EXCUSES, EXCUSES

 

There are any number of reasons for the inordinate amount of time that has passed since my last communique from this Island paradise, but only one that matters: it is the book.

I know, I know, I wrote that Before and After Cagney & Lacey was “done,” but done … it turns out in the world of publishing … can be something of an oversimplification.

McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers has laid the book out … “designed” it if you will. The photos look great … not always where I wanted them in terms of the book’s narrative … but (oops) I found I was looking at the book as a vertical … reading the document on a computer screen one page at a time. I mean, who in real life does that? The book … like most books … is a horizontal thing with two pages each side by side, which, when actually … and finally … a book, may be turned page by page. Simple, right? Trust me if you have been writing and proofing on your computer screen for years it is easy to make this mistake before realizing that the photos just might work fine where they were placed by the “designer” in the first place.

Having finally come to that realization, I began to bury myself with the challenge presented by my publisher … proofing the entire document for errors in spelling, punctuation, facts, hyphens, and typos. And, while doing that, I was charged with creating an index; finding and listing not just every proper noun, but every word, phrase, or term of art which, as the author I believe might be worthy of a reader being interested enough to rummage through that ever-growing index to locate where they might find the discussion of that word or subject within the pages of my book. Those words then need to be alphabetized and then listed by page number(s) as to where they reside in the book’s latest incarnation. Of course, as the author of all this, I think everything I have written is interesting, with the result being that damn index continues to grow.

It is a lot to do and, truth to tell, although Before and After Cagney & Lacey is most generally referred to as “my book,” there is no way this process would now be complete … or be nearly as well done … without the major contributions made by my best pal, lawyer, and (now more than ever) editor, Debra Weiss Goodstone and her technologically adroit (and most gracious and willing) daughter, Marissa. I cannot thank them enough.

(It may well be you will wind up thanking Debra as well since I have left it to her to whittle down the lengthy index as she … as an objective reader … sees fit.)

The book will be released September 30. Pre-sales have commenced (available directly from McFarland or on Amazon).

That is the good news. The bad is that there has been a paucity of television programs worthy of comment. I mean, c’mon, have you seen The Buroughs?

Never mind what the New York Times reviewer has written, I am here not only to contradict that rave, but as a cautionary warning against junk TV. I will not squander any more space on this series, save to inform you that it is on Netflix, boasts a decent cast, and has … way too kindly, I might add … been labeled the Stranger Things for seniors. They should live so long (but won’t).

Larry David’s homage to America’s 250^th anniversary, Life, Larry and the Pursuit of Unhappiness, is on HBO and it is so uneven as to be unworthy of the capabilities of this talented writer/performer. It is a sorry waste of time, not unlike watching a documentary featuring a collection of nothing but the strikeouts of Babe Ruth.

The Tom Hanks documentary series, The American Experiment, is very good (surprise, surprise) and this Netflix presentation should not be conflated with the two previously mentioned entries. I found it informative and entertaining and was duly impressed with narrators such as Al Gore, Hillary Clinton, Mike Pence, Kamala Harris, Ted Cruz, and Nancy Pelosi.

No more excuses … but maybe a slight delay as I binge the fifth and final season of the just released The Bear (FX and Hulu). Back ‘atcha soon with more notes from this warm Island.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

THE KID’S STILL IN THE PICTURE

When I yanked myself out of Hollywood … both the place and the career … I was 58 years old. I migrated quickly to Florida … Miami Beach, to be specific … it was the only place in America where they still called me “kid.”

There was some truth in that quip; the friends I so quickly made in my adopted community … the men I gravitated to and whose company I so enjoyed … were an eclectic group. The conversations with them were animated, interesting, and much to my joy, never about show business.

It didn’t dawn on me at the time that these half-dozen guys, who within a matter of months dominated my contact list, were not only older, but much older; each was at least 12 to 15 years my senior. It didn’t matter then. I never noticed it … and I have no recollection of any of them ever making anything of my age or theirs.

It has been 30 years since that cross-country move. I am now 88, and all those great pals of mine have passed on. They are missed, but also missing is the energy I once had to make those friends in the first place.

