The beauty of romaine lettuce, seaweed, and blueberries. Simple delight at the end of a strange day.
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Terror of the Lost Child
For these things I weep; my eye, yea my eye, sheds tears, for the comforter to restore my soul is removed from me; my children are desolate, for the enemy has prevailed. Eichah—Lamentations, 16
“Leiby Kletzy vanished early Monday evening while walking home from a Borough Park day camp alone for the first time.”
The depth of the sorrow of the Lamentations of the prophet Jeremiah cannot begin to express the agony of a young child who is lost. And when that lost child wanders unprotected into evil and is murdered, humanity is stunned into disbelief. I found myself weeping watching the international news in my Sintra, Portugal hotel room. Then if Leiby crossed my mind unawares I found my eyes welling up in restaurants, in rehearsal, on a palace tour, anywhere, because I was a lost child once. Just like Leiby, I got lost walking home from a neighborhood day camp by myself for the first time, when I was 5. It’s one of the most vivid and terrifying experiences of my life.
Lost in Your Own, Safe Neighborhood
We lived just under a ½ mile from East Lake Elementary School, which meant I got a bus to kindergarten but would have to walk to and from school from first grade on.
The summer between kindergarten and first grade I went to day camp at the school, so that’s when I first started walking the ½ mile path. But I never walked alone. My older brother was going to the day camp too, and an older neighbor. My brother walked with me in the morning, and the neighbor walked me home at midday. The 5-year olds only stayed for the morning session.
One day we had a bus trip that got back at 2:00 pm, after the morning break and before the 5:00 end of the afternoon session. This detail had fallen through the cracks. There was no one to meet me at 2, and no one to walk home with. My mother thought the bus was getting back at 5:00, so she wasn’t concerned when I didn’t get home at noon.
The speed with which everyone dispersed after getting off the bus was something right out of a movie. In a matter of moments I was standing literally all alone at the wire gated entrance to the kindergarten rooms. I did understand that my big kid neighbor was already gone. I thought I might be able to find my brother, so I started walking further onto the school grounds, around the whole building. Over by the parking lot I turned a corner and saw teenagers sitting along the school wall, smoking. I think there were 2 girls and 3 boys.
I knew this wasn’t good. At 5 I was pretty small, and I remember feeling particularly small near them. I wanted to turn back but was afraid that doing that would provoke them to come after me. So I started to walk on past them and they started harassing me, asking me if I had any cigarettes, or any money. I kept walking. One of the boys got up and stood in front of me and said “all we have is this apple with a thumb tack in it.” I remember that apple as though I saw it yesterday. One of the girls said,” leave her alone” and he stepped aside and I kept walking, unharmed but rattled. I forgot about trying to find my brother.
East Lake is a big, sprawling school, and I finally got back to where I had started, the main gate. Still there was no one in sight. I started in the direction I thought was toward home. This part of Massapequa is pretty much a grid, but since we were nearly ½ mile away there were quite a few turns to get from the school to home, and everything was looking the same. I got to the corner of the school property, and had three choices. I knew turning right was wrong, but I just didn’t know between continuing straight on (East Lake Avenue) or turning left (onto Connecticut Avenue).
I stood there for what felt like an eternity. I had a feeling I should turn left (which was in fact correct), but that was a short block, and I would have to make another left/right decision again. I was afraid to cross the street at all, I hadn’t done it by myself yet. When you grow up in suburbia you are told from day one not to cross the street without holding someone’s hand.
Straight ahead, but far in the distance, I saw the railroad tracks. I knew that whenever Daddy drove us back from anywhere we ended up driving alongside of them. So I thought if I walked all the way down there, I could walk along side them, and get home. And so I continued straight on.
The houses started to feel quietly menacing, and as I got further away from the school panic started to overtake me. Maybe the train tracks weren’t right. They were pretty far away. As the panic grew I got more and more confused. I walked a half block toward the tracks, then turned around and walked back toward the school. As I walked away from the tracks I felt, no, that’s the only way home, and turned back toward them. At some point I started running, back and forth in this strange path that I couldn’t get further either way.
Then on one of the laps toward the tracks I tripped on the broken sidewalk and fell, really hard. I scrapped open my right knee and shin. Now I’m sitting on the sidewalk, bleeding, crying and crying. The panic is overwhelming and I can’t think at all but I get up, because I’ve got to try to get home. I’m so afraid of just being left there.
