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ok here we go with about 4 posts on the same subject.... they are all referenced in the first post.... That post is in response to a later post.. but the smart ones will be able to follow it all.... the subject for those that got this far and want to know if you can handle the time or not is...... Can Heroes ‘BE Something�?other than Lost? so the next three posts will be on that subject with some Jericho thrown in... tick |
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Not all stories that dive deep into the darkness are worthy, but the good ones get at some truth about the world we live in, the Story of which we are a part, our own condition and who God is. Like Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Or films like The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford and Pan’s Labyrinth. Or television series like Battlestar Galactica (so far, at least). Stories like these often expose the worst in us, the insidiousness of evil, the confusion, murkiness and fear darkness can bring, and the destruction and waste of sin—but the best of them also reveal the relentlessness of life, hope and goodness. The Dark Knight falls into the realm of one of those stories. I haven’t yet decided if it is among the very best, but it is among the good. There is a plethora of excellent reviews and reflections out there about this film, so for my part, I’ll just stick to those elements of the film that resonated with me the most. But be warned: there are spoilers woven throughout.
Not surprisingly, I loved the mythic nature of the story—something comic-book films have a penchant towards. Stories like these are like mists or shadows that seep out from the greater reaches of the world around us, teaching us about the fuller and real world in which we live. In words of Lewis and Tolkien, stories like these can be seen as “God expressing Himself through the minds of poets, using such images as He found there . . .�?And, as Jeffrey Overstreet puts it, “Myth-making is one of history’s most rewarding avenues for exploring and illustrating the conflicts of the age.�?This makes for rich stories, full of layered themes and truths about our world, who we are and who God is. As critics and bloggers have well noted, this story touches on and invites exploration of a rich layer of subjects, from terrorism and state powers to self-interest and sacrifice. I also appreciated the exploration of and tension between those things in which we place our faith. Do we trust rule and law to prevail? The depravity of people? Or perhaps the goodness in us? All of these are deftly laid open to us, leaving questions floating in the air: If our faith is in rule and law, what happens when those break down or shatter in the face of evil? Is rule and law even something in which we are to place our faith? When they do break down, what do we believe in? What are the rule and law to live by? Are there ones that are set in stone—or are there ones that run deeper than that? And if there are, do we call that rule and law, or do we call that something else? And as to the nature of us all—are we fully depraved, or is there goodness in us too? Is one stronger than the other? Why do we make the decisions we do? And of all these, in which do we place our faith and hope? Or is there something more, something greater in which our hope and faith is to be placed? If our faith is ultimately in Jesus, how does that affect how we view rule, law, and others with all their goodness and depravity? But the aspects of the film that resonated most in me came in the moments where I glimpsed into the nature of the devil and the experience of Jesus. Overstreet calls Heath Ledger’s Joker “one of the greatest portrayals of the devil I’ve ever seen�?perhaps the best.�?Indeed, the Joker bears an eerie approximation. His identity is completely hidden (even his face is concealed) and he has no known existence before he appears before us (he even revels in lying about his own past). And as Todd Hertz points out in his review at CT, even the actor portraying Joker is absent: Ledger is nowhere to be seen in this film. All of this leaves the Joker open to comparison to something other than human (think a somewhat murky reflection of Clint Eastwood’s justice-riding Pale Rider). And the Joker’s nature and goals give us a brutal reminder of just what the devil is after. “Some men just want to watch the world burn,�?Alfred tells Bruce Wayne—and later the Joker says of his plans for Gotham: “It’s not about money, it’s about sending a message: Everything burns.�?He’s the incarnation of destruction, anarchy, and depravity seeking to eviscerate every living existence of hope and goodness. And the Joker’s incarnation of evil has something to say about the choice to use evil to overcome evil: it doesn’t work. Evil can’t be overcome with evil, as this film points out all too well: it will only escalate (hat tip C-Orthodoxy). And, ultimately, the practice of using evil to achieve good or justice (which all too often becomes a façade for revenge) becomes that gravity-like push into madness. In the end, it is as Paul tells us: it is the use of good to overcome evil that brings hope and life. And that good includes justice—but a justice that is not simply punishing wrong; it is, as Rachel hints at in Batman Begins, not only stemming evil but also bringing life, hope, help and aid where there is none. And that brings me to the most moving aspect of the film for me.
At the end of the film, Bruce Wayne decides to take on himself the "sins" of others—which he knows will bring on Batman the hate and anger from the masses—in order to bring hope to Gotham’s people. Earlier in the film, Wayne struggles with the weight of the consequences of fighting evil and Alfred gets at one of the aspects of being “more than a hero:�?BR>
Wayne: People are dying, Alfred. What would you have me do?
Alfred: Endure, Master Wayne. Take it. They'll hate you for it. But that's the point of Batman, he can be the outcast. He can make the choice that no one else can make, the right choice. By the end of the film, Wayne makes the choice to be that outcast when he makes the decision to take the blame for the deaths caused by another in order to maintain the hope that evil can be overcome by just means. I like how Ken puts it: . . . The Dark Knight suggests that to truly be “more than a hero,�?one must be strong enough to take that fall and survive it, to courageously choose the right and noble even at great risk, to sacrifice oneself for the sake of others. This is the only ray of hope in the darkness of unrestrained evil. And I found this to be a powerful and moving echo of Jesus�?experience. Jesus spent at least three difficult years of being misunderstood, despised and pitied by many in his community. He made choices to put love of others above himself—which eventually led to his choice to take on the sins of the world and give up his physical life. But his vision was on something greater (the Father) and he lived by that sight. Jesus took on all of that to free us, to free hope�?EM>real and best hope, the kind that is confident and full of Life. But there is a pain in that, of being the outcast, the one who is hated and spat upon and misunderstood. That aspect of Jesus�?experience tore through the film at the point when Wayne saw beyond his own suffering to a greater purpose, deciding to sacrifice himself for the sake of Gotham.
And perhaps this also says something about the anger with which many of us respond to the presence of suffering in a world created and ruled by a God who is Love. In the public anger against Batman perhaps we can gain an insight into our own. And maybe that gives us reason to pause and consider that behind all the suffering in this world that there actually could be a God making right choices that will save us in the end�?EM>right choices outside our knowledge and to which we respond in our ignorance with undeserved blame and anger for situations that were actually created by the choices and actions of others.
Of course, Bruce Wayne and God are not one and the same, and the film isn't a perfect shadow of the real world. But there are echoes here that bear consideration. And that brings some good God-talk into these open spaces. |
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I have always loved William Friedkin works, I have also loved To Live and Die in L.A so to find this aticle was a godsend to me. So how many of you have seen the movie and thought like this writer did. i know I did on most of it... smiles so read and learn and maybe if you have not seen this movie, you will check it out with a new way of looking at it.. enjoy tick By Michael K. Crowley
[Editor's Note: The House Next Door is proud to reissue a series of articles developed at 24LiesASecond, a now-defunct platform for provocative criticism with an underdog bite. The essay below was first published on 04/29/2004, under the editorial guidance of James M. Moran (editor-in-chief) and Peet Gelderblom (founding editor).]
William Friedkin has had a fascinating—albeit puzzling—career, during which he has directed stunning works: stunning for their brilliance (The French Connection, The Exorcist and Sorcerer); stunning for their effrontery (Cruising and Rampage); and periodically stunning for their ineptitude (Deal of the Century). Yet Friedkin’s works are distinctly his, designated by artistic sincerity, ruthless moral curiosity, abstraction, and aesthetics that impart a sense that what Friedkin imagined has been translated to celluloid without the meddling of others.
After nearly two decades of regarding To Live and Die in L.A. (1985) with a spectrum of emotions ranging from disdain-at-first-sight to qualified enthusiasm, it occurs to me that of all his works, this is the film I have watched and pondered most frequently. No longer do I see it as a shimmering piece of costume jewelry, but a forceful, semi-serious diagnosis of a prevalent human malady: the discrepancy between what we desire, or what we are pleased by, and what we claim to value, not only in life but in cinema.
To Live and Die in L.A., with its apocalyptic oranges, resplendent greens, night-vision cobalts and original score by Wang Chung, so overdoses on color and sound that its beauty becomes queasy. Friedkin redirects the modern cop thriller through the chartreuse time machine of noir, adorned with the MTV confections of Miami Vice, but his film emerges as something far more nasty and authentic. It’s also a speedy film, scorched and arid, with few pauses. Even scenes of “downtime�?are hyper-edgy episodes of self-humiliation where men coerce women into unwanted sex or drink too much and shout insults they ought to regret, but don’t. Friedkin labors to keep any iota of sincere communication out of the film, and as downtime scenes are usually reserved for frank communication and exposition, Friedkin keeps the flame so high in this film that we are perpetually distracted from the meaninglessness of the spoken word. The one instance where a character attempts profundity—informant Ruth’s speculation about the stars being “The eyes of God”—is embarrassing in spite of, and because of, its indirect attempt to state the film’s theme. Of course, federal agent Richard Chance (William Petersen) dismisses her invocation of an omniscient agency capable of rendering judgement because he can’t bear to contemplate the possibility his behavior is judged by anyone.
To Live and Die in L.A. is also quite amusing, presumably intentionally, but possibly not. The humor is a conscious or unconscious byproduct of Friedkin’s love-hate relationship with the genre he plunders, and also a reverberation of the aptly bipolar performances by William Petersen and John Pankow. Friedkin is sometimes evasive about whether his heroes are making progress or screwing up. He even includes a scene in which our buddy-partners shout at the top of their lungs in an office stairwell about what to do now that they have gotten a F.B.I. agent killed. Subtlety mutates into slapstick. And everything in the film, from a bathroom to a set of train tracks, looks appalling and gorgeous, and often appalling because it is gorgeous. The color is so separated from the image that it seems you could peel it off the screen like a scrap of Halloween cellophane. But Friedkin is not trying to get away with something here, but, rather, has chosen to make contrariness and fakery the underlying thematic traces of a film in which theme, rather than content, dictates form.
When Richard Chance is traumatized by the death of his partner, Jimmy Hart, there is something suspect about the dissociation in his voice when he invokes his grief to others in order to procure some particular result. We are so accustomed to the declaration of loyalty in the buddy thriller, prior to the quest for retribution, that a natural first response is to chuckle at the deployment of such an archaic cliché. Perhaps we are supposed to laugh, but not for the reason we think. It is funny that Chance can say with a straight face, in light of what we later learn about him, “Jimmy Hart was more than my partner, pal. He was my best friend for seven years. He was the most righteous guy I ever knew.�?This proclamation is amusing for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that we are assured early on that Chance values righteousness. The greatest compliment Chance can think to pay his best Amigo is that he rigs a bungee cord safely. But Chance doesn’t have best friends; he has symbolic stand-ins, tenuously connected to him by a chimerical code of loyalty that he only pretends is reciprocal.
As Friedkin points out in his director’s commentary for the Special Edition DVD, every relationship in the film is counterfeit, perhaps even the partnership whose destruction sets events into motion. The characters in this film circle one another like vampire satellites, with such intensity and exploitation that we’re hypnotized, waiting to see how these orbits will fracture. Chance’s new partner, John Vukovich (John Pankow), not only assists the spectator in negotiating what becomes a progressively more problematic moral minefield, but by the film’s midpoint appears to represent the most familiar and stable version of the code of devotion that in theory should exonerate Chance for the laws he will break as he attempts to “bag�?counterfeiter Rick Masters (Willem Dafoe). Vukovich agrees to assist Chance in bagging Masters, alleged to have murdered Jimmy Hart; yet Vukovich is aware of the line Chance must not cross and endeavors to prevent him from crossing it. By stressing the existence of this boundary, Vukovich is not just serving a purpose in Friedkin’s story, but calling attention, for the audience’s sake, to the conventions of the thriller Friedkin is eager to pulverize. But Vukovich, too, will ultimately be seduced by strange hero-worship of Chance to pursue the Cubic Zirconium of abusive power.
‘Bagging�?High Concept
Another interesting thing about To Live and Die in L.A. is that it appeared in Hollywood at a time when the pestilence of “High Concept�?had blurred the line between art and artificiality. Unwritten scripts were commissioned for millions of dollars on the basis of a witty one-liner pitched to an executive who didn’t necessarily respect the art form. Posters had become more important than content and quality. Flashdance and Top Gun were pretty enough, but they were counterfeit movies—soundtracks and fashion shows cynically masquerading as films. With this in mind, it’s interesting to examine Friedkin’s film about human infatuation with phony but tantalizing things as a reflection of the era in which it emerged.
To Live and Die in L.A. was packaged to look like a commercial feast, complete with sizzling advertising and a best-selling soundtrack. An executive who read the screenplay in haste might have accepted at face value this story of cop buddies as a project with all the requisite ingredients. From the Director of The French Connection. Hell, it even has a car chase as its centerpiece.
But once the superficialities are shunted aside, it becomes clearer that Friedkin’s film strives to deviate from the norm. Its hero is a corrupt man emblematized by a refusal to change, and his partner willingly swaps his morality for depravity. The villain, who murders only those who have betrayed or endangered his interests directly, is never as unlikable as the hero becomes. The protagonist, whose conduct leads to the death of innocent bystanders, is dispatched in the climax without a tear being shed. The hero’s obligatory “romantic interest�?is at the very least a reluctant victim of coercion, and, conceivably, might qualify as a sex slave. And the voracious slickness that taunts Miami Vice (1984-1989) has, by film’s end, become the source of as much discomfort as pleasure. So this is not your ordinary cop thriller.