Socialization still occurs … albeit infrequently. I am no longer a feature on the Fisher Island grass tennis courts, instead, my days are spent avoiding an inordinate number of spam phone calls and writing these notes from my warm Island. It could go without saying, but will not, that there is also the recently completed and soon-to-be released memoir number two … Before and After Cagney & Lacey … which, as you might imagine, follows the already out there memoir number one, Cagney & Lacey … and Me.

One of the oft-mentioned players in that second memoir is my great friend, Daniel C. Cassidy. We met in 1954 at an inter-league high school conference and became great pals a year later when we discovered we were both entering freshmen at the University of Southern California. By our senior year we were roommates.

It has been over 70 years since our college entrance, and I am now back in California to eulogize my college roommate of that other century. His widow has arranged a memorial service at our alma mater and I have been asked to speak. Not as easy as it sounds.

I have long known that I am not as warm and fuzzy as my erstwhile roomie. Everybody loved Danny, and I had the honor to be his best friend.

The reality is that most everyone who will be at that memorial service held on the USC campus believes that they were his best friend. That is how Danny made people feel.

So, me … the best friend? At best, a maybe. In truth, Danny and I could not have been more different.

Danny was generous, gregarious, outgoing, loving, and interested in pretty much everything and everyone. All qualities I admire but few, if any, that I truly possess.

And I have not gotten better at acquiring these positive attributes with age. I am, basically, a solitary man who revels in the bliss of solitude … who does not reach out … who, more often than not, is socially remiss, who doesn’t do Facebook or Instagram, one who forgets to return phone calls, and rarely responds to emails. Danny and I were very different.

The preparations for the memorial by Danny’s widow have spurred familial conversations closer to home as to what I might want when the time comes for my own eternal internment.

Incredulity is my initial response, for if it is true (as I sometimes imagine) that I have created my own reality … that I made up the entire thing … that nothing of this world will remain once I am gone … when that proverbial tree falls in the forest and I am not there, not only is there not a sound … I am none too sure there is even a tree, let alone the requisite greenery it takes to make up a forest.

Beyond that disconcerting thought, as far as anything like a memorial service is concerned, is the simple fact that, now with Danny gone, most anyone who would have anything nice to say about me has long ago gone on to their maker … which should more than justify why there is memoir #2.

Did I mention that book (Before and After Cagney & Lacey) is nicely complimented by memoir #1, Cagney & Lacey … and Me …? And that both can be ordered through Amazon or just about anywhere such things are sold?

Give this some thought. Consider the possibility that there is truth in the supposition that I have, indeed, “created this reality.”  Weigh the age factor of the author (88 and counting) ... perhaps, then, you will see the efficacy in moving quickly on to Amazon while that company … and my books …  still exists on this planet of mine.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

 

SEND IN THE CLONES

 

Yellowstone … the gift that just keeps on giving. Dutton Ranch is the latest incarnation and it most definitely qualifies as one of those semi-guilty pleasures. It looks almost as pretty as its paternity would indicate but takes place in Texas … not Montana … and for sheer beauty, it is tough to compete with the more mountainous “Big Sky Country” of the “Treasure State.”

There is more than one reason they call Montana “the Last Best Place”… sorry, Texas, “Remember the Alamo” says it all as a concession in any beauty competition.

Like Yellowstone, the actors who play the cowboys and gals in this modern-day western really know how to mount and ride horseback and it is so noticeable that in the unlikely event I would ever make a western of my own there is no way I would do so without making every effort to get the wrangler who has done such a great job of teaching his craft to the thespians on the Taylor Sheridan troika of Yellowstone, Marshals, and now, Dutton Ranch.

All these can be seen on Paramount + but pretty and pleasurable though they be, none of them are as good as the other two Taylor Sheridan series, Landman, and The Madison, proving once again that really good actors can definitely enhance really good writing. Who woulda thunk it?

It should also be noted that although Dutton Ranch owes its lineage to Taylor Sheridan, he is not the writer on this series … and it shows. The format owes its allegiance to melodrama and a pretty heavy-handed version at that. “Creator” Chad Feehan really has a hard time creating a scene or a character that isn’t fraught with possibilities of an ugly back-story, a birth defect, or both … but then, with folks, scenery, and photography pretty enough… that is sort of what goes into the basic makeup of a guilty pleasure.