I start toward the tracks again, barely able to see through the tears, when suddenly, a little boy is running toward me, with his mother behind him. It’s Arthur Parker, a boy from my kindergarten class. He’s telling his mother, “It’s her, it’s her, she’s in my class.” The look on his face was extraordinary: so much concern, and a little bit of super hero! He really was saving me.
Their house was a little further down toward the tracks. I remember the kitchen so well, where Mrs. Parker cleaned the bleeding leg and gently talked to me. She asked me where I lived, but I wasn’t sure of my address. Thank goodness I knew my telephone number, and she called my mother.
I sat on that kitchen chair, stunned, whimpering. Arty’s sister came in and gave me some plastic bracelets. He stayed by me, still puffed up from his savior role.
Then my mother walked in the door, and my whole world was given back to me.
My heart keeps aching when I think of Leiby getting confused by the streets of his own neighborhood. He had even practiced the route with his parents, but I understand how that wasn't enough.
(Google Earth takes me back to the very streets that confused me. They haven't changed much at all.)
“Leiby Kletzy vanished early Monday evening while walking home from a Borough Park day camp alone for the first time.”
The depth of the sorrow of the Lamentations of the prophet Jeremiah cannot begin to express the agony of a young child who is lost. And when that lost child wanders unprotected into evil and is murdered, humanity is stunned into disbelief. I found myself weeping watching the international news in my Sintra, Portugal hotel room. Then if Leiby crossed my mind unawares I found my eyes welling up in restaurants, in rehearsal, on a palace tour, anywhere, because I was a lost child once. Just like Leiby, I got lost walking home from a neighborhood day camp by myself for the first time, when I was 5. It’s one of the most vivid and terrifying experiences of my life.
Lost in Your Own, Safe Neighborhood
We lived just under a ½ mile from East Lake Elementary School, which meant I got a bus to kindergarten but would have to walk to and from school from first grade on.
The summer between kindergarten and first grade I went to day camp at the school, so that’s when I first started walking the ½ mile path. But I never walked alone. My older brother was going to the day camp too, and an older neighbor. My brother walked with me in the morning, and the neighbor walked me home at midday. The 5-year olds only stayed for the morning session.
One day we had a bus trip that got back at 2:00 pm, after the morning break and before the 5:00 end of the afternoon session. This detail had fallen through the cracks. There was no one to meet me at 2, and no one to walk home with. My mother thought the bus was getting back at 5:00, so she wasn’t concerned when I didn’t get home at noon. The speed with which everyone dispersed after getting off the bus was something right out of a movie. In a matter of moments I was standing literally all alone at the wire gated entrance to the kindergarten rooms. I did understand that my big kid neighbor was already gone. I thought I might be able to find my brother, so I started walking further onto the school grounds, around the whole building. Over by the parking lot I turned a corner and saw teenagers sitting along the school wall, smoking. I think there were 2 girls and 3 boys.
I knew this wasn’t good. At 5 I was pretty small, and I remember feeling particularly small near them. I wanted to turn back but was afraid that doing that would provoke them to come after me. So I started to walk on past them and they started harassing me, asking me if I had any cigarettes, or any money. I kept walking. One of the boys got up and stood in front of me and said “all we have is this apple with a thumb tack in it.” I remember that apple as though I saw it yesterday. One of the girls said,” leave her alone” and he stepped aside and I kept walking, unharmed but rattled. I forgot about trying to find my brother.
East Lake is a big, sprawling school, and I finally got back to where I had started, the main gate. Still there was no one in sight. I started in the direction I thought was toward home. This part of Massapequa is pretty much a grid, but since we were nearly ½ mile away there were quite a few turns to get from the school to home, and everything was looking the same. I got to the corner of the school property, and had three choices. I knew turning right was wrong, but I just didn’t know between continuing straight on (East Lake Avenue) or turning left (onto Connecticut Avenue). I stood there for what felt like an eternity. I had a feeling I should turn left (which was in fact correct), but that was a short block, and I would have to make another left/right decision again. I was afraid to cross the street at all, I hadn’t done it by myself yet. When you grow up in suburbia you are told from day one not to cross the street without holding someone’s hand.
Straight ahead, but far in the distance, I saw the railroad tracks. I knew that whenever Daddy drove us back from anywhere we ended up driving alongside of them. So I thought if I walked all the way down there, I could walk along side them, and get home. And so I continued straight on.