To Live and Die in L.A.’s prettiness becomes less captivating as the narrative yields to its predatory instincts. The spectator is being sold something, and it’s not immediately clear how many karats are in Friedkin’s ring. One of To Live and Die in L.A.’s persistent motifs is the creation and pursuit of phony things. As spectators grow to distrust the contradiction between what the film introduces itself to be and what it in fact is, they begin as well to question their own moral gullibility and aptitude in judging what is set before them.
Friedkin situates in the center of his film a series of questions: What makes a person, a city, a motive, a movie, or a character within a movie attractive? How does one discriminate between the worthy and the fraudulent, and why do we make exceptions in art that we could not make in real life?
Let me tell you something, Amigo
Friedkin signals us early that To Live and Die in L.A. will mimic but ultimately violate the conventions of the buddy thriller. In fact, he allows Chance to warn us directly: “Let me tell you something, Amigo. I’m gonna bag Masters, and I don’t give a shit how I do it.�?Friedkin doesn’t expect us to take this caution seriously because we hear it expressed so frequently in cop films that do not go quite so far into the mire.
Friedkin restrains himself for forty-five minutes before showing us an aspect of Chance’s character we rarely see in other buddy cop thrillers. Chance enters an apartment that does not belong to him, treats it as his own, and helps himself to the body of the woman, Ruth, who lives there. She appears to relinquish herself not by choice but because it is expected, and the dialogue the follows establishes that Ruth (Darlanne Fleugel) is an informant who Chance exploits and coerces for no immediate reason other than, to paraphrase Chance himself, he can do whatever he wants. He controls her by fear—that Chance will revoke her parole. Chance keeps her just dependent enough on the money he allocates that she becomes his property.
The further we go, the more we see how Chance departs from the codification of the acceptable renegade cop, and nearer to the codification of the criminal. Lest we miss Friedkin’s point, he adorns both his hero and villain with the same first name and shows us how their values converge. In some instances they even depend on the same individuals to protect and further their interests.
There is a societal agreement that we disapprove, in real life, of men like Richard Chance, although we glorify them in our art because they are exciting creations. They don’t require sleep. They subsist on cigarettes and can drink a fifth of whiskey before chasing down a lead on foot in the pouring rain. Chance and Masters are reminiscent of Harry Morgan, the anti-hero of Hemingway’s “To Have and Have Not,�?in that they transform illegal occupation into a mysterious calling and vehicle for self-expression. In order to establish a parallel between renegade individuality and the invention of a self, Friedkin emphasizes the artistry of counterfeiting and labors to make the film itself resemble one of Masters�?canvases. When Chance ceases to be a convention he bifurcates into two versions of the same character: the unreasonable tyrant Ruth sees, but also the myth that gradually enraptures Vukovich’s imagination. Vukovich is a stand-in for the spectator who vacillates between repulsion and envy before ultimately capitulating to the excitement Chance represents. In the film’s coda he ascends to usurp Chance as next in line to enjoy the fruits of lawless abuse of power in pursuit of sensorial pleasure.
The “homoeroticism�?that some critics and viewers detect in the film is most likely an amusing byproduct of Friedkin’s effort to establish these dual themes of infatuation and ascendancy. Friedkin exaggerates the machismo elements of the buddy genre—the swagger, the boys club milieu, the objectification of women, the loyalty of one partner to another—just enough that they begin to appear ludicrous, or like ferocious overcompensation for a deficit of sexual self-confidence. Vukovich becomes Scott Fitzgerald to Chance’s Hemingway, alternately enamored of and frightened by Chance’s exaggerated masculinity, which is moderately caricatured and expressed through the illegitimate exercise of authority and coercion. Vukovich, whose enchantment seems subdued and embellished in the same breath, is presented as a naïve boy who by the film’s end wants to emulate his role model—to possess what Chance possessed and to exercise power with the same arrogance. To the extent Vukovich represents the viewer, he accepts rather than rejects the fracturing archetype Friedkin dangles before us. |
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| part 2 The car chase
It may seem at first that Friedkin is merely trying to outdo the chase sequence in The French Connection. But the car chase in To Live and Die in L.A. is utterly unique and superior in many respects to its predecessor. The sequence that opens with the arrival of “Thomas Ling�?at Union station and transforms gradually into the chase is the bedrock of the film. Everything that comes before leads towards it, and all that follows is the inevitable consequence. Many of the film’s ambitions are realized in this sequence—its themes are crystallized and conveyed visually, intellectually and emotionally. The geographic and narrative incoherence that may confuse or annoy viewers the first time they see it, over time, become its defining feature. During this sequence, Friedkin imparts that human beings can be exhilarated by and fixated on things for primal rather than logical reasons, but makes this experience uncomfortable enough that we ask ourselves why this is so in this particular film. It is instructive, for example, that Chance appears to enjoy the chase more than he fears its consequences or cares to understand how it has come into being. By withholding crucial information, Friedkin permits the spectator to share in both Chance’s euphoria and Vukovich’s disorientation, regardless that a man who may have committed no crime has just been humiliated and killed because Chance is compelled to steal $50,000 in cash to implement his vengeance against Masters. This is Chance at his worst and his best. Everything we reluctantly admire and detest collaborate in one sequence where Chance loses control over events, and relishes—only as a charismatic sociopath could—every moment of indecipherability. In the continuation of the chase that follows the death of “Ling�? Chance is suspended in the time and space of pure, uninhibited action—the state he has sought all along. Technically and artistically, every choice Friedkin makes during this sequence is exceptional. The chase is slow to develop. It’s not even clear that this is a car chase until after it’s begun. The compositions are superb; the editing sparkles and is frequently abstract. Friedkin even temporarily transfers the point of view to the pursuers without any formal introduction or establishing shots. By reusing set-ups, he induces a transitory sense that we are seeing the same action twice, or that Chance is driving in circles rather then being pursued. The rhythm of cuts and sounds as Friedkin percolates between perspectives and omniscient compositions escalates the sensual intensity, but also creates a void into which he inserts Vukovich’s peculiar transformation from manic backseat prisoner to disciple of Chance. Narratively, this sequence is well designed and purposeful. It does not exist, as many chases do, for its own sake, contrived and introduced into the narrative for little purpose other than exhilaration of the audience. A number of ideas are cemented during the sequence: - Chance transgresses some vaguely established line of acceptable conduct, relative to other films that deal with the renegade cop theme.
- Friedkin affirms that the thrill is more important to Chance than his professed objective.
- Vukovich fuses with his hero, Chance. This is rendered with imagery and acting that suggests Vukovich fears and wants to be Chance.
- The audience fuses with Vukovich, who is divided between his admiration for Chance and his dawning amazement at himself for doing so.
- Friedkin makes us see Chance in a negative light moments before situating him in a euphoric context in which those doubts create an interesting distance from a character we are no longer certain we respect during the emotional high point of the film. We are, like Vukovich, the passenger in a car with a driver we no longer trust and whose volatility, once charismatic and traditional, is now spilled beyond what we are habituated to expect. Thus, the emotional apex of the film occurs when we are least certain whether our hero is indeed our hero. At this moment, there are neither heroes nor villains in the film.
Additionally, because it’s not clear who is in pursuit, or why there are so many of them, the chase has a surreal quality that easily accommodates Friedkin’s introduction of expressionistic elements. These elements solidify ideas without the anchor of literal specificity. In the midst of this frenzy, Friedkin successfully isolates Chance and Vukovich so that an abstractly-rendered psychological transference that occurs between them becomes a central focus of its discourse. What appears to occur within the car itself is that the ultimate cause for Vukovich’s inexplicable attraction to Chance becomes accessible to the viewer. Furthermore, this transference occurs at approximately the same moment the spectator may find himself admitting that he too is exhilarated by the conduct in spite of the fact it has trespassed the established boundaries of the genre itself. The chase even has, for Chance, a sexual component. Sex is very strangely rendered in To Live and Die in L.A.; it is performance art that establishes hierarchies of control and ownership, and is never treated as believable, pleasurable or freely given. That arrogant, desirous gaze Chance foists upon Ruth forty-five minutes into the story—and which Friedkin thinks sufficiently important to reprise in the coda to suggest that the splintering of Vukovich’s conscience is complete—is the gaze of a man who is at ease abusing his authority and enjoys taking advantage of whatever is set before him: I can do whatever I want. But Chance’s euphoria during the chase is not a pose—it’s a true thing, and an orgasmic thing. Friedkin’s crosscutting between Chance, Chance’s bungee jump and Vukovich perfects an analogy between risk and the ecstatic discovery of a primal self in a sequence where Chance derives demonstrable gratification from his addictive and relentless hoarding of experience. Chance doesn’t seek vengeance but adrenaline, and is not afraid of death. This is the scene most directly related to Friedkin’s essential theme of fakery as it relates directly to the audience: Friedkin knows that we, like Vukovich, are so vulnerable to ecstasy in spite of moral qualms. Interestingly, it appears to be this aspect of Chance—the ecstasy, stubbornness and power of fearlessness—that makes Vukovich want to become him. And this is the aspect of him many viewers will appreciate as well, even though it makes them uncomfortable that they do. The moment at which Friedkin indicts the capriciousness of admiration occurs during a car chase, which is often the most artificial moment in a film. This is one of the few cinematic car chases that positions the characters and audience for an even greater payoff. That is to say, the car chase itself has a punch line, delivered two scenes later (during the intermediary scene, Chance celebrates the commission of his crime with Ruth) when Chance and Vukovich learn they have directly facilitated the murder of a federal agent. This information is dropped, quietly but firmly, like a Samurai sword. Chance has brought about the identical consequences for which he holds Masters in contempt, even though his own superficial exaltation of behavioral codes is itself predicated on a skewed moral hierarchy of questionable sincerity. Chance is nervous about what he has done, but not remorseful; he doesn’t appear to give the moral ramifications of the death a second thought. Chance’s indifference fulfills the promise of the chase sequence. This is the moment at which viewers are most likely to ask themselves the questions that Friedkin has wanted us to ask all along: Exactly who are the good guys and who are the criminals, and if there are both types in this movie, which is which? If Chance is no better, and possibly worse, than other characters in this film, why do I like him more? Conditioned responseSome might argue that it’s not necessary that we like anyone in any film. Many great works—including some by Friedkin—examine characters with few ennobling traits and disconcerting deficiencies. The French Connection is one pertinent example; however, Friedkin is honest about who “Popeye�?Doyle is from the moment he is formally introduced to the audience. However, consider for a moment at what Friedkin has his hero do in the first act of To Live and Die in L.A.: - Save the President of the United States from a suicide bomber (with whom he pretends to empathize)
- Comfort his traumatized partner
- Overcome his fear to make a bungee jump
- Celebrate with and receive praise from colleagues
- Gives a present to his partner
- Express deep feelings of loyalty for his partner, who is soon to retire
- Suffer the death of his partner and “best friend�?BR>
- Vow to avenge his partner’s death
Only in hindsight is it obvious Friedkin assembles this litany of orthodoxies with the hint of a smile. Shortly after we are sold on what a great guy Chance is, his attributes go into hibernation. “Popeye�?Doyle and Jackie Scanlon ( Sorcerer) are introduced without apologies by Friedkin; in fact, the first thing we are shown about Scanlon is that he will, with no reluctance whatsoever, participate in the murder of a priest for profit. Furthermore, in To Live and Die in L.A., stylized technique itself is used by Friedkin to excite us about this character. The flagrant cheerleading is evident in the pace, flattering compositions, self-congratulatory dialogue, score, and the selection of what Friedkin elects to show us about his characters before he gets down to the business of divulging what he has withheld. He labors intentionally to create a false impression. Otherwise, he would not exert such effort to ape a formula, borrowed from an array of other films, whose sole purpose is to induce the viewer to form a positive opinion about Richard Chance and a negative opinion about the criminal he is trying to foil. Friedkin would not do this unless it was important to him. And it’s important to him because, once we have agreed to stipulate that Chance is our hero, he wants, like a Judo master, to use the momentum of our own self-deception to flip us on our backs. Friedkin directs us to accept Chance as our hero, and then discards the conventions of the genre, leaving us to flounder, like Vukovich, with the contradiction of our admiration and a conscious awareness that the film is forcing this point on purpose. Friedkin sets the bar for our tolerance at the fifty-yard line and moves it incrementally back, yard by yard: “Will you still choose to side with Chance if he does this? What about this?