And it is pretty to look at, as are Kelly Reilly and Cole Hauser who reprise their Yellowstone roles and are well suited to the parts and each other. Ed Harris is as grizzled and semi-folksy as you could ask, while Annette Bening has one of those thankless roles that sorta make you wonder why she said “yes” to her agent’s phone call.

It could be she had a yen to channel Barbara Stanwyck in her waning years, but I don’t think so. If that was her motivation Ms. Bening would be having more fun than she exhibits here.

I have seen three of the episodes which will now start popping up one a week on the aforementioned Paramount + which will provide you with plenty of time to switch over to Amazon Prime Video and The Boys … one of the best series I have seen in a long while.

I have come late to this outlandish political satire and have now completed two of the five seasons. Each episode is worthy and the cast is beautifully assembled. The language is rough as are the sexual and action sequences and you will (I think) be amazed, despite the show’s grounding in the world of superhero fiction, how true to life and how real the human condition can be, even in this outlandish, garish, and gory series.

I cannot recommend it highly enough and find it disconcerting that something this good has been shown for five seasons with so little buzz… at least in my limited social circle.

Research shows that season 1 received high praise from critics and Rotten Tomatoes and was (correctly in my view) praised as sharp, irreverent, and great satire. Season 2 got even better reviews. Where have I been? And, what’s your excuse? This is good stuff, no matter how over the top violent. A wonderful cast, terrific writing, and a show remarkably well-produced. You really have to see it. The Boys on Amazon Prime.

The critics are all aglow over the final episode of Hacks on HBO but I am not one of their number.

Please … I do not want any misunderstanding … I am a Jean Smart fan and felt she reached something like career perfection in her role as Deborah Vance on the outstanding comedy series that has just completed its fifth season comprised of 47 episodes having already won multiple awards, including Ms. Smart’s four consecutive Primetime Emmy Awards.

But, as far as a final episode goes, this one does not even make entry level points in the Happy Endings Hall of Fame.

The Homeland finale almost always heads my list, but there are those who will tell you with some solid reasons that it is VEEP that is the all-time champ. The Newhart Show was one of the most talked about conclusions ever and The Americans and The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel have to be in anyone’s top five.

The most costly (to the owners) endings are usually attributed to The Fugitive and Gilligan’s Island as back in the days of yore and heavy syndication, catching the one-armed man and getting off that Island in the final episodes were decisions that were regretted by anyone who held stock in the outcome of those shows as audiences turned away in droves once their hero found the one-armed villain of his existence and Gilligan and his shipmates were rescued.

Seinfeld, The Sopranos, and Game of Thrones … three of the best series ever made, are generally credited with the most disappointing endings unless you count Deadwood, which years after the fact, came back with a two parter to end that prematurely cancelled classic in very poor fashion.

Others that received great notices at the time or, conversely enormous backlash were M*A*S*H, Six Feet Under, Breaking Bad which all came out on the positive end of this while Dexter, and How I Met Your Mother joined the aforementioned list of great disappointments. Which brings us back to the present day. 

All hail Jean Smart and her fellow actors and the creators of Hacks. A wonderful series, with a very nice (and, lest it go unsaid, incredibly lush) finale. Goodbye, and amen.

The reference to a Cole Porter lyric is doubly appropriate, as in this case the Hacks finale was fun, but …. in the pantheon of good-to-great endings  “… just one of those things.

 

 

Barney Rosenzweig

FOR THOSE WHO WAIT … GOOD THINGS

 

Scarpetta is the surname of Nicole Kidman’s fictional medical examiner in the Amazon series of the same name. “Dr. Scarpetta,” is also how actress Rosy McEwen is addressed in that same series when the show intercuts between the modern-day Kidman’s return to duty and her character’s career beginnings twentysomething years in the past. That is when McEwen amply fills in as the show’s lead.

Jamie Lee Curtis has the role as Kidman’s older sister, playing the part in over-the-top fashion … a territory the actress has now staked out for herself so frequently that it (and she?) have descended into the realm of cliché.

Bobby Cannavale, Simon Baker, and Ariana DeBose round out the leading actors in the very well-produced and complicated psychological drama which unfolds over 10 episodes in season one. A warning: “complicated” is used advisedly.  The whole thing is too complex by a factor of two … or maybe even three, but by episode six of this first season it all begins to make some sense. And then …

SPOILER ALERT…

they had to go and ruin it, giving the viewer an old-fashioned, heavy-handed, cliffhanger as a season-ender. Having waded through ten episodes, I felt entitled to some kind of resolution… lots of luck with that. I, for one, resented the hell out of it. What can I say? I was not consulted.

In frustration, I returned to the TV world of writer Taylor Sheridan for something I hoped would be more sure-fire. Mr. Sheridan is, more often than not, spot-on … this time not so much. Lioness, it turns out, also features Nicole Kidman, albeit in a lesser role, and its beginnings are compelling and literate. But then, around episode three or four, my interest started to wane as, more and more, the story began to feature one of the characters about whom I cared less and less, and all at the expense of screen time with the very intriguing Zoe Saldana and the aforementioned Ms. Kidman. Too bad. Should you care, the show, which is vintage 2023, can be found on Paramount+.

I turned to comedy … this time via Apple TV … and Margo’s Got Money Troubles, starring the very talented Elle Fanning with solid support from Michelle Pfeiffer, Nick Offerman and the seemingly ubiquitous Nicole Kidman.

Ms. Pfeiffer’s husband, David E. Kelley, has written the series and it is a big improvement over his recent work but still far short of what he was doing in his prime… Hello…, L.A. Law, Doogie Howser, MD., Picket Fences, The Practice, Ally McBeal, Boston Legal.

 Point made?

I hate to harp on Kelley’s diminishment but as good as Margo’s Got Money Troubles is… it is largely due to Ms. Fanning and, frankly, I found myself constantly wishing the written material could somehow have matched what it was she was doing.

Three series and none of them uniquely worthy got me thinking it was time for something with a pedigree. HBO and the final season of Hacks came to mind.

As anyone … who owns a television, or has a newspaper subscription … knows, Hacks, the series starring Jean Smart is in its final season on HBO with the last of this year’s 10 episodes airing on May 28. True to what you have undoubtedly heard, the comedy series does not disappoint.

Well … maybe a little.  Anticipation and hyperbole are demanding taskmasters. So far I have screened a half dozen episodes and will continue to watch till the very end if for no other reason than, even with a little letdown it is certainly a very solid effort by all concerned, and Jean Smart is nothing short of perfect.

Like Hacks, The Boys is also about to have its final episode released after five successful seasons on Amazon Prime and I have obviously arrived late to this party having only just now completed the eight episodes that comprise season one of the 40-episode series.

Much to my surprise, I was impressed. I am not usually a fan of this genre, but this stilted send-up of the Marvel dream team(s) grabbed me from the get-go. I got the “jokes,” appreciated the relevance, and found myself looking forward to seeing more than just this first season. One alert for the squeamish … lots of violence, more than the usual amount of gore, and plenty of explicit sex ... all in good humor with a fair amount of testing the limits of good taste … something these picture makers do with some regularity.

And then, there is this: as an homage to its founder (the recently deceased Ted Turner), TCM screened Mr. Turner’s favorite classic film, Gone With The Wind. I cannot estimate the number of times I have seen this motion picture, but I decided to get into the spirit of the TCM evening and join along with their respectful tribute.

Okay… you guessed it… Gone With The Wind is still a beautiful, fabulous, movie with one of the most glorious collections of actors Hollywood has ever put into one film. Next time you get a chance, via TCM, HBO Max, or by rental from Prime Video, Apple TV, or YouTube, do yourself a favor ... take a four-hour pause in what you are doing, settle down, and watch one of the greatest motion pictures of all time.

Should things in your life be too hectic right now, not to worry. Since its initial release in 1939, Gone With The Wind has proven … over and over again … that it will withstand the test of time. There is no need to rush.

“Afterall, tomorrow is another day.”