The houses started to feel quietly menacing, and as I got further away from the school panic started to overtake me. Maybe the train tracks weren’t right. They were pretty far away. As the panic grew I got more and more confused. I walked a half block toward the tracks, then turned around and walked back toward the school. As I walked away from the tracks I felt, no, that’s the only way home, and turned back toward them. At some point I started running, back and forth in this strange path that I couldn’t get further either way. Then on one of the laps toward the tracks I tripped on the broken sidewalk and fell, really hard. I scrapped open my right knee and shin. Now I’m sitting on the sidewalk, bleeding, crying and crying. The panic is overwhelming and I can’t think at all but I get up, because I’ve got to try to get home. I’m so afraid of just being left there.
I start toward the tracks again, barely able to see through the tears, when suddenly, a little boy is running toward me, with his mother behind him. It’s Arthur Parker, a boy from my kindergarten class. He’s telling his mother, “It’s her, it’s her, she’s in my class.” The look on his face was extraordinary: so much concern, and a little bit of super hero! He really was saving me.
Their house was a little further down toward the tracks. I remember the kitchen so well, where Mrs. Parker cleaned the bleeding leg and gently talked to me. She asked me where I lived, but I wasn’t sure of my address. Thank goodness I knew my telephone number, and she called my mother.
I sat on that kitchen chair, stunned, whimpering. Arty’s sister came in and gave me some plastic bracelets. He stayed by me, still puffed up from his savior role.
Then my mother walked in the door, and my whole world was given back to me.
My heart keeps aching when I think of Leiby getting confused by the streets of his own neighborhood. He had even practiced the route with his parents, but I understand how that wasn't enough.
(Google Earth takes me back to the very streets that confused me. They haven't changed much at all.)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Quick Visit to 2007
Easing in to post-vacation blogging to find Tim Footman waxing nostalgic over at Cultural Snow for 2007, “when Amy Winehouse was always in the News of the World and we bloggers used to exchange memes.” (Side note: Ex-Yankee Hideki Irabu’s suicide did not make the international news.)
And so Tim offers a new film meme that he picked up.
Speaking of the convention, am I the last person to notice the Me-Me of meme? C'est la vie. (Kind of like Dr. Neil Tyson tweeting the other day, is he the last person to know that Torchwood is an anagram of Doctor Who.)
1. Movie you love with a passion.
Lawrence of Arabia. Lean produced an excellent visualization of T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, capturing its scope and romanticism beautifully.
2. Movie you vow to never watch.
Monty Python’s Life of Brian. My father asked me not to see it. He didn’t ask much of me, so it was easy to comply. Then he died. Made it even easier to uphold the promise.
3. Movie that literally left you speechless.
Born Free. I saw it when I was very young, when it was first shown on TV. Maybe 1970? I cried and cried and couldn’t speak.
4. Movie you always recommend.
Richard Lester’s The Three Musketeers (and Four Musketeers). You don’t have to be a Dumas fan to love Oliver Reed (Athos) Frank Finlay (Porthos) Richard Chamberlaine (Aramis) Michael York (D’Artagnan) Charleton Heston (Richelieu) and Faye Dunaway as Milady.
5. Actor/actress you always watch, no matter how crappy the movie.
Jeremy Brett. I stayed up to 4:00 am one night many years ago with the BFF watching Secret of Gull Island because Brett was in it.
6. Actor/actress you don’t get the appeal for.
Roger Moore’s James Bond
7. Actor/actress, living or dead, you’d love to meet.
Laurence Olivier. Egotist of the highest order, but he had a distinctive intellect about acting.
8. Sexiest actor/actress you’ve seen (with picture). Yes, both of them.
9. Dream cast.
Casablanca. Each part is exquisitely portrayed.
10. Favorite actor pairing.
Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. Notorious is the sexiest movie ever.
12. Favorite decade for movies
The 1930s. The white satin dressing gowns alone clench it.
13. Chick flick or action movie?
Chick flicks. Although my guilty pleasure film is 1994’s action flick The Specialist, with Stallone, James Woods, Sharon Stone, and Rod Steiger. There’s a lot of heat there and I love the plot.
14. Hero, villain or anti-hero?
All three: Severus Snape (Probably will change once HP&TDH part 2 fades from memory).
