indiana Jones.

I do not wish to explore in this space my view that Timothy Bottoms was the single worst piece of casting with which I haveever been involved; I urge the viewer to read my book Before And After Cagney & Lacey for the details on that sorry fact. As to the miniseries itself, overlook Mr. Bottoms and I believe you will find all else in this production to be first rate.

I could go on about the locations, the music, the casting in the version of Steinbeck’s East of Eden that I produced … none of those things has anything to do with my premise regarding the art of the pitch. 

The point of all this is there is another long-form version of John Steinbeck’s East of Eden besides this new, heavily promoted,Netflix series. Paramount now owns that version of the showthat I made … they have a streaming service called Paramount + (I call it Paramount minus, but that is another story); they allow Amazon to rent “my” East of Eden for money. You would think at least one of the execs at these giant corporations would say, “hey … we could climb on the back of all this Netflix advert money and get at least a share of the lucre.” 

Okay, okay … no one at either of those companies would use lucre in a sentence, but I am sure you get my drift.

Me? I could make a phone call and point all this out, but frankly … even though I am the only living profit participant Paramount has in this eight-hour miniseries … I have lost the will to pitch.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

INTRADA

 

Readers of these notes might well surmise that my recently released memoir all but totally consumed my attention of the past couple of years.

The truth of that presented me with a bit of a problem the morning of the UCLA event that was honoring Cagney & Lacey with a screening of two episodes as well as interviews with the show’s two stars and me about our lives while making that TV series.

I get that I am the foremost authority on that show of mine but for two years it has indeed been something else with which I was obsessed … 100,000 words with the built-in conceit that the reader will have already read its predecessor, Cagney & Lacey … and Me. There is little, if anything, about my iconic television series in this latest book; its title, Before and After Cagney & Lacey can be taken literally. It is, in fact, all about the before and after.

It has been over 40 years since I produced that series and nearly 20 years since the publishing date of Cagney & Lacey … and Me. Now, visiting Los Angeles for the event at UCLA, it occurred to me, at the 11^th hour, that I should probably spend a little time refreshing my memory on the events of all those years ago.

The good news is there is a book on the subject … and, better yet, I had written it. Is it too immodest of me to tip you off to the fact that even I was impressed? Are you surprised to read my view that the story that was told within the covers of that book was awfully good, and the writing was solid as well? Ahh, cynicism heh? Okay, here, in the something less than 1,000 words that follow, is the introduction to that book. Judge for yourself:

Intro: In the 1980s, the television series Cagney & Lacey was on the air for six seasons, becoming a part of the landscape and the language. To many it was more than mere entertainment; to some it was the quintessential show for working women, a flagship for the women’s movement and—at last—an opportunity for real women to relate, and to identify with, what they were seeing on their television screens. This was all amplified by blind luck and good timing, for it was in that pre-Internet era when “on the air” meant being part of the primary pastime of North America.

In those days Americans watched television the way God meant us to: on one of the three major television networks and without remote control. In the continental United States, there were then sixty-six hours of prime-time network television per week (prime time being from 8 pm to 11 pm six nights per week and 7 pm to 11 pm on Sunday, for a total of twenty-two hours multiplied by three networks). Discounting the hours and half hours devoted to news and magazine programs, such as 60 Minutes, or television movies, miniseries, and specials, which left approximately forty-eight TV series aired on a weekly basis: forty-eight shows with their forty-eight show runners who, week after week, were “on the air.”

Only forty-eight.

There are a hundred U.S. senators … fifty governors.

Being “on the air,” with a show dealing with the lives of two contemporary, urban women, a constituency of thirty million American viewers every week, and a license from CBS to say and do just about whatever we wished was very heady stuff.

The series was honored throughout the world, setting new precedents in the United Kingdom via the BBC, while simultaneously becoming one of the most honored dramatic television series in the history of the CBS Network in America, garnering Emmys, citations from the Congress of the United States, the State of California, the cities of Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York, and the ACLU to name less than half of the bestowed honors.