�?At what point will our preconceptions about the genre itself conflict with the information provided us about this particular character? If we are compelled to remain stubbornly on the side of Chance to accomplish his objective, we must eventually ask ourselves Why? There is no logical reason to admire or sympathize with Chance, other than that Friedkin designs his film so that we do so out of habit before we are provided with sufficient reason to object. Chance is not even sympathetic when he “grieves�? his grief comes off as counterfeit and manipulative, because he wants something in return for its demonstration. What attributes does Chance have? When we gather them we are essentially gathering a catalogue of adjectives gleaned from other cop scripts: He’s tough, driven, determined, he does what he says he will do and has the courage of his convictions. He’s cool under fire, fearless. But he’s dishonest, and he’s seldom nice, or fair. He’s capricious in his exercise of authority. And he’s more disrespectful and dangerous than his worst enemy, Rick Masters, who has become our enemy only because we’re rooting for Chance. Admittedly, it sounds poorly considered to say that the character we forge the greatest kinship with in our film has many negative and few positive qualities: that he treats women like slaves, derides his partner for his virtue (after claiming to value righteousness), gets an FBI agent killed and celebrates afterwards, may even be more repulsive than the villain—but that we’ll root for him nonetheless. However, this allegiance to Chance is apparently not anomalous. We learn from Friedkin’s commentary that Metro Goldwyn Mayer executives pressured him to shoot a preposterous alternate coda in which Chance survives because test audiences liked this character too much to see him perish. The so-called Happy Ending—included in the Special Edition—is indeed of interest to scholars of this film for the intriguing reason that it is not happy. Even in his efforts to soothe nervous studio executives, Friedkin could not conceal the essential truth of his principal character. The Richard Chance he gives us in the alternate ending squats in an Anchorage outpost, clutching himself and looking either ill or disturbed—this is not Michael Douglas in Black Rain but Jack Nicholson in The Shining. If Friedkin couldn’t kill Chance, he wanted at least to impart this idea that Chance is too damaged to be envied, regardless of whether he is a fictional creation or not. The result is a Happy Ending that would seem to be more unsettling to most viewers than Chance’s obliteration. The persistence of archetypeAlthough Michael Mann has explored this line between criminality and its counterforce, even his work—specifically Manhunter and Heat—stops well short of insinuating there is no separation whatsoever. Mann only argues that the criminal mind is accessible to the moral man who pursue criminals, and argues that if we are honest with ourselves about the nature of criminality we cease to find it unfathomable, and, in the case of Heat, may even find the individuals who perpetrate it more consistent and enlightened than those who seek to prevent it. Friedkin goes much further by contemplating the possibility that a sociopath may be drawn to law enforcement for the very reason that he is a criminal unconsciously disguising himself as its opposite. And I believe he integrates something else as well, having vaguely to do with society’s gullibility in being shocked that this might be the case. This is a riskier thesis than Mann’s, and Friedkin presses it explicitly without avoidance of its inevitable consequences. Our adulation of immoral cops in our art may or may not say something about us, but Friedkin probes our tendency to accept, without discrimination, such archetypes, and watches to see whether we squirm or proceed, unconsciously, to sanitize Chance in order to reinvent To Live an Die in L.A. as a film that meets the criteria for a genre it subverts. We are so unaccustomed to a lack of relativistic delineation between good and evil in our cop films that, if the test screenings are an accurate indication, we are as likely to suspend our critical faculties and stand by Chance as we are to reckon directly with what Friedkin argues. Those of us who grudgingly like Richard Chance must eventually contend with our contradictions, and must admit as well that we are contrary creatures whose real-life ideals and principles conflict with our reverence for mischief and the brazen expression of power in art by characters we would find despicable were we to meet them in person. When, in the pre-credit sequence, Richard Chance helps Jimmy take out the suicide bomber, he is saving the life of the President of the United States; this is not just any president but Ronald Reagan, who was adored for superficial characteristics that, for most Americans, displaced a recollection of the questionable things he did in the name of eradicating Communism from Central America (a rationale that some historians believe was itself a pretext). Just as Reagan’s charm—his archetypalness—is more often recalled than the suffering he inflicted, Richard Chance is more likely to be accepted by audiences for what he represents before, or in spite of the fact, Friedkin acquaints us with what he is. We will accept craziness in a cop hero—even tolerate illegality, or brutality—so long as it is directed at a morally more opprobrious target, and exercised with consistency, for some purpose we are convinced is worthy. Although Richard Chance has attractive, superficial traits that make him appealing, Friedkin incrementally reveals that he deviates from more conventions than he satisfies. And Friedkin seems fascinated with whether we can let go of him or not. The death of Chance will only surprise or punish a spectator who is unwilling, by the third act, to let go of a fraudulent grasp of this film as the story of good and bad people. Perhaps the reason Chance compels admiration is because he embodies the fantasy of freedom expressed through uninhibited action, but within the parameters of a revered occupation. This is an attractive reverie because there is no separation between the primal “true�?self and the oppressed, artificial self. This daydream is not so different from the one that leads Jack to invent Tyler Durden in Fincher’s Fight Club. Jack rejects Durden because he cannot accept the psychopathology that is the natural extension of the fantasy; Vukovich, however, accepts the derangement in order to retain the fantasy. Unfortunately for the spectator’s conscience, while Chance is busy evoking the euphoria of unencumbered activity in high style, Friedkin evokes the consequences of these actions with a candor that is unusual within this genre, where it is more common for a director to romanticize, omit or disguise wrongdoing as relativistically righteous (i.e, the Lethal Weapon films). To further complicate matters, Friedkin abstains from demonizing Masters, who tries harder to exemplify his chosen code than Chance tries to exemplify his. The pathology and consequence of wrong conduct is hardly alien terrain for Friedkin. But it’s more common for him, in his better-admired works, to tell such stories with a straight, rather than a painted, face. Also, his style must be considered: In The French Connection, Sorcerer and Cruising one senses no strenuous effort by Friedkin to compel an audience to like his characters. In those prior works, Friedkin’s method is to linger in dismay on decay rather than embroider it with cinematic body glitter and a fiery score. It is true that The French Connection bears resemblance to the film under discussion here. It raises similar questions concerning the renegade and whether the gratification of obsession is worth the mediocre results achieved. In both films the protagonist directly or indirectly murders an F.B.I agent and seems unrepentant. In neither film is the protagonist transformed by experience. However, in French Connection Friedkin is focused on telling the story. To Live and Die in L.A. introduces a second dimension that is superbly conscious of the way a story is told, the discourse between the film and the viewer, and, particularly, how devices are intentionally used to obscure filmic reality so that dramatic dynamics appear to be morally lucid when they are morally ambiguous. I believe Friedkin is intrigued that we are so quick to take sides in a movie, and so easily manipulated to accept complexity as simplicity. This is likely why he adheres to the conventions of the buddy thriller—at times pressing them beyond credulity—before escalating what becomes a point-by-point repudiation of the devices used in such films to make spectators comfortable with dynamics that should not evoke comfort. This is the technique used by Kubrick in Full Metal Jacket to alert us to the fraudulence of the war film; the use of this technique results in moments in Friedkin’s film that feel like satire. Ultimately, by projecting his story through the prism of self-consciousness he is able to make our willingness to accept a sociopath as a heroic figure in western, mob and cop films a component in the discourse. What about the possibility we are entirely aware that we side with Chance for superficial reasons? We are not subject to any misconceptions that he is an honorable man, but we’ll forget about that for now because we like what we like more than we disdain what we disdain—this is a movie. The death of Chance is the price we pay, because the qualities that make his death inevitable are the ones we perversely admire. No other outcome is possible for a thrill-seeker who has burnt through his capacity to be thrilled. And, if after all of this, we like him still, then we are like Vukovich—not corrupted by Chance, but permitting ourselves to be seduced. This last point is relevant to the film’s metaphors that describe the human intoxication with transitory sensory pleasures. Chance’s addiction to violating regulations and mores is another form of being entranced by shallowness because it leaps indiscriminately from one experience to the next. The nature of desire is to wander from stimulus to stimulus, growing bored and moving on. Chance embodies that same restlessness, although it is disguised as a strategy. His life is counterfeit because it structured around the search for sensation rather than meaning. Chance seeks revenge and breaks rules for this reason, but we must doubt he is sincere because Friedkin establishes through exposition that Chance has always broken rules and endangered lives, long before he forms an intent to avenge Jimmy’s death. His criminality is expressed because he craves experience more than he feels obligated to lawfulness. He loses his fear of death because his desire for sensation is so great that, having exhausted experience, death becomes one of the sensations he seeks. ParadoxFor me, the brilliance of To Live and Die in L.A. is that, like Eastwood’s Unforgiven, it confronts and rejoices in the incongruities that arise when our captivation with mythic archetypes encounters our recognition that what we admire is unworthy. Friedkin tests the predictability of our attachment to convention by gradually expanding the magnitude of Chance’s debasement, while permitting him to retain the qualities we are habituated to extol, predicated on Chance’s insistence that abuse of authority is excusable because the ends justify the means. If we accept that he is being truthful, then we have accepted a false thing as a true thing so that we can, initially at least, enjoy rather than squirm through Friedkin’s movie. Friedkin entices us to reflect on our contrariness by constructing an analogy between superficiality in human beings and the inherent desirability of objects that have no real value. He commences by stressing the metaphor of the artistic counterfeiter who applies meticulousness to the creation of something intrinsically worthless. Counterfeit money accumulates imputed “value�?because it bears resemblance to something else, just as Chance’s story appears legitimate because it resembles the story of a good cop avenging the death of a beloved friend—but it is not. It is an imitation. Jimmy’s death merely provides Chance with a pretext—a plot device—to legitimize his abuse of power to the fullest extent. It’s true that Chance never pretends to be any better than he is, but he pretends to do what he does for a reason he claims to believe is honorable. By the close of the second act it becomes less credible that Chance is driven by moral imperative and more likely that he is engaging in a sequence of crimes of opportunity because they satisfy an inner need. The dramatic cliche known as �?I>He killed my partner�?is his license to do so. Friedkin extends this rationale to us to see if we are content to accept it as justification enough to approve what follows. Chance’s obsession with Masters begins to seem more like an example of one man hating a second because deep down he knows that his adversary is the shadow of himself, and the risk-taking is transformed from self-actualization into a disguised suicide wish. Chance and Masters are responsible for each other’s extinction. Vukovich, who surrenders to Chance’s version of reality, completes the act of killing Masters (because He killed my partner) and ascends the throne of corruption to perpetuate the cycle of sociopathy masquerading as righteousness. It’s revealing that the part of Chance’s life that Friedkin reprises in order to introduce this theme of Vukovich’s ascendancy/capitulation is one of the most shameful aspects of Chance’s existence—his oppression of Ruth to indentured servitude. Vukovich looks vaguely absurd as the substitute for Rick Chance, and that absurdity is an indictment of a mind that prefers the mythic to the humane (“You’re working for me now,�?he tells Ruth). By this point, most spectators would not choose to follow in Vukovich’s footsteps because we like what we like about Chance less than we dread the egomania and meaninglessness of his compulsions. Now, safely distanced from Chance, it becomes easier for the spectator to see how—but also why—Vukovich yields to temptation, because Friedkin has attempted to beguile us in precisely the same way. Those of us who are absorbed time and again by Chance’s odyssey may wonder if we are unprincipled because we are contradictory, or simply human. Friedkin’s lesson may be that we need to question why we are attracted to and influenced by that which exhilarates the senses in spite of the fact we may be in complete moral disagreement. Is our art counterfeit if it goads us in the direction of making moral exceptions when characters are superficially appealing? Friedkin’s wonderful risk is to pose such questions in a film that itself, because of how fully it sates our desire for tactile pleasure, runs a risk of being mistaken for the disease rather than the diagnosis. Yet I side with those who believe this is a great and undervalued work that is effective and specific in its indictment, and is too blunt in its cumulative intentions to be mistaken for fool’s gold. I suppose there’s a part of me, however, that is willing to accept inconsistency, because I continue to find Chance fascinating and his exploits entrancing. Even though I should know better. The words Friedkin chooses to leave us with in the song that accompanies the coda and end credits would suggest he does not doubt we will join him on this ride, replete with our contrariness and moral compromise. Indeed, he welcomes us, and relishes our reluctance: I’m waiting for you, but you’re very late
I know you’ll come anyway, and I can hardly wait
Evidently, there’s a difficulty
I know you’ll come anyway, and I can hardly wait |
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| | | From: LadySue | Sent: 10/14/2008 9:17 PM |
To Live and Die in LA is one of the many movies I've never seen  Who knows? Maybe it'll come my way on a movie channel some time!  |
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It was on a week ago, so it is making it's cable run again. forgot which one. sorry. I have them all.. |
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Ok here we go with 2 blogger I have known for awhile and you all have read here in madness, well really the three of them, including Matt from BE SOMETHING..His post started it all back in 97... This all stems from the SAP comment Kring made and Myles has comments again to an old Matt article, Linked below and I have already posted in this thread back when it was first posted.... Most stories linked below I have already posted but if you need to reread, go for it... Also at the very end some news that to me is awesome...... tick Cultural Flashback: Tim Kring and the Fall of ‘Heroes�?/H2> Cultural Flashback: Tim Kring and the Fall of ‘Heroes�?/EM> My brother asked me this week why I hadn’t yet commented (like Mo Ryan at the Chicago Tribune or James Poniewozik at Time) on the emerging story wherein Tim Kring, creator of NBC’s former-hit Heroes, referred to people who watch his show live weekly “dipsh**s�?while discussing the show moving away from serialization in a recent appearance. Now, clearly, this is hideously uncool and condescending coming from someone who runs a show that is only surviving due to these kinds of devoted fans, and who is being forced to dial back serialization as opposed to it happening naturally. But to be honest, my emotional attachment to Heroes is so low right now (five episodes behind and counting, I think) that it didn’t really affect me: I just shook my head, wondering whether the man seriously even understands his own show. There was another element to my detachment, though, and that is an element of “I told you so.�?Last March, only two months into the life of Cultural Learnings (aka when likely very few of you were reading), myself and Matt Elliott (formerly of BE Something, a TV-focused blog, and now writing very intelligent pieces on generational workplace scenarios at Y Working) got into a lengthy discussion about the state of the two big serial shows of the time, Lost and Heroes. Remember, this was at the point before Lost’s tremendous third season really hit its stride (and before the amazing twist of Through the Looking Glass, which led Matt to renew his faith in Lindelof/Cuse), so Matt’s original article discussing what Heroes could do to avoid “becoming like Lost�?was not as crazy as it might sound today (in other words, don’t hate on his article, he meant well). Matt made a tremendous number of fantastic suggestions for Heroes�?future that would have done some good, but in writing my response my point was simple: with Tim Kring at the helm and with an already overbloated cast, I did not foresee a scenario where they would, or even could, implement the things that could save the show. I was not, in fact, a believer. I don’t repost this to toot my own horn, though, so much as I repost it to remind us of a time when Heroes could have been saved, where the man at the helm could have made decisions that would keep him from having to degrade his own audience in an attempt to make his show seem…I don’t even know what he was trying to do. And, as they again attempt to reboot the series to become more relevant, maybe some reminders of Matt’s suggestions could prove beneficial to Kring or, ideally, whoever they get to replace him. What you’ll find below the fold is my original article with some inserted commentary (consider it to the Director’s Cut) - enjoy! As some of you may be aware, I’ve been a tiny bit sketpical as to whether shows like Jericho or Heroes can seriously avoid the pitfalls which Lost has found itself dealing with in its second and third seasons. That post didn’t get a huge amount of attention (Although the Elder certainly took it to heart), but it did apparently have one reader who chose to analyze the situation from a different perspective. Matt over at BE Something, you see, has decided that there are six ways in which ‘Heroes�?can avoid becoming Lost and follow the fancy blue line instead of the red. It’s an interesting article, I think, although one that is clearly in direct opposition to my original thesis. I was going to comment on the article over at BE Something, but I decided to do it here; it’s going to end up being quite extremely long, so I figure I might as well formalize things (Although, admitttedly, these are still relatively unorganized thoughts, I have a head cold). So, as a result, it’s time for the first ever Sci-Futility Challenge. Do Matt’s points hold up? Can they convince me that Heroes is, in fact, not on the same trajectory? Let’s find out. Argument #1 Stick to the Core Group of Characters So far, Heroes too has featured a large and rotating cast, with some characters not appearing for episodes at a time. However, they’ve managed to foster good will among their audience for (most of) these characters �?some of us still hate Niki. As these characters find themselves continuously entangled with other characters and their back stories get fleshed out and their motivations explained, it’s easy to understand why a writer would rather simply introduce a new character rather than dwell on an ‘old�?one. But just because it’s easy to understand doesn’t make it good writing. In debating, we like to avoid making purely logistical arguments, but I’m going to start with one of these. Because, in the end, there is absolutely no way that Heroes will be able to avoid falling into this trap for a variety of different reasons. The creators of the show will want to have fun with new types of superheroes with new types of powers; the creators will run out of things to do with certain people’s powers; contract renegotiations for a cast this large will mean cutting some dead weight at some point, etc. I think it’s idealistic to assume that the creators of the show will manage to overcome these logistical concerns, as they’re traps which are far too easy to fall into. However, really, Lost didn’t have this problem, outside of contract issues (Maggie Grace); they could have easily managed to continue with just these characters should they have pleased to do so. However, as I feel Matt ignores, characters are often introduced in order to bring new storylines into play. For Lost, the Tailies may have added to the cast but they also brought tension and diverse experiences into the camp. Things were getting far too complacent for the castaways, and to move the storyline forward they had to introduce new characters. Won’t Heroes have the same problem? When they go to change storylines, can they seriously expect this group of characters designed to fit this one to magically mould themselves into perfect fits for the new one? That would require a great deal of contrivance, and could in fact compromise those storylines. Whether Lost did a good job of it or not, the problem it faced will be shared by Heroes, and either its characters or its plot will fall as a result. [11/08 - Who knew that this problem would be exacerbated by the show's unwillingness to kill their characters? The fact that nobody ever dies on Heroes has meant that even when they had a perfectly good opportunity to get rid of some of the dead weight they just write around it. The third season did a better job of this, leaving the Katrina victim and some others behind, but the cast is still bloated.] Argument #2 Continue with the ‘arc�?structure One of the greatest advantages Heroes has over Lost right out of the gate is the current arc structure. While there isn’t a lot of functional division between story arcs �?nearly all the plots continued between the “Save the Cheerleader�?and “Are you on the List?�?arcs �?the division serves as a sign post for the viewer. Not only does it create markers for the ‘important�?episodes, it’s also given the viewer the illusion that things are actually planned out in advance when it comes to the future of these characters. Really, this relate to the above; you can’t have it both ways, and character development and plot structure go hand in hand. You can’t possible develop new arcs constantly through three seasons while maintaining the exact same cast, it just isn’t going to work. Matt’s argument here, however, is that Heroes is winning the advertising battle, and that with consistent arc structures such as ‘Save the Cheerleader�?and ‘Are You on the List?�?taglines are what is keeping people watching the show. Lost, clearly, lacks these types of taglines, and therefore is incapable of keeping viewers engaged. While I will admit that Lost is more cryptic with its intentions (Which I personally don’t view as a bad thing, but in terms of casual viewers he is quite correct), I don’t really think that taglines are enough to keep people engaged with a show. While the Save the Cheerleader tagline kept people entertained for awhile, the bigger problem is that it’s been the only successful tagline thus far. ‘Are you on the List�?was a boring, lifeless storyline which wasn’t actually the driving force of the story. Other than providing something for the NBC promo department to do, these divisions were not nearly as evident with the episodes themselves. I think that we’re overestimating the viewers�?ability to have faith in a TV show they’re only watching casually based solely on ads. Plus, should those ads start to manipulate and overstate things, the disgruntled viewer effect will be just as prevalent as it is for Lost. [11/08 - The big problem with taglines was that the show had the same tagline: "Save the *Blank*, Save the World" or some other variation. Any illusion that things are planned out in advance fell apart in the second season, and the third season's attempt to brand it as "Villains" has been somewhat disastrous considering that the show feels more random than ever.] Argument #3 Keep it Simple, Stupid While series like these do thrive on continuity and back story, so much so that things are destined to be complicated, the ‘KISS�?theory is still important in a broader sense. The cardinal rule of the serial drama is that speculation fuels viewership. The viewers need to be able to guess at how plots are going to resolve and how character interactions are going to play out. Matt says that Lost is too cryptic, as opposed to clever; that, because there is no simple resolution to its problems, people don’t have an endgame to look forward to. And, really, he’s quite correct. The problem is that I don’t think it is nearly this simple to, well, keep things simple. With a huge ensemble cast, complex characters and long-term storylines, simple resolutions will be entirely impossible for Heroes to achieve. We’re currently juggling Peter v. Sylar, the bomb in New York, Nathan and Linderman, Niki and her family, Claire and her Father, the inner workings of PrimaTech, and a whole host of other things. Can we seriously expect four episodes to manage to bring things to a conclusion that is easy to figure out? I think that Heroes will always need to be somewhat cryptic, and I think that people will speculate about it, but there’s no way to ensure that this speculation just plain old stops when it becomes too strong. The hardcore fanbase of the show will analyze it to death, no matter how much the producers try to reign it in, and it will run into the exact same over-analysis which has ‘killed�?Lost. Plus, I am somewhat skeptical as to whether Heroes is capable of being clever and not horrible obvious and clunky in its execution. [11/08 - It is telling that I wrote this piece, and Matt his own, before "Five Years Gone," the first element of time travel in the Heroes universe. If there is anything keeping Heroes from being simple, it's that time travel has utterly complicated the storyline to the point where any logical or predictable conclusion seems too far out of reach; in fact, the only thing predictable about Heroes is that its conclusion will be contrived and hackneyed. this was one piece of advice they should have followed back then, and one feels they might try to follow now (although my original sense that the writers aren't smart enough to do it remains).] Argument #4 Listen to the hardcore fanbase With Heroes, it’s clear that Claire, her father and the characters surrounding their recurring plot are the audience favourites. Their recent episode, Company Man was ridiculously popular (and ridiculously good, by no coincidence). If the producers are smart, they’ll build their central season two plots around these characters, as opposed to taking a cue from Lost and suddenly deciding to focus on, say, Isaac or somebody like that. Matt knows he’s in dangerous territory here, and he’s right. Because, while paying attention to this hardcore fan base is important, it is not something which can be done without an incredibly large helping of caution. Matt notes that Lost didn’t pay attention to its hardcore fans, focusing too much on hated characters like Kate and Ana Lucia. While I disagree that this is a bad thing, let’s just look at a harsh reality: Contracts. Actors have contracts. Those contracts dictate how many episodes they need to be in, what they want in their trailer, and to an extent they guarantee certain characters will be seen on our screens on a regular basis. The way contracts work on Lost, we see Kate, Sawyer, and Jack most often, with Locke, Sayid, Hurley, Charlie at a different level altogether. Contracts dictate that they just can’t drop a group of characters out of dislike for them, but instead have to balance things out. Heroes will run into the same problem. Considering she’s probably the biggest name in the cast, can the producers really marginalize Ali Larter’s ‘Niki�? If they haven’t done it yet, considering how boring her storyline became and how disinterested the writers seemed to be in writing it, it’s because her contracts dictates that they can’t. With such a large cast, they can’t just pick and choose who they include; while they can prioritize, that really isn’t any different than Lost, and they’ll piss off just as many people. [11/08 - Well, Kring obviously doesn't like his hardcore fanbase very much, so listening to them wasn't an option. But after they brought Ali Larter's character back to live by making her one of three TRIPLETS, I'd say that contracts are getting in the way of streamlining this show and ensuring that the characters people want to see are the ones they get to see more often.] Argument #5 Don’t Mess with Scheduling Don’t play games with the Heroes time slot, NBC. While the current hiatus is a bit on the long side, it’s short enough and came on the heels of some memorable episodes, making the delay tolerable. But never is the TV viewer’s fickle nature more evident than when a show isn’t even on their radar. Heroes has survived its current hiatuses this season because it is a new show and is hyped by NBC’s promo department on a regular basis. What happens next year when NBC is busy promoting its new shows and Heroes is left to fend for itself? What happens during these five week breaks when the show isn’t the watercooler buzz champion, but rather just another popular Sci-Fi show? Looking to this year’s success for Heroes is a mistake when judging its ability to handle the next few years. While I think that networks have learned their lessons after the failure of Lost’s 6-episode fall period and Jerichos’s similarly long break, I don’t think this will stop hiatuses (It’s entirely impossible, as I discussed earlier this month). And, as much as I think the show is more malleable than Lost in terms of contriving itself to gain momentum, I don’t think even the best cliffhanger will keep casual viewers when it comes to next season. It’s hard enough to keep a sophomore show on the radar when it’s off the air, but it can often be even tougher when it’s on against so many other shows. [11/08 - This one, by no fault of Heroes itself, became an issue thanks to the Writers' Strike; while I doubt that the show could have really bounced back in its second season on the path it was on, the strike put it into a lengthy hiatus that certainly didn't help its return (which didn't help itself, as the case may be).] Argument #6 Don’t Cater to the Hardcore Fan Base (Too Much) So, seriously, Heroes producers: I know you’re already producing comic books and things, but stay from things like the Lost guys have done with the internet. Your ultimate goal is to avoid your show becoming some niche-market-wonder. Pandering to that niche only encourages that reality. Basically, this is the same as Keep it Simple, Stupid; Matt doesn’t want to see Heroes go crazy with the Hanso Foundation stuff. The only problem is that Heroes shouldn’t be worried about leaking the crazy viewers who spend all day on the internet, but rather those viewers who don’t even know what the internet is and yet are still watching the show. Pandering to the niche does not turn away these viewers who are watching Heroes purely out of peer pressure, but rather offers further involvement to those viewers who do want to fill in some gaps and take some time. And really, Heroes has already broken your rule, as their online comics actually contain storyline and plot points which are not featured in the series. In order to get the full story, you absolutely must read the comics (They recently filled in where Wireless girl went, and also the situation where Bennet and Claude found Claire). The internet as a marketing tool is too juicy for them to avoid, and yet at the same time casual viewers won’t read it, won’t get it, and won’t have a reason to stick around. [11/08 - Heroes has, if anything, upped the ante about trying to engage these kinds of viewers online, and right now they're the only ones keeping them alive.] Matt ends his article with the following passage of indecision: I go back and forth between optimism and pessimism for Heroes. That it doesn’t have as much “This is the best-written show on television�?hype as Lost did in its heyday is likely a good thing. People aren’t misrepresenting Heroes �?it is schlocky and overwrought and relies on ridiculous coincidences to forward its conventions. It’s unlikely to win an Emmy, though it may take a Golden Globe. And that’s exactly how it should be �?Lost was a victim of its own hubris, with first season hype pushing it toward further unconventional storytelling and philosophical cruft that sees ever new character named after a different philosopher (Seriously, David Hume? Are we supposed to think that’s cute?). When, really, what fans really liked wasn’t the out-of-the-box storytelling so much as the characters. First off, I think that fans did like the out-of-the-box storytelling on Lost, and that it was the show’s basic foundation. I think that changing it in order to pander to its newly found casual success would have been going against its entire set of principles. Moreover, I think that Heroes could get Emmy attention, but only based on ‘Company Man�? The problem is that, while there is no question that Heroes is not currently high-brow television, that episode showed a great deal of promise for the show’s ability to actually make great television. I would hate to see that potential lost purely in order to keep casual viewers who will eventually abandon the show in the end. This is why I believe that Heroes shouldn’t feel obligated to ‘avoid Lost’s mistakes�?but rather to find its own voice. In my view, this does include many of Matt’s theories, such as focusing on the right characters and finding the right balance of plotlines to make things work. However, this should not be done simply because Lost ‘failed�? rather, it should be done because it’s in the best interest of the show creatively. No matter what they do, they’re still a Sci-Fi show that was never designed to be seen by 15 Million viewers. Even if it means losing some of those, I don’t think they should forget that fact from a creative perspective. [11/08 - Who knew that the show's most recent episode would get, believe it or not, HALF that many viewers only 20 months later?] In the end, I’m not convinced that Heroes will remain the success it is now; I just don’t think it’s possible for it to maintain this level of cultural relevance and ratings success. However, there is still hope for it creatively, and I think that it should ignore the ratings for a second and really think about what’s best for its characters independent of other shows, other networks, or bloggers like Matt and I. Just do your thing, Tim Kring. And by thing, I mean let Bryan Fuller run the show. He’s far better than you. [11/08 - Sure, it would have meant we never got to see Pushing Daisies, but wouldn't that have been so much better? Now, with Pushing Daisies officially canceled, Kring should listen to this piece of advice more than ever] |
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which Another Sandy gets involved.... smiles the_other_sandy
“With a huge ensemble cast, complex characters and long-term storylines, simple resolutions will be entirely impossible for Heroes to achieve.�?/P> It can be done, but not the way the show is doing it. In order to have that level of complexity and still ‘keep it simple�?the trick is to answer questions. Speculation does fuel viewership to a point, but once the viewers realize that no answers are forthcoming, speculation starts to seem like a fruitless waste of time, and they stop engaging in it. Supernatural has succeeded on that front because the show usually doesn’t leave major questions unresolved for more than half a season, maybe a whole season for the really big stuff. Then the show presents a clear definitive resolution to that plot point that also raises new questions. That’s how you keep it simple, by answering questions and then raising new ones. Heroes just keeps raising question after question and nothing ever gets resolved. “In order to get the full story, you absolutely must read the comics�?/P> And that is something that drives me nuts. I’m obviously not a technophobe or afraid of the Internet since I’m here commenting on your blog, but I watch TV purely for entertainment. I completely resent the idea that I have to do *homework* in order to keep up with the show. If they want to do comics or whatever as a tie-in, that’s great, but they should be a side project, not so interwoven with canon that viewers miss integral plot points by not reading them. so as of right now, this ends it, but I know others will be commenting as they find and read Myles newest blog.... tick ok for the maybe good news which is now past the dream stage and in the talking, thinking and getting excited about it stage... Myself...... Myles McNutt of Cultural Learnings.... Matt from BE SOMETHING and Y WORKING..... The Original Spy..... and Littlbigmouth... Have all been talking about doing a new site with us all. With all our connections, our locations, almost world wide, and the way we all write we feel we may have something different than others to offer plus again with the connections we all have, we could really put an awesome place together... This would be an all around type site not just TV etc but covering alot more. if any of you have visited any of the sites above you will see we do cover alot more. Plus between us, we are posted in over 20 other sites, which if we do this would end, except our home sites...The plus for some of us would be it would introduce them to a whole new audience... So this is all good and if everything works out, we should be up and running early to mid 2009.... Plus we feel as we finally are up, others will want to join us. Call this our little revolution where in numbers wel will maybe have a better say to the big boys... or maybe not.... Stay tuned for more..... |
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| | | From: LadySue | Sent: 11/23/2008 7:42 PM |
Oh Oh!!!! Where do we join the revolucion!  |
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In 2008 we bid farewell to many special artists who shaped our popular culture: from true giants and longtime performers, like Paul Newman and Isaac Hayes, to ones just beginning to show the depths of their talents, like Heath Ledger. Let us remember and celebrate their talent and the many ways they touched us: Heath Ledger, Jan. 22, age 28: Ledger's shocking accidental death, from a combination of prescription painkillers, sleeping aids and other medications, cut short a brilliant career -- of which we got glimpses in films like "Brokeback Mountain" and "The Patriot." Ledger's chilling, tormented portrayal of the Joker, in the posthumously released summer blockbuster "The Dark Knight," reminded his fans all over again of the enormous loss of this true talent. Ledger's contested estate was recently settled, with all of it going to his daughter with former fiancée Michelle Williams, Matilda. "To most of the world, Heath was an actor of immeasurable talent and promise," Ledger's father, Kim, said after his death. "We knew Heath as a loving father, as our devoted son, and as a loyal and generous brother and friend." Paul Newman, Sept. 26, age 83: Film fans -- and just about everyone else -- were in deep mourning upon hearing of the loss of screen great Paul Newman, who died of lung cancer. It wasn't just Newman's matinee idol looks, or his flinty, magnetic talent that earned him an Oscar plus nine nominations. It was the sense that he lived a live worth living, with a deeply loving marriage, to devoted wife Joanne Woodward, and strong family connections to all of his children. And his quiet determination to raise millions of dollars for charity and give away with little fanfare, especially to his beloved Hole in the Wall Gang camps (while making pretty darn great salad dressing in the meantime). Newman was a Hollywood giant, yet embraced a real, humor-laced, and grounded life. And while we will always be able to savor his performances in films like "Hud," "Cool Hand Luke," "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid," "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof" and many more, we know no one will ever be able to take his place in our hearts. How can we settle for hamburger when we've had steak? Bernie Mac, Aug. 9, age 50: Hollywood and comedy fans worldwide were shocked and saddened by the sudden death of Mac, who had suffered from the lung disease sarcoidosis. Mac left a broad body of work, as an actor in film ("Ocean's Eleven," "Madagascar: Escape 2 Africa"), TV ("The Bernie Mac Show"), and as stand-up comic, as one of the Kings of Comedy. He was also a devoted family man, husband to wife Rhonda since their marriage in 1977. His funeral in Chicago celebrated his life and laughs, with tributes from colleagues Cedric the Entertainer, Steve Harvey, Chris Rock, Don Cheadle and more. Mac once told Playboy, "I'm not a star, and I don't want to be a star. ... I'm an ordinary guy with an extraordinary job." We have to respectfully disagree -- very few stars shine brighter than Bernie Mac. Estelle Getty, July 22, age 84: Getty, a talented actress and comedian, nonetheless struggled for decades to find her groove, until in her early 60s she was finally cast in her career-making role in "The Golden Girls" as Sophia, the crotchety octogenarian mom to Bea Arthur's character. While she had notable film success in "Mask," "Stop! Or My Mom Will Shoot," "Tootsie," and other roles, it was as the oldest Golden Girl that she will be remembered. When Rue McClanahan's randy Blanche once complained that her life was an open book, Sophia shot back, "Your life's an open blouse." After her death, her son, Carl Gettleman, said in a statement, "She was loved throughout the world in six continents, and if they loved sitcoms in Antarctica she would have been loved on seven continents. She was one of the most talented comedic actresses who ever lived." Or in the words of Sophia: "Let me tell you girls the three most important things I learned about life: Number one: Hold fast to your friends; number two: There's no such thing as security; and number three: Don't go see 'Ishtar.' Charlton Heston, April 5, age 84: The ruggedly handsome Heston was known for his heroic roles in films like 1959's "Ben-Hur" (for which he won the best actor Oscar), "El Cid" and "The Ten Commandments," in which he played a commanding Moses. Even his role in "Planet of the Apes" was transformative and heroic. He was also known for his offscreen activities, from his work in the early '60s in the civil rights movement and his presidency of the Screen Actors Guild, to his conservative politics in his later years, including his presidency of the National Rifle Association. He was married for 64 years to his college sweetheart, Lydia, who released this statement upon Heston's death: "Charlton Heston was seen by the world as larger than life. We knew him as an adoring husband, a kind and devoted father, and a gentle grandfather with an infectious sense of humor. He served these far greater roles with tremendous faith, courage and dignity." George Carlin, June 22, age 71: Carlin was flinty and fearless, and ushered in an unflinching era in stand-up comedy. He joked about drugs and the counterculture, and became a hero to them, even as he sent up hippiedom. Among his best-known bits were "The Hippy Dippy Weatherman," who forecast "Tonight: Dark. Continued dark throughout most of the evening, with some widely scattered light towards morning." He also had a (still-unprintable) memorable bit, the "Seven Dirty Words" that resulted in a landmark Supreme Court case, which unfortunately didn't find for Carlin and his ability to say those words on public radio. He was a frequent host and guest on "The Tonight Show," toured tirelessly and recorded frequent comedy specials, the last of which, "It's Bad for Ya," aired this past March on HBO. In November, Carlin was to become the first posthumous recipient of the Kennedy Center's Mark Twain Prize for American Humor. And somehow, one thinks Twain would have loved most of Carlin's material: "Frisbeetarianism is the belief that when you die, your soul goes up on the roof ... and gets stuck." Isaac Hayes, Aug. 10, age 65: The king of "Hot Buttered Soul" created the grooving soundtrack to the '70s and beyond. A gifted songwriter, he wrote hits like "Soul Man" for Sam & Dave, and also had his own prolific recording career, often reinventing pop songs (like Burt Bacharach tunes) with his own Southern R&B take. In 1971, his soundtrack, and theme song, for the film "Shaft" gave him worldwide fame. In the '90s he earned a whole new generation of fans when he appeared on "South Park," as Chef, a gig that lasted several seasons, until 2006. Hayes reportedly quit the show after it lampooned Scientology, to which Hayes had converted in the mid-'90s, although later Hayes said that that had not been the reason he left. Happily, his gorgeous, golden music will live on. Can ya dig it? Brad Renfro, Jan. 15, age 25: The talented Renfro made big waves in his short life and acting career, rocketing to stardom as a child actor in 1993's "The Client." He also appeared in such films as "Ghost World" and "Sleepers." But the troubled young star had been arrested several times over the years on drug-related charges, and sadly, he died of a heroin overdose. His last film role was in "The Informers," which he completed just before his death. "Brad was an exceptionally talented young actor," said Marco Weber, president of the film's production house, Senator Entertainment, "and our time spent with him was thoroughly enjoyable." Renfro was laid to rest in his native Knoxville, Tenn. Roy Scheider, Feb. 10, age 75: The talented actor turned out role after crackling role, especially in the '70s, when his body of work included intense films like "Klute," "The French Connection," "Jaws" and his Oscar-nominated, manic performance in Bob Fosse's "All That Jazz." Scheider worked again with his "Jaws" director, Steven Spielberg, in the 1993 TV series "SeaQuest DSV," and he appeared on shows ranging from "The Family Guy" to "Third Watch." He also worked in his later years for educational philanthropic endeavors, including for schools in the Hamptons in New York, and in Italy. His last role was in "Iron Cross," a feature film to be released in 2009. "The important thing," he once said, "is to do good work, no matter what medium you do it in." Bettie Page, Dec. 11, age 85: The quintessential '50s pinup girl, Page perfected the "naughty-but-nice" that made her an enduring icon for decades. Men lusted after her; women liked her saucy style and copied her signature sleek black bangs. Page's early photo shoots were prized by bondage fetishists and mainstream consumers of "nudie" photos alike. She appeared as a Playboy centerfold in 1955 and her photos quickly became collectors' items. She converted to Christianity in the '60s, tried to serve as a missionary in Africa (but was rejected for having been divorced) and worked for a time for the Rev. Billy Graham. Yet her cult and fans continued to flourish. Page is widely credited for influencing the recent explosion in the popularity of burlesque, and has been emulated by contemporary performers like Dita Von Teese, Katy Perry and Madonna. She told Playboy in 1998 of her career as a pinup: "I never thought it was shameful -- I felt normal. It's just that it was much better than pounding a typewriter eight hours a day, which gets monotonous." Being the "ultimate sex goddess," as a TVGuide.com poll recently voted her, is far more interesting Don LaFontaine, Sept. 1, age 68: In a world where trailers had to grab audiences by the collar, Don LaFontaine roamed and ruled. The famed voiceover actor, who made the phrase "in a world where" a household name, lent his talents to upward of 3,000 film trailers, and was oft imitated but never duplicated. His was one of pop culture's most recognized voices. In one of his rare onscreen appearances, he lampooned himself in a series of Geico car insurance commercials in 2006 ("in a world where both of our cars were under water ..."), and insisted he didn't care that he was largely unknown. He averaged up to 10 voiceover sessions a day, and worked up until his death after a long illness. Michael Crichton, Nov. 4, age 66: Michael Crichton was one of the most successful writers in contemporary American fiction. A graduate of Harvard Medical School, Crichton found his biggest successes in stories and books that used his medical and scientific background, and many of his thrillers were made into films. His books include "The Andromeda Strain," "Disclosure," "Rising Sun, "Congo," and perhaps most famously, "Jurassic Park," which spawned a successful film franchise. He was also co-creator of the NBC hit "ER," the last season of which began this fall. In 2002, a newly discovered small species of dinosaur was named for him: Crichtonsaurus bohlini. After his sudden death from throat cancer, his family released a statement, remembering Crichton as "a devoted husband, loving father and generous friend who inspired each of us to strive to see the wonders of our world through new eyes." Same goes for the rest of us. Bo Diddley, June 2, age 79: Born Ellas Otha Bates, Diddley came up with his catchy moniker while working on the South Side of Chicago in the '50s, inspired by blues masters like John Lee Hooker, but adding his own deft rock edge to his sound. His first 45 had "Bo Diddley" on one side and the bluesy "I'm a Man" on the other -- tunes which would influence rockers from the Rolling Stones to Jimi Hendrix to Buddy Holly to the Grateful Dead, who incorporated Diddley's signature "shave and a haircut, two bits" guitar beat into their songs. He was also a prolific songwriter, co-writing songs like "Love Is Strange," the Mickey & Sylvia hit. As for his own influences, he once said, "I don't like to copy anybody. Everybody tries to do what I do, update it ... I don't have any idols I copied after." About rock 'n' roll, Bo knows. Barry Morse, Feb. 2, age 89: Born in England, Morse was a talented actor best known in the U.S. for his role in the TV series "The Fugitive." He began his career in England in the theater, then moved into radio and film roles. He worked steadily in TV, including roles in the miniseries "The Winds of War" and "War and Remembrance," but is best known for his role in the '60s as the tenacious Lt. Philip Gerard in "The Fugitive," opposite David Janssen. He also continued working in the theater, as artistic director of the Shaw Festival in Canada in the '60s, and as a professor at Yale University. His 2007 memoir is titled "Remember With Advantages: Chasing 'The Fugitive' and Other Stories from an Actor's Life." |
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| Bill Meléndez, Sept. 2, age 91: The Mexico-born Meléndez came to the U.S. as a child and started in animation working for Walt Disney in the late 1930s. In the early '60s he founded his own animation studio, and he earned an Emmy for the now-classic " A Charlie Brown Christmas" (1965), for which he provided the animation for Charles M. Shultz's drawings and story. Meléndez would collaborate with Schultz for decades -- on more than 75 animated "Peanuts" projects -- and also contributed the voices of Snoopy and Woodstock. He also animated "Cathy" and "Garfield" projects, but it's for the "Peanuts" gang that Meléndez will be most fondly remembered. It makes us want to do the Snoopy dance. Richard Wright, Sept. 15, age 65: The longtime Pink Floyd keyboardist may not have been as flashy as bandmates David Gilmour or Roger Waters, but it was Wright's intensive musicality that was seen as a major influence of the band's signature sound, from its earliest days. Wright met Waters at university, and was a founding member of the band in 1965. His work shaped the band's groundbreaking disc, "Dark Side of the Moon" (1973), which also featured two of Wright's own songs, "The Great Gig in the Sky" and "Us and Them." Friction with Waters led Wright to leave the band in the early '80s, though he joined them as a session player for several recordings, and explored solo projects throughout the '80s and '90s. In 2005, Wright rejoined his bandmates onstage in London for Live 8, the first concert featuring the full band in years. Upon his death, Gilmour paid tribute: "He was gentle, unassuming and private, but his soulful voice and playing were vital, magical components of our most recognized Pink Floyd sound. ... I have never played with anyone quite like him." Sydney Pollack, May 26, age 73: "Sydney made the world a little better, movies a little better and even dinner a little better. A tip of the hat to a class act," said actor George Clooney, who acted with Pollack in last year's " Michael Clayton." Truer words were never spoken. Pollack was comfortable as an actor, and continued performing until he was diagnosed with cancer about nine months before his death. But it was as a director that he made his biggest impression, from " This Property Is Condemned," starring his friend and frequent star Robert Redford, in 1966, to the magnificent romance " The Way We Were" and " Out of Africa" (the latter of which won Pollack his two Oscars), to the gender-bending comedy " Tootsie," which Pollack directed and in which he co-starred with Dustin Hoffman. He was well-liked in Hollywood, and was married to his wife, Claire, for nearly 50 years. A tip of the hat, indeed, to a class act. Richard Widmark, March 24, age 93: Widmark, who had been a talented and busy radio actor for years, created such a sensation in his first major film role -- as a sadistic, ghoulish thug in 1947's " Kiss of Death" -- that he became a film star overnight, and for that role was nominated for his first and only Oscar. But it was just the beginning of a brilliant career that included such films as " The Alamo," " Judgment at Nuremberg," " Cheyenne Autumn" and " Madigan," which spawned the 1972 NBC series of the same name. Tough on screen, Widmark was a sweet, mild man in real life, married to his college sweetheart, the playwright Jean Hazelton, for 55 years, until her death in 1997 (he married Susan Blanchard in 1999, and she survives him). The New York Times reported that he once said, "The older you get, the less you know about acting, but the more you know about what makes the really good actors." Amen. Cyd Charisse, June 17, age 86: The leggy Texas beauty was a talented dramatic actress, but Charisse was best known as a dancer in MGM's golden era of musicals, especially opposite Fred Astaire in " The Band Wagon." Astaire, notably cranky about the level of talent of his dancing partners, was in awe of Charisse's grace and talent, calling her "beautiful dynamite" in his 1959 memoir. Born Tula Ellice Finklea in Amarillo, Texas, Charisse studied classical ballet in Los Angeles. After signing a contract with MGM, she danced with Gene Kelly in " Singin' in the Rain," with a 25-foot silk scarf as their third, graceful partner, and in "Brigadoon." She had to decline appearing in " An American in Paris," however, because she was pregnant ( Leslie Caron got the part). She married actor Tony Martin (now 95) in 1948 and the two often performed together, and co-wrote their joint autobiography, "The Two of Us." In 1983, Astaire provided perhaps the ultimate compliment: "When we were dancing, we didn't know what time it was." Anthony Minghella, March 18, age 54: The Oscar-winning director of " The English Patient" died of unexpected complications following surgery for cancer of the tonsils, stunning Hollywood and the British film community. Minghella's other significant films include " Truly, Madly, Deeply," " Cold Mountain" and " The Talented Mr. Ripley." But Minghella's talents spread far beyond the big screen, as he directed radio dramas ("Eyes Down Looking," starring Jude Law, in 2006) and opera ("Madama Butterfly," in 2005, which was subsequently staged in London, Lithuania, and at the New York Metropolitan Opera). Despite his prodigious talents and enormous success, Minghella remained appealingly modest: "I had never thought of myself as a director and found out that I was not," he once said in an interview. "I am a writer who was able to direct the films that I write." Edie Adams, Oct. 15, age 81: The blond sexpot TV personality was probably best known for her come-hither ads for Muriel cigars ("Why don't you pick one up and" -- pause -- "smoke it sometime"). But Adams was a classically trained singer who graduated from the Juilliard school, and performed regularly on Broadway, notably as Daisy Mae in the production of "Li'l Abner" in the '50s. She was also a deft comedian, and was memorable for her roles in films like " The Apartment," " Lover Come Back" and " It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World." Later, she would guest star on TV, including in " Designing Women" and " The Love Boat." She was married three times, including to the love of her life, performer Ernie Kovacs, from 1954 until his death, in 1962, in a car accident. David Groh, Feb. 12, age 68: TV actor David Groh, best known for his role as Joe, Rhoda's husband on the " Mary Tyler Moore" spin-off show " Rhoda," died of kidney cancer. His character's wedding to Rhoda was a major TV event in 1974, and when the characters subsequently divorced, fans sent hundreds of letters of condolence. After "Rhoda," Groh acted for several seasons on " General Hospital," and appeared in other TV shows, including " Law & Order," " Melrose Place" and " Baywatch." He remained active in theater, as well as close friends with his "Rhoda" co-star, Valerie Harper, until his death. Eileen Herlie, Oct. 8, age 90: The Scotland-born Herlie became beloved to daytime soap fans for her 32 years of work on " All My Children," playing Myrtle Fargate. But Herlie had a long and rich Broadway career before joining "AMC," playing Gertrude to Richard Burton's "Hamlet" (a role she would reprise twice on film, once again with Burton, and once with Laurence Olivier) and dozens of other roles. She also appeared on film in " Freud," alongside Montgomery Clift, and " The Sea Gull," with James Mason. She joined "All My Children" in 1976 and became a second mother figure to Erica Kane ( Susan Lucci), a rock of sanity and motherly advice amid the plot twists and skullduggery of Pine Valley. Mr. Blackwell, Oct. 19, age 86: The self-appointed arbiter of global style became known for his annual "best-dressed" and, more importantly, "worst-dressed" celebrities lists. No one was safe from his entertainingly fearless descriptions, including such so-called fashion icons as Victoria Beckham, who topped his list this year. Over the years, he savaged Elizabeth Taylor ("the rebirth of the zeppelin"), Elke Sommer ("Do-it-yourself kit with the wrong instructions") and Queen Elizabeth of England ("from Her Majesty to Her Travesty"). Born Richard Seltzer, Blackwell actually did start his own fashion business, in the 1950s, and had moderate success. But as he wrote in his memoir, "From Rags to Bitches" (1995), design was never his first love; critiquing celebrities was. He once said the whole endeavor was tongue-in-cheek: "The list has whimsy," he told the Los Angeles Times. "It's camp." With claws. Paul Scofield, March 19, age 86: Scofield, an imposing Britain-born actor, always loved theater first and foremost, but it was his film portrayal in 1966's "A Man for All Seasons," as Sir Thomas More, that earned him both a best actor Oscar and his place in Hollywood film history. Time magazine captured the essence of Scofield's incredible performance: "With a kind of weary magnificence, Scofield sinks himself into the part, studiously underplays it, and somehow displays the inner mind of a man destined for sainthood." In later years, Scofield made rare but memorable appearances in film, including "Quiz Show" in the 1990s. Throughout his career, he worked tirelessly on stage, including a memorable turn as Salieri in "Amadeus." Actor Richard Burton once said, "Of the 10 greatest moments in the theater, eight are Scofield's." |
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| | | From: LadySue | Sent: 12/30/2008 8:23 PM |
Thanks Dark! It has been quite a year when you look back on it that way!!!! |
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| LeRoi Moore, Aug. 19, age 46: Moore played saxophone in the Dave Matthews Band since the time he first met Matthews in Charlottesville, Va., in 1991. Though classically trained, Moore often said it was jazz and African rhythms that he was most drawn to, and those influences clearly shaped the DMB's signature sound. Moore was injured in an all-terrain vehicle accident at his farm in Virginia in June, and ultimately died from complications of his injuries. The silence has been haunting. Larry Harmon, July 3, age 83: Harmon was the comic genius who turned Bozo the Clown into a national franchise and phenomenon, playing the clown himself for more than 50 years. Though Harmon wasn't the first Bozo, he had the idea to license, or clone "BTC" (Bozo the Clown) to markets in different cities. In a 1996 interview, Harmon said of the appeal of the character, "Bozo is a combination of the wonderful wisdom of the adult and the childlike ways in all of us." And after his death, his wife of 29 years, Susan, said, "He was the most optimistic man I ever met. He always saw a bright side; he always had something good to say about everybody. He was the love of my life." Talk about leaving big shoes to fill. Yves Saint Laurent, June 1, age 71: The legendary fashion designer was one of the most influential couturiers of the 20th century, helping elevate Paris to the center of the fashion world and creating new classic shapes, including tuxedoes and sleek pantsuits for women, that remain stylish decades later. As a young man in the '50s, he apprenticed at the House of Dior, and when Christian Dior died suddenly in 1957, Saint Laurent was named head of the design house -- at the age of 21. Laurent once said that "fashion was not only supposed to make women beautiful, but to reassure them, to give them confidence, to allow them to come to terms with themselves." Et très, très belle -- n'est-ce pas? Suzanne Pleshette, Jan. 19, age 70: The sexy, husky-voiced Pleshette was half of TV's comic "dream team," paired with Bob Newhart as his wife on "The Bob Newhart Show" in the '70s, as the voice of reason amid the off-kilter characters on the show. She had struggled with lung cancer for years but remained active and close to her longtime co-stars. She met her future husband, Tom Poston, in the '50s, though didn't marry him until 40 years later. (Poston died in April 2007.) One of her last public appearances was in September 2007, when she appeared with the cast members of "The Bob Newhart Show" and, though frail, was looking happy and holding hands with Newhart. "He has been absolutely wonderful," Pleshette told USA Today of Newhart at the tribute. And so, we might say, was she. Allan Melvin, Jan. 17, age 84: The veteran character actor Melvin began his long TV career in the 1950s on "The Phil Silvers Show," and went on to play Archie Bunker's neighbor Barney on "All in the Family." He endeared himself to a new generation of TV fans when he played Sam the Butcher, Alice's gentleman friend, on "The Brady Bunch." Melvin also lent his vocal talents to cartoons, including being the voice of Magilla Gorilla, and Bluto on "Popeye." "I've enjoyed the stuff I've done," he told People magazine in 1996, "but the one you're getting paid for, that's what you enjoy most." Arthur C. Clarke, March 19, age 90: The visionary science fiction writer was born in England, though he lived in Sri Lanka from the 1950s onward, and died there. One of his early, influential short stories, 1951's "The Sentinel," grew into the idea for his and Stanley Kubrick's film masterwork, "2001: A Space Odyssey." He became interested in space during World War II, when the Royal Air Force worked on developing radar. He wrote extensively on the idea of communications satellites, but he never patented the idea, and in the '60s he wrote of the subject, "How I Lost a Billion Dollars in My Spare Time." He had been in declining health in recent years, but on his 90th birthday, last December, he released a videotape to his fans, saying that he still believed in intelligent life beyond Earth, and that he wished for peace in his troubled adopted homeland. Not all his masterpieces were long or serious; he wrote a 10-word story for Wired magazine: "God said, 'Cancel Program GENESIS.' The universe ceased to exist." Levi Stubbs (left), Oct. 18, age 72: As the lead singer of the wildly successful Four Tops, Stubbs was one of the true voices of Motown. Stubbs and his bandmates (only one of whom survives) were boyhood friends in Detroit, and signed with Motown Records in 1963. Their hits, shaped by Stubbs' fearless tenor, included "Baby I Need Your Loving." Throughout the years, the foursome remained grounded and close. "We were all born in the same neighborhood, and we really grew up together," Stubbs told The Washington Post in 1987. "So we've known each other all our lives, and we're still good friends." We'll miss Stubbs and those deep, affecting vocals -- we can't help ourselves. Beverly Garland, Dec. 5, age 82: Beverly Garland was a hardworking young actress who appeared in small roles in films in the '40s and early '50s. And then the miracle of TV happened, and Garland was there to help shape it, from its earliest days. She appeared in early series like "Lux Video Theatre" and "Schlitz Playhouse," and worked tirelessly over the decades, appearing in shows like "My Three Sons" (pictured), "The Mary Tyler Moore Show," "Lois & Clark," and "Friends." In what she called her "second career," Garland shot to stardom later in her life in "7th Heaven," and most significantly, the soap "Port Charles," the "General Hospital" spin-off. "Maybe I do come on strong," she once said, "and people sense in me a strength Harvey Korman, May 29, age 81: Korman was beloved as a longtime member of Carol Burnett's sketch comedy troupe on "The Carol Burnett Show" in the '60s and '70s, as well as for his fearless, shticky performance as Hedley Lamarr in Mel Brooks' "Blazing Saddles." Korman paired with Burnett memorably in send-ups of "Gone With the Wind," where he played an unctuously clueless Rhett Butler, and the soap "As the World Turns" (called "As the Stomach Turns"). Brooks paid the ultimate tribute to him, telling The Associated Press upon hearing of Korman's death, "A world without Harvey Korman �?it's a more serious world. It was very dangerous for me to work with him, because if our eyes met we'd crash to floor in comic ecstasy. It was comedy heaven to make Harvey Korman laugh." Maila Nurmi, Jan. 10, age 85: The Finnish-born Nurmi was best known as the campy cult character Vampira, host of Los Angeles' KABC late-night horror movie series, and as a camp actress in films like Ed Wood's "Plan 9 From Outer Space." She revived the character of Vampira in the '80s, and then sued the young actress who succeeded her as "Elvira," Cassandra Peterson. Nurmi also operated an art and curios boutique in Hollywood. Buddy Miles, Feb. 26, age 60: The legendary drummer helped form the backbeat of the 1960s, in bands like Mike Bloomfield's short-lived Electric Flag. In 1968, he began his seminal relationship with Jimi Hendrix, who produced the first album of Miles' own band, the Buddy Miles Express. Over the next several years, Miles would partner with Hendrix on both men's projects, including Hendrix's groundbreaking Band of Gypsies. Miles' other great working relationships over the years included Carlos Santana, Bootsy Collins and, later, Phish. He also contributed vocals to the '80s California Raisins commercial, singing "I Heard It Through the Grapevine." When interviewed by music publication Seconds in 1995, Miles said, "People say I'm the baddest drummer. If that's true, thank you, world." No, thank you, Buddy. Evelyn Keyes, July 4, age 91: One of the last surviving major cast members of "Gone With the Wind," Keyes, who played Scarlett's sister Suellen, was showbiz royalty, onscreen and off. She was married to George Vidor, John Huston, and band leader Artie Shaw, and had many other high-profile romances. She helped her longtime boyfriend Mike Todd finance "Around the World in 80 Days," but then Todd dumped her for Elizabeth Taylor. Later, Keyes was philosophical, saying in a 1977 interview, "Oh well, nothing lasts forever ... the good part was that I invested all my money in 'Around the World in 80 Days,' and that set me up for life." Keyes appeared in "The Al Jolson Story," "Here Comes Mr. Jordan" and a slew of B pictures, but she was most known and beloved for "Gone With the Wind," which was the inspiration behind her two memoirs, "Scarlett O'Hara's Younger Sister" and "I'll Think About It Tomorrow." For that, we thank you, Miss Suellen. Dick Martin (right), May 24, age 86: Dick Martin was best known for his role on the '60s smash TV hit "Rowan & Martin's Laugh-In," but in fact, he and sidekick Dan Rowan went back to the early '50s as a comedy radio duo. Martin also acted on TV, including stints on "The Dean Martin Show," which led to the 1968 debut of "Laugh-In," which changed prime-time TV forever, with its double entendres, political jabs and psychedelic nods to pop culture. The ensemble cast, including Goldie Hawn, Lily Tomlin, Jo Anne Worley and Arte Johnson, made the whole experience a "happening," as was this year's Emmy reunion of surviving cast members, in tribute to the passing of Rowan and Martin. Will we miss that rapid-fire comic sensation? You bet your sweet bippy. Jerry Reed, Aug. 31, age 71: Reed was a talented songwriter and sometime country performer, whose songs were covered by the likes of Brenda Lee ("That's All You Got to Do") and Elvis ("Guitar Man"). Reed also played guitar for Elvis, and dueted and played frequently over the years with good friend Chet Atkins. He launched his solo career with "Amos Moses" and followed that with more novelty tunes, among them "When You're Hot, You're Hot" and "She Got the Goldmine (I Got the Shaft)." He acted with good bud Burt Reynolds in the "Smokey and the Bandit" films and appeared as himself on "Alice." "Amos Moses" went on to be covered by Primus, and it appeared in the videogame "Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas." That Amos was a hell of a man. Jim McKay, June 7, age 86: It was an even wider world of sports, thanks to the genuine gifts of longtime ABC sportscaster Jim McKay. His memorable moments over the years included ebullient ones -- screaming at a final-second touchdown -- and somber, touching ones. Covering the 1972 Olympics in Munich, when several Israeli athletes were kidnapped by Palestinian terrorists, McKay appeared on camera to give an update on the athletes' condition, saying sadly and simply: "They're all gone." There were thousands of moments of joy, too, as there was no one better suited to relay "the thrill of victory ... and the agony of defeat." |
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| Eddy Arnold, May 8, age 89: The country crooner had a creamy delivery, irresistible to country and pop fans, on hits like "Make the World Go Away," "Tennessee Stud" and dozens more, starting in the late '40s. Country legend George Jones told The Associated Press, "When I was about 15 years old, all I ever sang was Eddy Arnold's stuff �?'Room Full of Roses,' 'I'm Throwing Rice'... It would be just about my whole show." Arnold's wife of 66 years had died several weeks earlier, and Arnold fell and died later of complications from the fall. But the world will always remember the voice that Dinah Shore once called "warm butter and syrup being poured over wonderful buttermilk pancakes." Boyd Coddington, Feb. 27, age 63: Coddington began his love affair with cars as a kid in Idaho and Utah, and started fiddling with rebuilding cars into hot rods by the time he was a teenager. He built his own custom-hot-rod empire over the years, and his custom cars were highly sought after. His infamous "CadzZZilla," a hopped-up 1950s Cadillac, was built for ZZ Top member Billy Gibbons. In recent years, he hosted the popular TV series " American Hot Rod," focusing single episodes on special makes like Corvettes and "woodies." Chopper star Jesse James once worked with Coddington, who told the AP in 2004 that, "The viewers of 'American Hot Rod' are ... people who lived in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, and loved these cars. Now they have money." And Coddington gave all car fans an experience beyond any price. Jeff Healey, March 2, age 41: Talented guitarist Jeff Healey was born in Toronto and lost his sight to a rare form of cancer. But that didn't stop his ambition, as he became a rock and jazz virtuoso, touring and playing with his own bands, including the Jazz Wizards, and the likes of George Harrison, Eric Clapton, Buddy Guy and B.B. King. The self-taught Healey played the guitar flat across his lap. Unfortunately, the sarcoma appeared in Healey's legs a few years ago, and he died in March after the disease spread to his lungs. In October, Healey's former drummer, Tom Stephen, released an unauthorized compilation CD and DVD, which was denounced by Healey's widow, Cristie, and other family members. But Healey's artistry will live on in future releases from his estate. It's tight like that Wayne "Frosty Freeze" Frost (middle), April 3, age 44: Imagine a world without break dancing -- highly possible had there not been a talented, flashy young man named Wayne Frost, who went by the name Frosty Freeze. With his Rock Steady Crew, Frost burst onto the pop culture scene in 1981 when The Village Voice first wrote about the trend of freestyle break dancing. His trademark move, "the suicide," actually came about, he admitted years later, when he muffed a backflip and landed on his back -- but the move was a huge crowd-pleaser. He created his biggest splash with Jennifer Beals in " Flashdance," and suddenly break dancing and hip-hop went mainstream. "Frosty was one of the most charismatic b-boys that was ever around," director Benson Lee told The New York Times earlier this year. Lee directed "Planet B-Boy," in which Mr. Frost appeared. "He had so much fun with it." And thanks to him, so did we. Nick Reynolds, Oct. 1, age 75: One of the original members of the Kingston Trio, Reynolds and his group were leaders in the pushing the folk revival of the '50s and early '60s into the mainstream, helping pave the way for the likes of Peter, Paul and Mary and influencing later acts like the Beach Boys and Crosby, Stills and Nash. Reynolds shaped the group's trademark creamy harmonies, and played guitar and percussion. The band dismantled and regrouped several times over the years, and Reynolds gamely rejoined, but he was also happy in semi-retirement ranching in Oregon. John Stewart, Jan. 19, age 68: Stewart, though not a founding member of the Kingston Trio, joined the band in 1961, replacing founder Dave Guard during the band's peak popularity. The trio recorded a dozen albums with Stewart as a member and toured tirelessly. But when they (first) disbanded, in 1967, Stewart pushed on as a solo musician, and as a writer, penning hits like "Daydream Believer" for the Monkees and songs for Joan Baez, Nanci Griffith and Rosanne Cash. He was also a prolific painter in his spare time. Bobby Murcer, July 12, age 62: The longtime baseball player and much-loved Yankees broadcaster died of brain cancer that was diagnosed a year ago. He was able to make appearances to promote his book, "Yankee for Life," in the spring, but suffered a relapse and died in July. Bud Selig, the baseball commissioner, said in a statement, "All of Major League Baseball is saddened today by the passing of Bobby Murcer, particularly on the eve of this historic All-Star game at Yankee Stadium, a place he called home for so many years. Bobby was a gentleman, a great ambassador for baseball, and a true leader both on and off the field." And that's the ballgame. Christian Brando, Jan. 26, age 49: The troubled son of Marlon Brando had a sporadic career in Hollywood, including a role in "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas!" in 1968, but he was more well-known for his legal problems. He pleaded guilty in 1990 to manslaughter for killing his sister Cheyenne's boyfriend, Dag Drollet, in Los Angeles. Brando spent five years in prison for the crime. (Cheyenne later committed suicide at age 25.) Brando was found guilty of domestic violence against his ex-wife Deborah Brando in 2005. He died of pneumonia and left no children. Van Johnson, Dec. 12, age 92: Johnson was an earnest, boy-next-door heartthrob in dozens of films in the '40s and '50s, including, memorably, "Brigadoon" and especially "The Caine Mutiny." He became a contract player for MGM thanks to the actions of his lifelong friend, Lucille Ball (on whose TV show Johnson would appear decades later). He also starred in "Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo" and "The White Cliffs of Dover," and memorably appeared in Woody Allen's 1985 film "The Purple Rose of Cairo" and toured in the stage version of "La Cage aux Folles." His one marriage, to the ex-wife of Keenan Wynn, was reportedly engineered by Louis B. Mayer as a "solution" to rumors about Johnson's sexuality. They subsequently divorced, and Johnson continued tirelessly performing and touring. "The white-haired ladies who come to matinees are the people who put me on top," he said in a 1992 interview in Michigan, where he was appearing. "I'm still grateful to them." And we David Foster Wallace, Sept. 12, age 46: The talented young writer, a contributor to Harper's magazine and author of the jaw-droppingly creative and immersive "Infinite Jest," hanged himself at his home in Pomona, Calif. His debut novel, in 1989, "The Broom of the System," became a cult favorite, and his collection of short stories, "The Girl With Curious Hair" (1989) gained him even more fans for his humor and sense of the absurd. "Wallace is to literature what Robin Williams or perhaps Jim Carrey is to live comedy," said a New York Times Magazine piece in 1996, "a creator so maniacally energetic and amused with himself that he often follows his riffs out into the stratosphere, where he orbits all alone." This year, he re-released his 2000 essay about presidential candidate John McCain, "McCain's Promise: Aboard the Straight Talk Express With John McCain and a Whole Bunch of Actual Reporters, Thinking About Hope." He taught writing at Pomona College, where he is mourned by his widow, Karen Green, and the many students he inspired. Stan Winston, June 15, age 62: It's safe to say that movie special effects would very likely not be quite so special were it not for the Oscar-winning Stan Winston, whose creations appeared in (and shaped) films for decades, including, memorably, the dinosaurs in "Jurassic Park," the critters in "Aliens," the "Terminator" robots, and the array of special effects in this year's blockbuster "Iron Man." Winston was also an accomplished makeup effects artist, and helped directors meld physical models with computer-generated effects. At a memorial service this summer, director Steven Spielberg, visibly moved, said, "What Stan did is that he took our dreams �?he took all of our dreams �?and he blended them with his own dreams. ... He would basically give life to all of our ideas. He would make them come to life." And for more than that, a movie fan would be hard-pressed to ask. Gary Gygax, March 4, age 69: Gary Gygax, one of the fathers of the modern role-playing game, co-created (with Dave Arneson) the groundbreaking "Dungeons & Dragons" back in 1974, after dabbling in writing other games and gaming groups in the '60s and early '70s. "D&D" became a cult hit, making Gygax extremely wealthy, but controversy would plague the game and its reputation, as some players became so consumed with the game that they disappeared or committed suicide. Gygax received so many death threats in the early '80s that he rarely went anywhere without a bodyguard. He continued to write gaming manuals, books and popular Web sites, and in 2005 released "Castles & Crusades," a return to the tabletop role-playing genre. "I would like the world to remember me as the guy who really enjoyed playing games," he told GameSpy magazine in 2004, "and sharing his knowledge and his fun pastimes with everybody else." House