15. Black and white or color?
Black and white. The rough edges of life are so much softer and more beautiful in monochrome.
16. Favorite movie setting?
The French Riviera, To Catch a Thief.
And so Tim offers a new film meme that he picked up.
Speaking of the convention, am I the last person to notice the Me-Me of meme? C'est la vie. (Kind of like Dr. Neil Tyson tweeting the other day, is he the last person to know that Torchwood is an anagram of Doctor Who.)
1. Movie you love with a passion.
Lawrence of Arabia. Lean produced an excellent visualization of T.E. Lawrence’s Seven Pillars of Wisdom, capturing its scope and romanticism beautifully.
2. Movie you vow to never watch.
Monty Python’s Life of Brian. My father asked me not to see it. He didn’t ask much of me, so it was easy to comply. Then he died. Made it even easier to uphold the promise.
3. Movie that literally left you speechless.
Born Free. I saw it when I was very young, when it was first shown on TV. Maybe 1970? I cried and cried and couldn’t speak.
4. Movie you always recommend.
Richard Lester’s The Three Musketeers (and Four Musketeers). You don’t have to be a Dumas fan to love Oliver Reed (Athos) Frank Finlay (Porthos) Richard Chamberlaine (Aramis) Michael York (D’Artagnan) Charleton Heston (Richelieu) and Faye Dunaway as Milady.
5. Actor/actress you always watch, no matter how crappy the movie.
Jeremy Brett. I stayed up to 4:00 am one night many years ago with the BFF watching Secret of Gull Island because Brett was in it.
6. Actor/actress you don’t get the appeal for.
Roger Moore’s James Bond
7. Actor/actress, living or dead, you’d love to meet.
Laurence Olivier. Egotist of the highest order, but he had a distinctive intellect about acting.
8. Sexiest actor/actress you’ve seen (with picture). Yes, both of them.
9. Dream cast.
Casablanca. Each part is exquisitely portrayed.
10. Favorite actor pairing.
Cary Grant and Ingrid Bergman. Notorious is the sexiest movie ever.
12. Favorite decade for movies
The 1930s. The white satin dressing gowns alone clench it.
13. Chick flick or action movie?
Chick flicks. Although my guilty pleasure film is 1994’s action flick The Specialist, with Stallone, James Woods, Sharon Stone, and Rod Steiger. There’s a lot of heat there and I love the plot.
14. Hero, villain or anti-hero?
All three: Severus Snape (Probably will change once HP&TDH part 2 fades from memory).
15. Black and white or color?
Black and white. The rough edges of life are so much softer and more beautiful in monochrome.
16. Favorite movie setting?
The French Riviera, To Catch a Thief.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Travelogue: Portugal
Mr. Peel reminded me of an earlier trip to Portugal. Part of the country's enormous appeal are the helpful Brits who materialize to get you out of the most difficult situations.
Hoping that will still be the case this time around. Next stop: Sintra.
I'll be tweeting the new adventures, none of which will include pulling a Norman Maine. Please stay in touch with me there.
(Opening sequence from On Her Majesty's Secret Service, which begins with James Bond and Tracy in Portugal)
Hoping that will still be the case this time around. Next stop: Sintra.
I'll be tweeting the new adventures, none of which will include pulling a Norman Maine. Please stay in touch with me there.
(Opening sequence from On Her Majesty's Secret Service, which begins with James Bond and Tracy in Portugal)
Sunday, July 10, 2011
My Prep for Portugal Meets Torchwood: Miracle Day
I don’t get summer hours in real life. 6:00 pm on a Friday usually finds me still in the thick of things. So I am giving myself some time off on blogging. I’m also doing some traveling, which takes time beforehand to organize and time when you’re back to rest up from your vacation.
Next weekend is a short stay in Boston for an old friend’s birthday party. I wonder if the city has a Leverage walking tour yet! I am still a fan. As fate would have it I’m staying in a hotel that used to be police headquarters.
And the following weekend I go to Portugal, specifically to Sintra for another international chorale workshop conducted by Ghislaine Morgan, who also directed the one I went to last summer in Casole d’Elsa, Tuscany. One thread of my life seems to be woven into the time-honored tradition of British heliotropic travel to places of the sun.