Individual episodes were singled out for praise or condemnation, depending on subject or just whose ox was being gored. The title became a punch line for cartoonists, comedians, and newscasters alike, a common reference point in the language for strong women and the feminist movement.

In the 1980s, CBS charged $300,000 per minute to advertise on Cagney & Lacey. That same network paid us to fill forty-six minutes a week of airtime with our beliefs, hopes, and fears, our values, and humor. Those minutes may not have been brilliant, but millions of people liked them, and, more often than not, they were even celebrated (surprise, surprise) as something socially and culturally significant.

We made 125 episodes and five television movies. We earned an impressive thirty-six Emmy nominations, winning fourteen of these awards with episodes ranging in subject from abortion to racism, to substance abuse, to Western medicine’s assault on the female mammary. There were comedic episodes and stories of great loss, of love, and of family and friendship..

I was there at the very beginning. I was the producer of every one of the 135 hours delivered to the world via television broadcasters, cable, and satellite as series episodes or movies for television: the guy who could say, without fear of contradiction, “Christine Cagney wouldn’t say that.”

Every episode, every script, every music cue, every edit, and every piece of casting was under my personal supervision. I was the one who took on every network note, every fight with the television establishment, from breaking through the all-male bias of just how women relate to one another, to whether it was all right to hear the sound of a flushing toilet while one of our female leads visited the commode, to a woman’s right to choose to terminate a pregnancy, to the tastelessness of sexual humor in the workplace. I won far more of these battles than not.

I loved it because while it was going on I was conscious of what was happening around me and to me. It was not just another job. I knew that those were very special years when they were occurring, and I lived them very much in the present. All that had gone before—all the miseries of my first twenty-five years in Hollywood—was repaired by Cagney & Lacey, and I was made whole. Those years of the very long ago may well become the basis for another tome, but Cagney & Lacey and the people who made it possible were responsible for most of the best years of my life.

It was wonderful, and this is that story.

And there you have it. That “other tome” to which I referred all those years ago has finally happened in the form of Before and After Cagney & Lacey and, in case you were wondering, I would read these two books in the order they were written. They are both available on Amazon and, dare I say it? Well, you have to know I do dare … they are both worthy of your attention.

Barney Rosenzweig

 

TRANSITIONS

 

There were so many reasons for me to see the documentary, Will & Harper. A) It’s a road-trip movie and driving across country has been a hobby of mine for years as I have taken at least four weeks to drive from Miami to Los Angeles on the so-called Blue Lane Highways every even numbered year since the mid-1990s … and have even taken lengthy non-cross-country trips along the Eastern Seaboard on some odd number years. B) Harper, she of the main title, was a he for the first 60 years of life, having made the transition to becoming a female late in the game. The transformation from one gender to another is of particular interest to me as one of the closest members of my family has taken this path as well.

Then there was the more conventional reason: I generally enjoy documentaries and this one, in particular, was highly recommended by several in my family as well as some friends and neighbors.

What can I say? I didn’t like it.

Damn. I had such high expectations. The only good thing about sitting through the too-long-by-a-lot one-hour and fifty-four minutes were the end credits which have a song co-written and sung by Kristen Wiig. High speed through the video to that ending if you can (not easy to do on Netflix). The song and the accompanying video are good, but not good enough to sit through 114 minutes of this home movie, improperly documented as something more than that.

To give the project its due, it is well-intentioned: two friends of more than a generation, now re-defining and exploring their relationship while taking a road trip across America. Some really interesting ideas are occasionally touched on in this film, but rarely (if at all) explored. This is not Thelma & Louise. Add to that I am not a Will Ferrell fan (he is the Will of the documentary’s title) and there is nothing here that would change that predisposition. Nothing more to be said. I wanted it to be better. It should have been a LOT better. It is okay … but only just okay.

The Outlaws on Prime Video is something else altogether. For me it did not promise much, but it came along to deliver a pleasurable first season in a series that now has a total of three seasons available.

