Hey, Ho…
How delightful to hear from you, after our college trustee spouse reunion and graduation ceremony. I had a great time. Sorry to run off like that, but I couldn’t take the heat. Not to mention the glandular moisture that Julianne Margulies was giving me. I heard that she was totally naked under that black robe she wore during her speech. It was a hot day after all. Then she had to boast gracelessly about how much money the network offered her to come back for another season. I felt bad for the hundreds of students in the audience. They’ll never see that kind of money in their entire lives. The best part was meeting her afterwards, without her robe on, in an outfit that looked like a baseball suit, white with pin stripes. I kept trying to look at her back to see what team it was. Then her husband showed up. Oy. He looked like a little boy who had outgrown his suit. They tell me that’s the current fashion.
And guess what else? At the graduation, we were sitting behind the Hathaway family, whose son was graduating (he gave a speech, as I feebly recall). Somebody told me later that those people were the Anne-Hathaways. So while we just sat there holding our schmeckels, she was probably there in front of us, playing with her own little schnitzel. And we missed it. That’s what happens when you get old, and your pheromone receptors get clogged.
And now, a digression.
Thoughts on Alexander McKendrick
A. MacKendrick is a tough case. While I appreciate Sweet Smell of Success, his other stuff is harder to take (e.g. the Ealing Studio comedies). I don’t think he’s the auteur of my dreams. And then there’s Don’t Make Waves, his last film, reputed to be a California beach culture counterpart to SSS. And it is impossible to take, but for the glorious Claudia Cardinale, the titular head of the female cast (such titles) and the equally glorious, robust Sharon Tate (equally well-titled). This film looks more like it was made by A. Schmendrick.
But I like SSS because of Tony Curtis, who is also in Don’t Make Waves. I love TC, especially his Blake Edwards films and, of course, Some Like It Hot. Hell, just the latter…would have been enough. Speaking of TC, he wrote two autobiographies (one wasn’t enough?); in the second one he tells a great story. It occurs in the days of the Yidish theater, during a performance of Hamlet in Yidish by someone who was the greatest actor of his generation. At the end of this brilliant performance, the actor dies, right there, on stage. The audience gasps, falls silent, the master of ceremonies runs out and , completely distraught, shouts “What are we to do?” Someone in the audience yells, “Give him an enema!” “An enema? That’s not going to help!” The answer? “It can’t hurt.”
I also checked out your website. Cool! More on that later; perhaps I could interest you in one of my screenplays? No? I have an investment product that I know you would like. For your retirement.
Loive to you and Stephanie. Loive? Oive.