Sintra is a UNESCO World Heritage city, the former retreat for Portuguese royalty. Lord Byron stopped there and wrote to Francis Hodgson in 1809: "I must just observe that the village of Cintra in Estremadura is the most beautiful in the world." He liked it so much he threw it into the olio that is Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage.The city has layers upon layers of conquering rulers: Roman administers, the Moors, the Reconquista by King Alfonso Henriques in 1147, the Knights Templar, and finally the crown heads of the country, when the Royal Palace was built in the 15th and 16th centuries. It sits within lush hills that drop to the sea, and the cacophony of cultures that have dominated it has left it with a mystical aura. This site about Lisbon has some great information about the city: “The Romans made it a place of cult moon worshiping and named it "Cynthia" after the goddess of the moon.”
I was in Portugal 9 years ago, in Lisbon and Coimbra as part of a singing tour with the Davidson Singers. I was deeply struck by this land of fado and Sebastanism, and I’m happy to be going back.
I was looking to load up the old Kindle with books for the trip so I was poking around Amazon when I learned of Jose Saramago, Portugal’s Nobel prize winning writer who died only last year.
I downloaded a collection of his novels: Baltasar and Blimunda, The Gospel According to Jesus Christ, Blindness, and Death with Interruptions. Here is the gloss for that last one: it centers around the moral, religious, and practical implications when at the stroke of midnight on Jan. 1, people stop dying.
That’s the very same premise of Torchwood: Miracle Day. What a surprise. What a strange way to stumble onto this connection. (Then I Googled the 2 together, and a few people in comments on articles pointed out the similarity, but I didn’t see it in any article). I’ll have to see for myself how close they really are.But I bet there is much the Portuguese are quietly ahead of us on.
Friday, July 1, 2011
TV and the USA: Born Just 3 Days (& 165 Years) Apart
Monday of course is the 235th year from the date we chose, in the course of human events, as our birthday amidst all the milestones that marked our breaking from England by a “Declaration of Independence.”
And today, July 1, is the 70th birthday of commercial television in the US. It’s not something I had thought about, that TV would have a specific start date. It does because July 1, 1941, is the day that the FCC licenses to the fledgling experimental TV stations to legally run a commercial to sell you something first went into effect.
Ron Simon, a colleague of mine at The Paley Center for Media, decided this was the year to call attention to this TV birthday, and put together some great articles and tidbits about the day. To herald the day the whole curatorial department put together 70 interesting TV Facts that we have been counting down. I recommend looking at it all: the main page, the tidbit page, Ron’s blog about his research, and the 70 fun facts that were the lead-in countdown.
My Favorite TV Birthday Tidbits
•This quote from a New York Times editorial from the week in 1941:
“The problem with television is that people must sit and keep their eyes glued to the screen; the average American family hasn’t time for it.”
That was certainly true in 1941 when people still got coal and ice deliveries, even in cities. It was the spate to time-saving devices after the war that gave people more disposible free time. And for many, some of that time is given to TV watching.
•The NYTimes full-page radio listing has a tiny box for the Television schedule. Both WNBT and WCBW actually scheduled the test pattern! For WNBT it was at 1:30 to 2:30 PM AND 8 to 9 PM. •Ray Forrest, sometimes considered TV’s first personality, was an on-air TV announcer, like the radio announcers, who appeared between shows to tell you what’s coming up.
He appears after Truth of Consequences on WNBT to say: And that almost concludes our first first evening of commercial television operation.” It’s "almost" because there is still the Star-Spangled Banner to play. After which he comes back in: “This is WNBT, New York’s pioneer television station. Owned and operated by the National Broadcasting Company. With studios and executive offices in the RCA Building, 30 Rockefeller Plaza, New York City. . . . we are now signing off until 2:30 pm tomorrow. . . Now on behalf of the entire television department, this is Ray Forrest wishing you all, Good Night.”
TV: The Quintessential American Art Form
I know that distinction is usually given to jazz, but TV holds its own as an art form: Salman Rushdie is writing a series for Showtime with “the belief that quality TV drama has taken over from film and is comparable to the novel as the best way of widely communicating ideas and stories.” Great programming that is watched around the world is a signature of American creativity and imagination.
I like to think that the same restless, creative spirit that led to the founding of this country led to the development of television as an artful medium. They both have taken beatings over the years, but the country and its “other” national pastime always have more to offer, and at their best, help us all with our “Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.”
Sunday, June 26, 2011
"The apparel oft proclaims the man": Peter Falk Meets Polonious
"I’d like to thank Frank for the coat I wore in Pocketful of Miracles. He got me this terrific coat, and he gave me a lot of good business to go with it.