It is of English origin, and it has that uniquely English humor thing that has always been displayed best for me in the series of animated films starring the Award-winning character named Gromit (of Wallace & Gromit fame). The writing and performing are just off-center enough to be … once you warm up to the thing … (for lack of a better word) charming. A plethora of goofy characters all played nicely by actors with whom I am unfamiliar, except for Christopher Walken as an American ex-patriot/ex-con now sentenced to community service which is where we meet all of Walken’s co-stars.

It takes a while to get into the mood of this thing but give yourself over to it and you will not regret that move. It is a sweet, little television series.

For real American belly laughs, one must wait for Monday nights; for it is only on Monday nights that Jon Stewart returns to the host’s desk on Comedy Central’s The Daily Show.  Jon Stewart is an authentic comic genius, making this Monday night presentation “Must-see TV.”

The laughs during the rest of the week (Tuesday thru Thursday) vary depending on which of Stewart’s supporting group is the night’s host. Personally, I have become a huge fan of Desi Lydic and when she is rotated in, I remain riveted. Otherwise, I flip to my favorite news channel … not a lot of laughs but certainly plenty of fodder for harvesting by Jon Stewart the following Monday.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

A NICE TRIBUTE

 

“Thank you, Cagney & Lacey.”

Those were the first words spoken by Helen Mirren to an international TV audience at the Emmy Awards in 2001. The brilliant actress spoke those words as she held aloft the statuette she had just won for Outstanding Lead Actress (Prime Suspect).

That evening of Ms. Mirren’s win was a decade after the series featuring Sharon Gless and Tyne Daly as two New York cops had completed its run on CBS. Yet, Ms. Mirren remembered.

Twenty-five years later, the University of California at Los Angeles (UCLA) is also saying “thank you, Cagney & Lacey” this time by hosting a tribute evening October 7 at the Billy Wilder Theater on the famed Westwood campus in California.

The archivists at that University will screen two episodes and then be joined by Sharon Gless and me on stage for a little dialogue about how it all came to be. Tyne Daly, who has a last minute “gig” shooting in New York City, will join us on tape.

The episodes that will be shown are from the seasons of 1984 and 1985; both are Emmy Award winners: “Heat” directed by Karen Arthur, and “The Gimp” directed by Sharron Miller.

Some of the C&L alumni will be in that audience: writers Georgia Jeffries and Kathyrn Ford as well as Ron Ramin who composed  the music for most of the series’ episodes. The UCLA thing is nice; the fact that there are periodic rumblings in Hollywood about a remake of the series is … oh, so much better.

And I still get a kick … after all these years (nearly 50) … when the NY Times crossword puzzle contains a Cagney & Lacey clue … something that still happens over a half dozen times a year. And has there been a television season in the last four decades where one or more of the new crop of cop shows does not make a Cagney & Lacey reference in dialogue? I don’t think so.

The photos I get of beloved pets named after my dynamic duo brings a smile, and lately I have been watching, with admiration, the multiple collages of video highlight material edited by various fans from The Cagney & Lacey Appreciation Group on Facebook. That has only been topped for me by a video presentation added on the same site, just last week, underscored with an original song that is a tribute to the producer of the show (guess who?). You think it is easy to get Rosenzweig and Cagney & Lacey into a lyric? Ask Ms. Katy Milne, a fan who brought a smile to this old guy’s countenance with her musical tribute.

There are television series that have won more than the 14 Emmy Awards Cagney & Lacey achieved (although no other CBS drama has managed to do that before or since) and there are shows that have been rated higher. None, however, has had more impact or become more a part of the language than Cagney & Lacey. None.

An industry “joke” I always liked, evoked that very essence of “impact.” It was more than the female lead shows that came after my series. It goes to the fundamental way that Cagney & Lacey altered the television business.  

The “joke” goes that before Cagney & Lacey, a producer selling a new idea to a network for a series featuring a private detective, would conclude the pitch by leaning into the buyer with a conspiratorial look around the room before imparting the essential difference … the hook… that would set this private eye apart from all others:

“He’s blind.”

The self-satisfied producer would hardly be able to contain his glee at this “reveal.”

After Cagney & Lacey, the Network exec might well nod, acknowledging his understanding of the gimmick’s virtue, but then ask, “…Okay, but does he have a dog? Is he married? Is he an alcoholic? What is his home life like?”

That was the difference. The change-over from plot and action- driven melodramas to strong characters and their relationships with one another and how their work would impact their families. That is what Cagney & Lacey changed; that is what will be celebrated at UCLA on October 7.

You would not be able to surmise any of this from perusing Prime Video on your home television screen. Odd, in that Prime Video has a vested interest in the success of Cagney & Lacey because Prime Video is owned by Amazon, and Amazon owns MGM and its library which includes Cagney & Lacey. Yet, turn on Amazon Prime and, assuming you can find any of the 125 episodes or five films that were made with that title, you will read in the show’s description a vanilla-like understatement that Cagney & Lacey was “nominated for a Golden Globe.” That’s it. No mention of the 14 Emmys won by the show (plus innumerable nominations), no mention of the Golden Globe that was actually won (not simply a nomination), and no mention of any of the other national and international salutes.

Do I sound disappointed? It does roil my sensibilities. It is, in fact, hard for me to understand why Amazon has not even tried to spruce up the look of the show with fresh prints … it has, after all, been 40 years. And they own it! Perhaps they are not NYT crossword fans, or pet lovers, and are unaware of the tributes by decades-long fans.

Maybe? Perhaps? How about perchance … thanks to this nod from UCLA … it just may be conceivable that Amazon will deliver something to your television screen instead of leaving it out in the rain in a box too far from your front door. Possibly? Ya think? No matter what they do or don’t do, I still unabashedly say, “Thank you, Cagney & Lacey.”

https://www.facebook.com/UCLAFTVArchive/posts/pfbid0pYjodUrW6NJAB1oP3TkdTEZwuHEzHhw2RJdy4e1pkfXjMn6C4oyQGtnQAqrxnf6Bl

 

Barney Rosenzweig

The Yin and the Yang

There are moments in life that can be disquieting. Such a “moment” occurred in my living room as I watched this year’s broadcast of the annual Emmy Awards.

As a multiple Emmy Award winner myself … and now someone whose very subtitle of his latest memoir claims the mantle of “TV maven,” I felt … as I watched the proceedings … (how best to say it?) does gobsmacked resonate?

One of the evenings’ many low lights was when The Academy of Television Arts & Sciences chose to present tributes to Charlie’s Angels and Baywatch. Look, I was the producer of the better part of the premiere season of Charlie’s Angels---I liked it; I highlighted the series in each of my memoirs… but, even I know it does not deserve any kind of tribute from anything with the word Academy in its logo.

And then the hoopla and record-setting awards for Widow’s Bay … at best a C+ on any objective critical scale. Not a bad show, but truly something hovering just above mediocrity.

Furious, Landman, The Madison … not a mention in the drama category. What am I missing here? Is it possible that Florida residency has put me this out of sync with my fellow Academy members?  “Disquietude” hardly covers it … even in the most self-confident of TV analysts.

Fortunately, I found the performance by Emmy host, Mariska Hargitay, reassuring in that … here, at least, was evidence that the bar was being set so low as if to prepare the audience for the uninspired evening that would follow. In that, at least, Ms. Hargitay and her producers accomplished what they (apparently) set out to do.

Balancing this out is the other side of the spectrum of my life … the remembrance of what preceded the Emmy evening and the subsequent afterglow of the two-week recording session where I completed the audio version of my soon-to-be-released memoir, Before and After Cagney & Lacey.

It was not simply the satisfaction of beginning a task and then completing same … nor was it that I handled the assignment well … although, let me assure you (in yet another shameless pitch for any who might be interested in the audio version of my book) I certainly did that.

This elation is something more … albeit certainly related to this event. Consider the elements. What could be better? It was all me … all about me … and all for me … and for seven 5-hour recording days. Does the expression “like a pig in slop” help paint the picture?

I am not at all sure when this audio version of mine will be available. My publisher, McFarland, may well wait to see how well the printed version of the book does before making any decision regarding the marketing of this recorded edition.

Despite sort of knowing this “un-official” position taken by my publisher with respect to audio versions, I signed on with friends Deeny Kaplan and Ken Lorber to use “The Kitchen,” their award-winning Miami facility, as my recording studio.

My reasoning? It was the end of summer in Miami and “The Kitchen” was not as bustling as usual; it was a good time for me to take advantage of that and to get this done while space was readily available. Besides, at my age, one simply should not make dates in the distant future for anything of relative importance. It is the old “do not put off for tomorrow anything that may be done today.” And, at 88 years of age, that adage … coupled with “seize the day,” qualifies as front and center philosophy.

Bottom line: I went forward with my recording and I am happy to report that it was (for me, at least) a hoot.

There I was, supplies at hand: plenty of hot water with honey and ginger, throat spray, and green apples (thank you Deeny Kaplan). I still sound far from anything dulcet toned, but the flip side of that is it is authentically me, and … I believe … that my own true voice will count for something with folks who prefer their “reading” to come to them in their cars and/or by way of their ears rather than their eyes.

And here is the scoop: the book is (surprise, surprise) good, and the stories are interesting … really. Take it from me. I mean, c’mon, let’s be real. Not only did I write the thing … I just read it … ALOUD. And it works.

Ah, cynicism, eh? Should you crave more objectivity on this subject, you are just going to have to acquire a copy of the audio recording of Before and After Cagney & Lacey and judge for yourself.

I can assure even the skeptics among you. Whatever else may be said about this “production,” it is one hellofa lot better than this year’s Emmy Award broadcast.

 

Barney Rosenzweig 

Rally Round the Flag, Girls

 A while ago I had decided to write a piece about women. Not necessarily all women, but a few of the women in my life. I wanted to send a shout out to the editor of my soon-to-be released book, to the two fictional characters and the two women who played them that made up so large a part of my entire persona; to the changes in sexist attitudes I have witnessed and those (me, being ever the optimist) not yet seen.

I thought about including the factoid of the surge in the number of women at colleges as opposed to the reality of my days as an undergrad. I wanted to quote a song by the Four Aces from the 1950s about it being a “Woman’s World” --- lyrics which, not surprisingly, clearly state it was anything but that kind of universe. (Would you believe that in my freshman class at the University of Southern California the ratio of men to women was eight to one? And that this year’s class at USC … indeed at almost every university in the country … has more women than men?)

I wanted to write about that. I wanted to acknowledge the accomplishments of women, the struggles. How, for example, a dear friend, a most successful lung specialist, who … back in the sixties as a top student in the medical school of the University of Washington in St. Louis … wanted to be a surgeon. She was more than qualified, but the medical establishment of that time did not look favorably on giving “girls” that kind of power position.

Today, my very excellent primary care physician is female as are many, if not most, of the doctors I encounter in any given year. I do not view them as “women doctors” but rather as gifted physicians who happen to be women … just as we always said about Cagney & Lacey … “two women who happen to be cops.”

In the piece I was going to write, I would mention that most of the people I have “met” and interacted with at McFarland, my publishing house, seem to be primarily female. Good for them (and, coincidentally, for me).

In that article I imagined there would be (surprise, surprise) references to my memoir … Before and After Cagney & Lacey … in so many ways a tribute to my three (count em … three) wives, my mother, my daughters, the actors who starred in the most successful works of my career: Sharon Gless, Tyne Daly, Jane Seymour, and Kellie Martin. Even a shoutout about my brief tenure on Charlie’s Angels.

The last touches on this second memoir have finally been accomplished … requiring me to read the book … yet again … checking for every error of typography, spelling, punctuation, or fact. Extensive, tedious, creative, technical work.

I refer to “my” work on this final author’s process. The fact is that it would never have gotten done nearly as well … and certainly not in such a timely fashion … were it not for the dedication of two women --- my friend, lawyer, and (now) editor, Debra Weiss Goodstone and her technologically adroit daughter, Marissa Goodstone.

There was, oh so much more to be contemplated and written about, when life … as it so often does … got in the way. Dolly Parton died. I did not know Ms. Parton personally, but our paths crossed more than once. The TV version of her song and motion picture hit, 9 to 5 was a surprise success on the ABC network in the early 80s that all but obliterated the debut of Cagney & Lacey. Dolly dealt us a devastating blow but one could only admire the talent and the power of that show biz wiz.

I had barely processed that fact … the flags flying at half-mast all over the country, the tributes on every TV outlet … when the newsflash of the death … at age 92 … of Gloria Steinem came to the fore.

I nearly wrote, “my friend, Gloria Steinem” but that would have been less than accurate.

“Barney only calls me when he needs something,” Ms. Steinem was known to have said.

That was truer than I would have liked it to be. I felt close to her … grateful. Not as a friend, or even a colleague, but rather as a comrade in arms.

I took up her cause with my work … specifically with Cagney & Lacey but continuing with Christy, and The Trials of Rosie O’Neill. In turn, Gloria took up my cause … when I needed her most … in the earliest days … as she featured Cagney & Lacey on the cover of Ms. with the headline: The Show That Asks The Question: Can Women Be Buddies Under Pressure. It was the first time anything from show business had graced those prestigious pages.

Gloria paraded me all over Washington, D.C., attempting I suppose, to prove that men also can be buddies under pressure. Ms. Steinem was quoted on the cover of TV Guide saying she believed Cagney & Lacey was “… the best show on television.”

“Barney only calls me when he needs something.” What can I say? Back in the day, I needed all the help I could get. I do like to think that back in the 1980s I did my share for the women’s movement but there is no question that thanks to Gloria Steinem I got ample payback. She changed my life and the lives of many others as well … she changed all of us really, whether we acknowledge it or not.

It was (naturally, of course) a woman … Barbara Corday, then a young writer I was dating back in the 1970s (who I later married, and then even later divorced), who raised my consciousness enough so that I was able to visualize Cagney & Lacey in the first place. She used to say, “Barney’s not a feminist but he gets it.”

I got it all right. It was because of her that I got my head sufficiently above water to even know who Gloria Steinem was, and what it was Ms. Steinem was trying to accomplish. Ms. Corday also once paraphrased my pal, Oscar winner Lee Grant, by saying “I’ve been married to a feminist and a chauvinist. Neither took out the garbage.”

Win some/lose some.

Sharon Gless and Tyne Daly walked at the front of the march with Gloria Steinem when she led the million women march in Washington. It was a thrill to be there with them, the fabulous Carole King, and the multitude who all supported the cause.

I am pretty much on the sidelines now … but I think of Gloria every time I vote. That is not a reference to Hillary or Kamala, although both certainly got my enthusiastic support. What I refer to are those multiple ballots I get by email every so often from the various corporations in which I hold shares, asking me to vote YEA, NAY, or ABSTAIN for a collection of potential members of corporate boards.

I think of Gloria Steinem as I open those ballots and abstain from voting for any of the male would be board members, only giving an affirmative nod to those candidates whose forenames indicate they are female. The logic of this is that these women are not part of some “old boys” network and that they must be rather extraordinary to reach the point of consideration for a Board position as a female.

Gloria was right about me only calling when I wanted something, but it was always something I knew her to believe in as well.

So, while this 88-year-old guy’s marching days through city streets may be in the past, I do recall Gloria Steinem’s admonition to never have the ear (or in this case eye) of a group of people without telling them what you want them to do. Here it comes.

March on!

 

Barney Rosenzweig