 

 

Barney Rosenzweig

GOOD COMPANY

As readers of these notes have learned, Before and After Cagney & Lacey, will be released soon by McFarland and Company publishing house. The memoir covers just about everything in my life other than the materials from my first volume (Cagney & Lacey … and Me).

Why I so shamelessly call this to your attention is to reveal what is not so widely known … and that is the final motivating factor which got me to complete the book after having it languish … unfinished … in an unmarked drawer for nearly twenty years.

What got me off the beach and back in front of my word processor was an edition of Variety and its publication of “The 100 Greatest TV Shows of All Time.”

Nothing of mine made that list. Not the award-winning mini-series, John Steinbeck’s East of Eden, nor The Trials of Rosie O’Neill, nor the Peabody Award winning series, Christy.

Jeopardy is on that Variety list. So is something called Enlightened, along with Freaks and Geeks, Community, and the animated Bojack Horseman.

My iconic, award-winning series, Cagney & Lacey did not make that list of 100, but Top Chef, and General Hospital did.

Are you kidding me?

Please, do not get me started. The last time I got cranked up about this I turned out over 100,000 words, which in case you have forgotten while reading the last few paragraphs, you will soon be able to purchase by way of Amazon or wherever such things are sold these days.

Why do I bring this up now? Well, Variety is one thing, The New York Times, however … the widely proclaimed “Newspaper of Record” … is something else altogether.

In writing about the demise of late-night TV, brought about by the CBS cancellation of Stephen Colbert, the Times did a homage to the genre, mourning the loss. Was Jack Paar mentioned? No. A serious omission, but what, almost anyone of the age of majority might ask, what (I repeat) about Steve Allen!??? He only invented the format, the desk, the interviews, the monologue, the show itself. Mr. Allen was never mentioned. Talk about “Fake News.”

A week or so before this major failing, another NY Times piece came out listing “The 30 Greatest Living American Song writers” with not even an honorable mention for Billy Joel. Hello???  … “New York State of Mind” … the best song written in the last half of the 20^th century, the anthem for our nation’s signature city. Forget his other multiple megahits, that one song alone should enshrine Billy Joel forever in whatever list one might devise on the idiom.

I will stay away from the crazy making fact of Randy Newman not being mentioned, nor Joni Mitchell, nor Lady Gaga, nor Beyonce. I am no music maven, but 17 of the 30 in the NYTimes were names I had never before even heard.

Nevermind who is writing these songs … who is authoring these articles? Is it some twentysomething Generation G dude, or an AI device with a feed from no one born before 2001? It is a very good thing Hoagy Carmichael died years ago because if he were still alive, and the NY Times had excluded “Stardust” … as this article intimates would be more than likely … the fact of being so blatantly ignored, would surely have caused his heart to stop beating.

I know when I first perused the article of these living songwriters, I quickly checked my Google machine to see how it was I missed the obituary of Billy Joel for surely, I thought he could not still be among the living and be so dishonored.

And yet he was. And so was Steve Allen and so was Cagney & Lacey. At least my show finally wound up in good company.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

ARTIFICIAL, YES. INTELLIGENCE, MAYBE NOT SO MUCH

 

I could always count on Google. Smarter (by a lot) than Siri on the ubiquitous Apple phones which easily outnumber my Android device, “Okay, Google” always got me a complete, satisfactory, and accurate answer to my queries.

At least so I thought.

I had, I always believed, not asked for much … just enough to keep me from lifting that heavy dictionary of mine or wandering across the room to the bookshelf with its various volumes which after some searching time might reveal that which I sought.

“Okay, Google,” ended my weightlifting. And it was right there at the dinner table, or at my desk, or on my couch … in my cell phone … giving me information and amazing my I-phoned friends whom Siri continued to frustrate.

Until now.

These days, “okay, Google” most often connects with me with a so-called upgrade named Gemini … a new attraction in the world of AI.

Who was it that said, “Let the buyer beware”?

I suppose I could ask Google that question, but I am no longer confident of the answer. This wannabe intelligence machine spews out data with a profound sense of self-satisfaction that may be either wrong, downright false, or totally contradictory.

Most recently, my friend, the award-winning actress Brenda Vaccaro, had agreed to compose a sentence or two endorsing my new memoir, Before and After Cagney & Lacey. I wanted to be sure I was crediting her properly and queried Google if Ms. Vaccaro had won an Academy Award for her memorable supporting role in Midnight Cowboy.

“You are confusing Brenda Vaccaro for Sylvia Miles,” said the Google entity. “Ms. Vaccaro did not appear in Midnight Cowboy.”

Say, what!?

“Okay, Google,” I rejoined. Please list the actors in Midnight Cowboy.”

Up came the list, and sure enough Brenda Vaccaro was cataloged right there on my cell phone screen close to Dustin Hoffman and Jon Voight, as she should have been.

I pointed out the contradiction to Mr. Google and promptly got an apology.

I was willing to leave it at that until some days later when I wanted to confirm my own memory as to the date of the passing of my dear friend, Sam Perlmutter.

Sam’s surname is not commonplace, but opting for clarity, I specified not only Sam’s full name to Google but the additional information that he was a well-known entertainment lawyer in Los Angeles and that he was the driving force behind the invention and promotion of the George Foreman Grill.

It took three tries and four conflicting pieces of information about individuals with the name of Sam Perlmutter, or something close to that, before nailing it down to the actual person.

I next checked Gemini for the closing date for the HBO series, Hacks, and got two different answers before getting the (I hope) right one of May 28.

The lesson learned from all this? Do not throw away your dictionary, your thesaurus, your encyclopedia, or your newspaper. There is still something to be said for the written word.

Don’t believe me? You could ask Google.

 

Barney Rosenzweig

What’s Up? Docs.

With all that is transpiring in this Fisher Island household at present, I found my attention span (or perhaps my tolerance) somewhat limited. Plopping down into my semi easy chair, I eschewed my usual preference for serialized storytelling, turned away from the melodrama of the stand-alone movie, and instead decided to sit back and learn something … or at least observe something … in the form of the documentary.

I turned to Netflix where I quickly glommed onto a quartet of better than average pieces of filmmaking. Operation Varsity Blues … the story of the college admission scandal… was the least impressive of the three but still worth the time spent watching. Much of it is old news about the rich and famous having their way with college entrance boards to favor their children.

Surprise, surprise: rich white people have advantages that the less rich, less white folks do not have. What did shock a bit was that some folks (but not many and certainly not enough) went to jail for their duplicity.

What is sad is that the documentary did not go at all into the more current and (I think) more important aspects of what could be called Varsity Blues … that is the cost/reward ratio of today’s college education and just how much (or little) that degree is really going to be worth in a world of AI and all that portends. 

So … a little less adventuresome … a little out of date, but a not uninteresting expose of something we already knew or (at least) assumed.

The Social Dilemma was arguably the best of the four films if for no other reason than because of subject matter. If you can watch this and still watch your kids on their cell phones at the dinner table you are just not paying attention. Here is my solid recommendation. Make this Netflix documentary required viewing at your house and, if possible, watch as a family. I assure you that it is a worthwhile activity.

Then there is The New Yorker at 100. Even at one hour and thirty-seven minutes, it largely works at holding the interest of any viewer. The magazine of the American elite … which began in 1925 … is still going strong at 100 even when such publications as LIFE, Time, LOOK, The Saturday Evening Post, and others have either faded or flat out disappeared. No small accomplishment, and this look behind the scenes of just who makes it tick and how they do it is … well, if not fun, certainly a legitimate way to spend nearly one minute for each of those hundred years.

And finally, Murder in Monaco. Advertised as “Monaco’s O.J. trial,” I found myself riveted to this incredible true story of the murder of an international billionaire in the town made famous by Grace Kelly at least twice (once with the Prince of this microstate on the French Riviera and the other time with royalty from Hollywood in the personage of Cary Grant). Giving equal time where it is due, one should also point out that James Bond sort of made Monaco notorious as well.

The documentary is really more like a movie than any of the other films mentioned here and, in this case, I think that is a good thing. See them all.

Consider it a healthy reason to have an appointment with a doc.

 

Barney Rosenzweig