He taught me a valuable lesson: get yourself a good coat. The acting is secondary. Years later I was offered another part and I remembered Frank Capra and I went out and got myself a good coat. I added a cigar, and I’ve been eating pretty good ever since."
Peter Falk at the AFI Life Achievement Aware: A Tribute to Frank Capra, 1982
TV fans mourned the loss of Peter Falk this weekend. I liked his film work, particularly Pocketful of Miracles (which he absolutely walked away with) and Wings of Desire. But it was his gift of the character Lt. Columbo that brought him into the lives of several generations of TV fans and set a standard for the TV mystery that hasn’t been surpassed.
Columbo was part of the NBC Mystery Movie on Sunday nights in the 1970s, and it was syndicated on late Saturday afternoons for much of the 1980s. That’s when it became a cherished weekend ritual for me every week. That's when I saw the original episodes so many times that I can play "I can name that episode in 5 seconds." The stories which TV Guide dubbed “howchatchem” rather than “whodunit” were interesting and well written, but it was the cavalcade of film and theater stars working on the small screen that was the biggest thrill.
I remember in frightening detail the plots and much of the dialogue from many, many episodes. For instance, the One Where:
Ruth Gordon, a mystery writer, kills her niece’s husband because he killed the niece.
Ida Lupino is an “Aimee Semple McPherson” evangelist type, and her husband Johnny Cash murders her to get away from her blackmailing him.
Ricardo Montalban is a matador who murders his assistant’s son to protect his reputation.
Janet Leigh wants to make a comeback with John Payne and has to kill her husband Sam Jaffe to do it
John Cassavetes as a “Leonard Bernstein” type kills his lover when she threatens to tell his socialite wife Blythe Danner and rich mother-in-law Myrna Loy
Richard Basehart and Honor Blackman accidentally murder their theater producer John Williams (that one turns on a pearl that drops inside an umbrella that is then given to Madame Tussaud’s)
Louis Jourdan murders a restaurant owner he’s been extorting money from
Roddy McDowell murders his aunt Ida Lupino’s husband James Gregory to take over the business
Celeste Holmes is the older sister of Joyce Van Patten who kills their brother who was going to sell their family museum
Ray Milland is an orchard grower who murders his nephew to break an iron-clad trust fund
And so many more from the original seven seasons.
When TV Was the Lesser Screen
Don’t forget that in the 1970s it was a very big deal for movie stars to act on television. They generally considered it beneath them. (This was also the era when it was chic to say “I don’t watch television.”) But part of the very texture of the series is the sheer acting chops on the screen. It’s obvious how comfortable Peter Falk is with these guest villains, who may have done the show because of Falk’s own New York stage acting and Hollywood bona fides. It’s a formula that would sadly devolve into a parody of itself later in the decade when Aaron Spelling got his hands on it for The Love Boat and Fantasy Island.
The Dream Team on Columbo
Peter Falk hid the strength of Columbo’s intellect under the rumpled coat and the unflappable politeness. The “oh, just one more thing” was beaten into the ground, but Falk’s performance had much more to it than that. The character is in LA, and he's not given a back story, but there's still an aura that beneath the wrinkles is an Italian mensch from Brooklyn with real street smarts to go along with the high IQ. In the few times his character wore a tuxedo for a formal function (“Forgotten Lady,” “A Case of Immunity,” and "Murder Under Glass") the handsome side of the actor came through.
On the creative side Falk was surrounded by established and up & coming writing and directing royalty of varying magnitude: Steven Spielberg, Ben Gazarra, Norman Lloyd, Sam Wanamaker, Jonathan Demme, and Nicholas Colasanto (Coach from Cheers!) all directed. Steve Bochco, Steven J. Cannell, and Dean Hargrove wrote along with Levinson & Link. That’s a lot of talent coming together.
The original series ran from 1971 to 1978. It did not have a “series finale.” The final episode on May 13, 1978 was “The Conspirators” where Columbo tracks an IRA gun runner (and I learned that Sinn Fein means “Alone Together,” one of the important clues of the episode). Falk brought the character back in 1989 for two seasons and a bunch of special episodes, with the last appearance of the character on January 30. 2003. I never got close to those shows.
More from Falk’s tribute to Capra:
“[Pocketful of Miracles] was my first Hollywood picture. I went to see Mr. Capra and said, “Mr. Capra, This is a comedy. And I think you ought to know that I’m not funny.
He said, what do you mean? I said, 'I’m a New York actor, I’m a serious actor.'
He started to chuckle and says, ‘Don’t worry Peter. You’re gonna be all right. Look at it this way. Maybe no one else will be funny, and you’ll be the serious relief.’"
We’re glad that Peter Falk took Lt. Columbo seriously. He gave rise to Bobby Goren, Adrian Monk, and Greg House at the very least and kept our little grey cells working on some very interesting puzzles.
He taught me a valuable lesson: get yourself a good coat. The acting is secondary. Years later I was offered another part and I remembered Frank Capra and I went out and got myself a good coat. I added a cigar, and I’ve been eating pretty good ever since."
Peter Falk at the AFI Life Achievement Aware: A Tribute to Frank Capra, 1982
TV fans mourned the loss of Peter Falk this weekend. I liked his film work, particularly Pocketful of Miracles (which he absolutely walked away with) and Wings of Desire. But it was his gift of the character Lt. Columbo that brought him into the lives of several generations of TV fans and set a standard for the TV mystery that hasn’t been surpassed.Columbo was part of the NBC Mystery Movie on Sunday nights in the 1970s, and it was syndicated on late Saturday afternoons for much of the 1980s. That’s when it became a cherished weekend ritual for me every week. That's when I saw the original episodes so many times that I can play "I can name that episode in 5 seconds." The stories which TV Guide dubbed “howchatchem” rather than “whodunit” were interesting and well written, but it was the cavalcade of film and theater stars working on the small screen that was the biggest thrill.
I remember in frightening detail the plots and much of the dialogue from many, many episodes. For instance, the One Where:
Ruth Gordon, a mystery writer, kills her niece’s husband because he killed the niece.
Ida Lupino is an “Aimee Semple McPherson” evangelist type, and her husband Johnny Cash murders her to get away from her blackmailing him.
Ricardo Montalban is a matador who murders his assistant’s son to protect his reputation.
Janet Leigh wants to make a comeback with John Payne and has to kill her husband Sam Jaffe to do itJohn Cassavetes as a “Leonard Bernstein” type kills his lover when she threatens to tell his socialite wife Blythe Danner and rich mother-in-law Myrna Loy
Richard Basehart and Honor Blackman accidentally murder their theater producer John Williams (that one turns on a pearl that drops inside an umbrella that is then given to Madame Tussaud’s)
Louis Jourdan murders a restaurant owner he’s been extorting money from
Roddy McDowell murders his aunt Ida Lupino’s husband James Gregory to take over the businessCeleste Holmes is the older sister of Joyce Van Patten who kills their brother who was going to sell their family museum
Ray Milland is an orchard grower who murders his nephew to break an iron-clad trust fund
And so many more from the original seven seasons.
When TV Was the Lesser Screen
Don’t forget that in the 1970s it was a very big deal for movie stars to act on television. They generally considered it beneath them. (This was also the era when it was chic to say “I don’t watch television.”) But part of the very texture of the series is the sheer acting chops on the screen. It’s obvious how comfortable Peter Falk is with these guest villains, who may have done the show because of Falk’s own New York stage acting and Hollywood bona fides. It’s a formula that would sadly devolve into a parody of itself later in the decade when Aaron Spelling got his hands on it for The Love Boat and Fantasy Island.
The Dream Team on Columbo
Peter Falk hid the strength of Columbo’s intellect under the rumpled coat and the unflappable politeness. The “oh, just one more thing” was beaten into the ground, but Falk’s performance had much more to it than that. The character is in LA, and he's not given a back story, but there's still an aura that beneath the wrinkles is an Italian mensch from Brooklyn with real street smarts to go along with the high IQ. In the few times his character wore a tuxedo for a formal function (“Forgotten Lady,” “A Case of Immunity,” and "Murder Under Glass") the handsome side of the actor came through.
On the creative side Falk was surrounded by established and up & coming writing and directing royalty of varying magnitude: Steven Spielberg, Ben Gazarra, Norman Lloyd, Sam Wanamaker, Jonathan Demme, and Nicholas Colasanto (Coach from Cheers!) all directed. Steve Bochco, Steven J. Cannell, and Dean Hargrove wrote along with Levinson & