Category Archives: comedy

From Skip and Setter’s Creator: My Interview Hits Town

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Blog Sketch of Me 092213Hi, everyone! Just letting you know about an interview I did for James Curnow’s wonderful, cinema-oriented CURNBLOG with former Saturday Night Live writer Ferris Butler (yes, that Ferris Butler) and legendary songwriter Beverly Ross, she of “Lollipop” fame. Incidentally, Ferris and Beverly are also my uncle and aunt and were gracious enough to field my questions. If you’d like to read it, the interview (which covers everything from their careers in the entertainment industry to the story behind Ferris being the inspiration for Ferris Bueller’s Day Off) may be found on this CURNBLOG page:

http://curnblog.com/2014/01/28/interviewing-beverly-ross-ferris-butler-skits-films-rock-n-roll/

Enjoy!

Setter’s ‘Spectives: How Did I Avoid ‘The Fortune Cookie’ All These Years?

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613I must be remiss. Very remiss.

I hadn’t seen Billy Wilder’s The Fortune Cookie until a few days ago. Bad, bad me.

It was terrific. Not the greatest comedy ever made, but this witty farce, concerning an injured cameraman and his lawyer brother-in-law’s scheme to collect a fraudulent insurance windfall, was as smooth and quick on its feet as Walter Matthau’s sleazy attorney. I think I put off viewing it for so long because it was about insurance. Amazing how so dry a subject can make such froth.

I confess there are still a lot of fine films I haven’t seen. But I can now check this Cookie off my list. Thank goodness.

Skip’s Quips: Details on the ‘Interiors’ Doctrine

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Blog Sketch 082813These days, I refuse to see any Woody Allen movie made after 1975.

That’s right: I didn’t see Blue Jasmine. You know why? Because I already know I won’t like it.

Plus, Mia Farrow told me years ago that I have a “beautiful singing voice,” so I do kinda feel biased. But that’s another story.

The problem is, I just don’t care for any of Allen’s films with serious themes. Even Annie Hall; it just isn’t my favorite. The non-humorous dialogue and situations peppering his later pictures aren’t credible in my book. And I can’t help but wonder why he gravitated to such content after making some of the most hilarious films to hit the screen in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Those include Bananas, Sleeper, and Love and Death, laugh-a-minute jokefests that, to my mind, are of higher quality and greater import than anything he has made since. He’s a terrific comedian. Why does he seem to feel an all-comedy flick is beneath him?

I’ve remarked before on the phenomenon of great comic actors taking on serious roles in, perhaps, an effort to be recognized for more “significant” work. Yet I wonder sometimes about a theory I have: that great actors are often great comedians, yet great comedians aren’t always great actors. It is just a theory, but it has held true in many a case.

Don’t worry; I’m not gonna patent it or anything.

Woody’s not going to go back in time, I assume, and recreate the past. We’ll just have to live with his annual or semiannual churnout of lackluster, serious films dotted with big stars. And I will have to live with not going to see them. What price contentment, huh?

I’ll just put on Sleeper instead.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: To Like This Movie, You Must Be This Old

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613Another college story.

The setting: a lively freshman dorm. At the end of the hall, in a small, loungey area, sits a TV with a VCR (remember those?). Enter me, with a videotape, accompanied by another resident.

“What movie are you gonna watch?” asks the resident.

“The Producers,” I say. “Wanna join me?”

“Oh, no. That’s old humor.”

Exit resident, like tears … in the rain.

To this day, I repeat that phrase to myself: old humor. What does that mean? How old does humor have to be in order to be old? Does it get Social Security? And how do we know when new humor becomes old? It’s like that Groucho Marx routine in Duck Soup,  where the funnyman cancels out any discussion of “new business” seconds after it’s mentioned: “Too late, that’s old business already.”

Here’s my theory: There’s no such thing as old humor. Just good and bad. Many of the attitudes in The Producers are dated, but it’s still funny. And I’d rather see that any day over The Secret Life of Walter Mitty  (which, in its original short-story incarnation, ones-up The Producers in the age department, anyway).

Yes, of course, there’s taste, and it differs greatly when humor is involved. You may not like Mel Brooks’ comedies or Zero Mostel’s mugging. Yet to call something old humor seems to me just absurd. If something’s good, it stays that way. The years don’t make it worse.

For the record, I want to note that I’m not just about older comedies. One example: I liked Anchorman 2: The Legend Continues. Though, wait … is that old humor because it’s a sequel to an older film? Does it still count as new?

Ahhh … whatever.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Looking Anew at a Laurel and Hardy Classic

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613To me, watching March of the Wooden Soldiers is like opening a Christmas present.

It still offers surprises, no matter how many times you do it. The fact that it was on TV on Xmas Day, as usual, drove that point home. This year, I marveled at the elegance of Laurel and Hardy’s routines. I smiled at the charm of Victor Herbert’s lilting score. And I pondered the idea that those mean “bogeymen” invading Toyland at the end were racist caricatures.

Yep, I did just that. It basically ruined my naive memory of viewings past. But it also instilled an awareness that many of the pleasures we grew up on don’t always retain their innocent luster.

OK, you say, but this movie is totally silly. It’s just fantasy and isn’t political. It’s escapist. It’s Laurel and Hardy, for crying out loud!

It is, but I’m reminded of other “innocent” routines in otherwise sterling pictures, such as the big musical number in A Day at the Races, that have disturbing social connotations attached to their entertainment value. In March, the bogeymen are monstrous, cartoony, but also apelike in their movements, unintelligible and savage. Plus, they attack Toyland in masses, attempting to carry off the inhabitants while causing as much damage as possible.

Doesn’t that sound like the white establishment’s worst fear—that the race it has pressed down for so many centuries will invade and destroy it?

This isn’t a subtle message, yet I’m chagrined that it has taken me this long to understand it. Perhaps it’s because I’ve seen it so many times and, in the past, have only looked at it superficially. Now, however, I’m noticing the subtext, and although I still find the movie amusing, my joys are somewhat deflated. Like Races, it’s attained a mark that—though based in misconceptions of yore—serves as a strike against it. These ideas can’t be discounted, no matter how old they are or antiquated they seem.

That’s because they still appear on TV … every year, in the case of March. And they still have the capacity to be offensive.

If we examine all of our holiday traditions, I’m sure we’d all find concepts we disagree with. The hardest ones to explore, though, are the ones we’ve grown up accepting but don’t make sense once we revisit them with older eyes.

I’m feeling that way about March, though a present worth opening is also worth discussing. Perhaps we can continue to do that as the holidays amble by.

Skip’s Quips: Dusting Off the Snow for a Little de Broca

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Blog Sketch 082813It’s wintry days like these that make me want to watch movies such as That Man From Rio.

The tropically tinged Philippe de Broca film—a ludicrous and wonderfully affable 1964 romp through the titular city with Jean-Paul Belmondo, Françoise Dorléac and Adolfo Celi—is one of the most chipper movies ever to gild the silver screen … and also one of the most unsung. I’m not sure why de Broca has fallen by the public-estimation wayside; he was a master of light comedy, and That Man is one of his frothiest creations. It’s totally silly, with jewel thieves, egomaniacal archaeologists and other characters pursuing and/or being pursued by Belmondo’s carefree Adrien, who crosses the Atlantic in a mad chase to rescue his kidnapped girlfriend (Dorléac). Plus, there’s some sort of ancient statue that everyone’s after, because it’s the key to getting all of these riches or whatever.

Yeah, it’s a far cry from Breathless, isn’t it?

I’d recommend trying this flick on a day like today. It’s sunny, summery, full of bright music and craziness. And you’ve got the charming Belmondo and Dorléac careening through the picture. True, it’s fluff, but it’s so well done, you’ll remember it, along with vehicular color-and-design-combinations such as “pink with green stars.”

Oui, pink with green stars. That Man will explain all.

Setter’s ‘Spectives: Overused Plots, Unite!

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Setter Drawing for Blog 082613I can’t pretend to know what goes on during the movie-development process in Hollywood.

I do, however, know that the results often have a manufactured quality, as if churned out from a machine fed specific information about character, theme and plot needs.

Some of these plots are recognizable from film to film. I’ve listed a number of them below as being, in my humble opinion, among the most overused. This isn’t a comprehensive list, nor is it objective … though I’d like to think it is. Anyway, here are my cinematic gripes for the day:

Single/Divorced Dad With a Heart (and Soul) Finally Finds True Love: They never tell you why he’s single, though, do they? Maybe he eats other people’s nostrils. Or likes Jerry Lewis films.

Zombies Run Amok After Some Medical Experiment Goes Awry: The least interesting monster in any monster movie often gets the star treatment–probably because you don’t have to write lines for it.

Man/Woman on the Run Hides Out in a Dance Studio; Comedy Ensues: And, unfortunately, singing. More often than not, the singing’s worse.

Sensitive, Movie-Buff Hit Man Retires to Home Town, Then Discovers He Never Really Left: What a long, strange trip this usually is, especially when references to Lash LaRue start popping up.

Ordinary Guy Finds Out He’s “The One” to Save the World; Stupidity Ensues: Also boring, slow-motion fistfights and pseudo-martial arts mayhem. Yuck.

Seminal Ancient Battle Gets “Reimagined” for the Screen with Posturing and CGI Blood: At this juncture, the squibs of yore seem more realistic. Add macho yelling and stir.

Multiple Stories About Folks Around the World Intertwine Tediously: Please, please stay with fewer characters. Once you spin a web surrounding too many people, the movie loses focus.

Dance Team Saves the Town Via Dreadful Flash-Mob Theatrics and Cheap Sentimentality: Possibly the least credible plot device of any film in this bunch. And I’m including the zombie one.

Skip’s Quips: Paris, Je T’Aime … Uh, Most of the Time

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Blog Sketch 082813One of my fondest cinematic memories is seeing a line outside a Paris movie theater for a Marx Brothers flick.

The Marx Brothers. A line. For a film that was, at the time, at least 60 years old.

See why I love France so much?

OK, perhaps the infatuation with Jerry Lewis–one of the silver screen’s least funny performers–doesn’t make sense, though I have to admit liking his Gallic equivalent, Louis de Funès, quite a bit. (Watch The Mad Adventures of Rabbi Jacob and see if you agree.) Yet the truth is, there’s a film culture there that pervades the national fabric. Why? More than a century of cinematic prowess is one reason, but I think another is the notion that people just like movies there. Good movies. Old movies. And often new movies.

Many years ago, as I attempted to coordinate a showing of the original 1968 version of The Producers in my college dorm, a friend of mine pooh-poohed the idea, decrying the film’s “old humor.” True, not everyone shares those sentiments, but I wondered then–as I do now–why some feel nothing that’s been around more than 10 minutes has any value cinematically. Doesn’t quality last longer than novelty … at least, in most cases?

I’m not deluding myself: There’s no way every person in France likes the Marx Brothers or, for that matter, any old movie because of its age. Bad taste is everywhere–the admiration of les films de M. Lewis offers evidence of that–yet I think there’s a sensibility in France that suggests its inhabitants often understand what it takes to make a good movie … and why it should be valued regardless of the years behind it. Again, I’m not sure why this is, and I’m not saying one country’s better than another.

But when I summon up remembrance of movies past, I think of the line outside that French theater to see a Marx Brothers comedy. And I can’t help but find a love in my heart for Paree.

 

Setter’s ‘Spective: The Madness of Undervaluing Comedy

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Are there any great comedians left who haven’t turned to drama?

I ask this question sometime after grumbling my way through Hyde Park on Hudson, director Roger Michell’s innocuous 2012 film starring Bill Murray as the womanizing Franklin D. Roosevelt. I couldn’t believe Murray, the wonderfully dry, talented jokester whose it-just-doesn’t-matter attitude enlivened flicks such as Ghostbusters and Meatballs, was playing it so straight–and dull–as the inimitable wartime President. This was what I was watching Murray for?

Sadly, he’s not alone when it comes to actors in his trade, nor is he a pacesetter in gravitating toward drama. Charlie Chaplin, Woody Allen, Robin Williams and even Jim Carrey have all starred in dramatic pictures that didn’t take full advantage of their laughtastic talents. And I lament that, because it’s as if they’re discarding their specialties–the stuff that humorous dreams are made of–for something they’re not as good at, seemingly in the hopes that they’ll be recognized for their serious efforts more than their silly ones.

Yeah, watch Chaplin’s Limelight, and tell me it’s more enjoyable than Modern Times. I dare ya.

The truth is, great comedy’s just as respectable as great drama–and the idea that it’s not as important is nonsense. Look at Mozart’s The Marriage of Figaro: the pinnacle of comedic (or, frankly, any) opera. I’d listen to that any day over Nixon in China. And would any of us really opt for Paul McCartney’s Liverpool Oratorio over any classic Beatles song? There’s nothing lowbrow about great art…even if it’s a popular form.

Not that I’m imploring Allen to go back to making wild movies like Bananas. His style has evolved, like so many other comics, and I don’t think that can change. But I thank my lucky Hollywood stars that Laurel and Hardy didn’t make Antony and Cleopatra. Or that the Marx Brothers made fun of Eugene O’Neill’s plays rather than put them on.

If that isn’t worthy of respect, I don’t know what is.

Skip’s Quips: The (Rarely Filmed) Play’s the Thing

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Once upon a time, I was excited that Julie Taymor came out with a film version of Shakespeare’s gore-o-thon Titus Andronicus.

It wasn’t because it’s a good play. In fact, it’s kinda lousy–possibly Will’s worst: a mix of cheap thrills and cardboard characters. I think we can safely say he did a lot better later in his career.

No…the reason I was excited is that you hardly ever see Titus Andronicus staged, let alone put on the silver screen. And that brings me to a question: Why do we keep getting deluged with movie versions of the same old plays—Much Ado About Nothing comes to mind immediately–when there are numerous other, less-frequently filmed Shake Specials that are as good or better waiting to be made into movies?

I mean, where the heck is the latest cinema spectacular of The Winter’s Tale, hm? Or The Comedy of Errors? Let’s freshen the stew a bit, can’t we?

Not that I don’t dig Much Ado…though I have to confess Joss Whedon’s foray into this frothy comedy is a dish I love not. But do we really need two cinema versions of the same play within a span of 20 years–especially when the Kenneth Branagh iteration, despite some awkward casting choices, provided the definitive Beatrice and Benedick?

Guess I should sigh no more–we’ll always sway toward the well received, and there’s no doubt both Hamlet, Macbeth and the like fit the bill. Still, who’s to say there wouldn’t be an audience for a new film of The Taming of the Shrew? My feeling is, we should take advantage of Mr. Shakespeare’s infinite variety. I say: Give me excess of it.