Peters Jr., Oct. 1, age 92: The son of silent-screen star House Peters Sr., Peters was a journeyman actor onstage and in character-actor roles in Westerns and action films, then worked regularly in TV in the '50s and '60s, with roles on "Perry Mason," "The Twilight Zone" and even "Lassie." But he is probably best known as the buff, and buffed-domed, Mr. Clean, in the television commercials for that cleaning product. From all accounts, he had a happy home life, married until his death to his wife of many decades, Lucy, and father to three children. After he retired from acting altogether, he went into real estate in the San Fernando Valley and wrote his autobiography, "Another Side of Hollywood." Tough on dirt, easier on you. Danny Federici, April 17, age 58: The longtime keyboardist for Bruce Springsteen's E Street Band died after battling melanoma for three years. He performed with Springsteen in March until his final hospitalization. The two had been friends since they were teens in coastal New Jersey, and Federici's piano, organ and accordion work helped shape Springsteen's rousing sound. "Danny and I worked together for 40 years," Springsteen said in a statement after his death. "He was the most wonderfully fluid keyboard player and a pure natural musician. I loved him very much." Mike Smith, Feb. 28, age 64: Smith was the true sound of the Dave Clark Five, as the band's lead vocalist (though drummer and founder Dave Clark was the official leader). Part of the British Invasion of the '60s, the DC5 cranked out a batch of catchy-as-all-get-out singles, featuring Smith's appealing vocals, including "Glad All Over," "Anyway You Want It" and "Bits and Pieces." After the band broke up in 1970, Clark prohibited Smith from mentioning the DC5, but Smith pursued a solo singing career, as well as a successful path as a producer and composer for commercials. He was injured in a fall in his home in 2003, which rendered him paralyzed from the waist down, and was treated for nearly four years. He died of pneumonia, a complication from the accident, but not before Bruce Springsteen, a longtime fan, dedicated "Born to Run" to Smith and his wife at a December 2007 concert that the Smiths were attending. We hope that made him glad all over. Tony Snow, July 12, age 53: Former White House press secretary Snow succumbed to his second battle with cancer this summer, a year after leaving the White House to join CNN as a conservative commentator. Snow also had worked for the administration of the first President Bush. "The Snow family has lost a beloved husband and father," said President George W. Bush in a statement. "And America has lost a devoted public servant and a man of character." |
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| Israel "Cachao" López, March 22, age 89: López, the pioneering Cuban bass player, was born in Havana and, according to Cuban-music historian Ned Sublette, was "arguably the most important bassist in 20th-century popular music," influencing and shaping American R&B rhythms, "which have become such a part of the environment that we don't even think where they came from." They came from the talented fingers and bass of López, who is also credited as "the inventor of mambo" and as a king of salsa music. Cuban-American actor Andy Garcia, who made a 1993 documentary about the musician, said after his death, "Maestro ... you have been my teacher and you took me in like a son. I will continue to rejoice with your music and carry our traditions wherever I go, in your honor." Play on. Robert Rauschenberg, May 13, age 82: Rauschenberg, one of the giants of American postmodern art, was celebrated for his use of everyday, quotidian objects in his larger-than-life creations. And his talents weren't limited to the canvas; he experimented with movement, dance and famously collaborated with Talking Heads for the group's 1984 album cover for "Speaking in Tongues," for which Rauschenberg won a Grammy. Critic Robert Hughes, in his book "American Visions," called Rauschenberg "a protean genius who showed America that all of life could be open to art. ... He had a bigness of soul and a richness of temperament that recalled Walt Whitman." Ollie Johnston, April 14, age 95: Johnston was the last survivor of Walt Disney's famed "Nine Old Men" -- men who in fact had been in their 30s and 40s when they became Disney's dream team of animators. Johnston joined Disney in 1935, and the first film he worked on was " Snow White." He went on to work on " Bambi," " Pinocchio" and " Fantasia." He was also a prolific author on books about animation, and was a lifelong train aficionado. Brad Bird, one of the many young animators influenced by Johnston and his technique, paid tribute to him with small cameos in both " The Iron Giant" and " The Incredibles." This summer, a packed gala celebration of Johnston's life and art was held at Hollywood's famed El Capitan Theatre. It's the end of the glorious, pre-computer era of animation -- but Johnston's famed works will live forever. John Phillip Law, May 13, age 70: The strikingly handsome Law never shot to superstardom, though his following was and is enormous among fans of '60s and '70s American film. Probably best known for his campy role in " Barbarella," Law also was memorable in films like " The Russians Are Coming, the Russians Are Coming" and " The Golden Voyage of Sinbad," and in " The Love Machine" opposite Dyan Cannon. He was multilingual and starred in nearly as many Italian films as American ones. He was cheerful about the arc of his career and grounded about what Hollywood was all about. As his character in "Barbarella" quipped, "An angel does not make love; an angel is love." William F. Buckley Jr., Feb. 27, age 82: Conservative author and commentator Buckley was the erudite face of the right wing, with an astounding body of work to his credit, including founding The National Review. He had a robust, happy life, from all appearance. "There's no 'Weltschmerz,' or any sadness that permeates my vision," he told The Associated Press in 2004. "There isn't anything I reasonably hoped for that wasn't achieved." Studs Terkel, Oct. 31, age 96: The Pulitzer Prize-winning author and champion of the working man died quietly at his home in his adopted hometown of Chicago. Terkel was a tireless author and was prolific even later in his life. He won the Pulitzer for 1985's "The Good War," about World War II, and also tackled subjects like the Depression, class, race, aging and death -- always grounded in his proletarian viewpoint. "A lot of people feel, 'What can I do, (it's) hopeless,'" Terkel told The Associated Press in 2003. "Well, through all these years there have been the people I'm talking about, whom we call activists ... who give us hope and through them we have hope." Earle Hagen, May 26, age 88: One of TV's most prolific theme song composers, Hagen not only wrote the impossibly catchy tune for " The Andy Griffith Show," he also whistled it himself on the show's soundtrack. Hagen also composed themes for shows like " The Mod Squad," " Gomer Pyle," " The Dick Van Dyke Show," and " I Spy," for which he won an Emmy. He also wrote a book on composing, as well as a deft memoir in 2000. Jerry Wexler, Aug. 15, age 91: Wexler was a music journalist who became a famed and powerful producer, and he coined the term "rhythm and blues." Over the years, he discovered or produced the likes of Aretha Franklin, Ray Charles, Dusty Springfield, Wilson Pickett and Led Zeppelin. He was a principal in Atlantic Records in the influential '60s, and in the mid-'70s left for Warner Bros. Records. Among the many groundbreaking recordings he produced was Bob Dylan's "Slow Train Coming," whose born-again Christian theme came as a shock to Wexler in the studio. Nonetheless, the album spawned a Grammy-winning single for Dylan and Wexler, "Gotta Serve Somebody." R&B great Solomon Burke told The Associated Press after learning of Wexler's death, "He loved black music, R&B music, and rhythm and blues was his foundation. He had a feeling for it; he had the knack to keep it going in his heart and recognize the talent that he felt was real. Jerry Wexler didn't change the sound of America, he put the sound to the public. He opened the doors and windows to the radio stations ... and made everybody listen." And for that, he will always have our R-E-S-P-E-C-T MC Breed, Nov. 22, age 37: MC Breed was one of the first successful rappers to come out of the Midwest, and his singles included "Ain't No Future in Yo Frontin'" and the collaboration with 2Pac, "Gotta Get Mine." Breed, born Eric Breed in Flint, Mich., also worked with artists like Too Short and Warren G. He continued to work up until his death, although his later years were troubled; he served a year behind bars for failure to provide child support, and suffered kidney failure late this fall. He died at the home of a friend in his sleep. But his work will live and rap on Paul Benedict, Dec. 1, age 70: A gifted character actor, Benedict was probably best known for his recurring role on " The Jeffersons," as the Brit neighbor Harry Bentley, but also worked steadily and memorably for several decades. On " Sesame Street," he was the Mad Painter, and appeared in several Christopher Guest films, including " Waiting for Guffman," as the person mistaken for Guffman. He also appeared on Broadway, and was a successful theater director, including productions of "Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune," and "The Kathy & Mo Show." The Los Angeles Times said in 1992 that Benedict's trademarks as a director were "intelligence, sympathy and warmth -- and of course, humor." We'll safely tuck the memories away in our " Remains of the Day" lunchbox. Rudy Ray Moore, Oct. 19, age 81: The pioneering musician, singer, actor, and filmmaker was probably best known for his pimp persona that would influence a generation of hip-hop artists. He starred in the low-budget 1975 cult hit " Dolemite," and its sequel " The Human Tornado," which, though critically panned, would have a defining influence on black pop culture, especially comedy and hip-hop, over the next several decades. "People think of black comedy and think of Eddie Murphy," the 2 Live Crew rapper Luther Campbell told the Miami Herald in 1997. "They don't realize [Moore] was the first, the biggest underground comedian of them all. I listened to him and patterned myself after him." Moore's own take? "These guys Steve Harvey and Cedric the Entertainer and Bernie Mac claim they're the Kings of Comedy," Moore told the Cleveland Plain Dealer in 2003. "They may be funny, but they ain't no kings. That title is reserved for Rudy Ray Moore and Redd Foxx. Larry Levine, May 18, age 80: If Phil Spector (right) was the uber-architect of the Wall of Sound, then Larry Levine was the head contractor. Levine, a Grammy-winning producer, worked with acts like the Crystals, the Ronettes, and the Righteous Brothers. His touch can be heard on hits including "Da Doo Ron Ron," "Be My Baby," and "Unchained Melody." His partnership with Spector started in the late '50s, and Levine's laid-back personality was a perfect counterpart to Spector's volatility. Later, Levine worked with the Beach Boys on "Pet Sounds" and with Herb Alpert; his work with Alpert on "A Taste of Honey" won Levine a Grammy. Sweet. Odetta, Dec. 2, age 77: The soulful voice of Odetta brought the folk revival of the late '50s and early '60s a deep bluesiness and authenticity that was one of the things Bob Dylan said drew him to folk music more than any other genre. Odetta was active in the civil rights movement of the '60s and carried her conscience though her tireless performing -- with her throaty, booming voice never weakening, even as gradual declining health kept her in a wheelchair in her last years. She was equally adept at channeling old slave spirituals, traditional Irish laments, and contemporary protest songs. One of her biggest hit albums was the 1965 "Odetta Sings Dylan," featuring stirring versions of "Don't Think Twice, It's All Right" and "The Times They Are A-Changin'." In 1999, President Clinton awarded her a National Medal of the Arts, saying that her life showed "us all that songs have the power to change the heart -- and change the world." Let it shine. Leonard Rosenman, March 4, age 83: Rosenman was a quiet journeyman of a Hollywood musician. He was friends with actor James Dean, who introduced him to director Elia Kazan, which resulted in his composing the score for " East of Eden," and then " Rebel Without a Cause," and many other films, such as " Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home." He won two Oscars, for original score for " Barry Lyndon" (1975) and for adapted score for " Bound for Glory" (1976), which was based on the music of Woody Guthrie. According to the Internet Movie Database, he once said, "I try to enter directly into the movie's plot and tell the audience something about the story that they can't possibly perceive by just watching the film. For example, if I write for a scene of two people kissing and I write some horrendous music, you know more than just a kiss is happening." Forrest J. Ackerman, Dec. 4, age 92: Ackerman is widely credited with coining the term "sci-fi," and throughout a long, colorful career gave great support to the genre. He was credited with discovering writer Ray Bradbury, and also founded the niche-y but wildly influential magazine Famous Monsters of Filmland. He became a literary agent, representing Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, and other influential science fiction writers, and was credited as an influence to many others, like Ray Harryhausen, L. Ron Hubbard and Ed Wood. He also famously amassed an enormous collection of valuable science fiction memorabilia in his Los Angeles home, and would often open his house to fans to show off pieces of his collection (much to the consternation of his beloved wife). He appeared in bit parts in science fiction films for decades, including Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video. He once said the term "sci-fi" came to him in the mid-'50s when he was listening to the radio and heard an announcer mention the word "hi-fi." "My dear wife said, 'Forget it, Forry,'" he recalled, "'it will never catch on.'" Happily for us all, she was wrong. Tony Hillerman, Oct. 26, age 83: Hillerman won generations of mystery fans with his books set on the Navajo reservation, and starring Navajo tribal policemen Jim Chee and Joe Leaphorn. His books, including "The Blessing Way," "Skinwalkers," and "Coyote Waits," are steeped in the legends and traditions of the Navajo, Hopi, Zuni, and Ute people. Hillerman was born in Oklahoma, and was a much-decorated World War II veteran who never strayed far from his beloved Southwest, living most of his life in Albuquerque. He was married for 60 years to his beloved wife, Marie, and they had six children. Early in his fiction writing career, he once said, a publisher rejected a manuscript, saying, "Your stories would be a lot more interesting if you'd take out all this American Indian stuff." His fans will be forever grateful he ignored that advice. Eartha Kitt, Dec. 25, age 81: The sultry, ever-elegant Kitt, who recorded the only known sexy Christmas carol, 1954's " Santa Baby," died, fittingly but sadly, on Christmas, after being treated for colon cancer. Kitt was a talented actress who was nominated for several Tonys, two Grammys, and three Emmys (of which she won two). In the '50s she sang and danced on Broadway and earned the attention of the glitterati; Orson Welles once called her "the most exciting woman in the world." She appeared in several movies, and is perhaps best remembered for her role as Catwoman on the TV series " Batman" in the '60s. She was fearless in her politics, and once lectured Lady Bird Johnson at a White House luncheon about the Vietnam War; after that for several years she largely performed overseas. She also wrote several books, including a fitness-lifestyle guide, "Rejuvenation! It's Never Too Late," featuring a sleek septuagenarian Kitt on the cover. Her later years won her generations of new fans, enthralled by her wit and talent and charm, not to mention a life well lived. C'est Si Bon! |
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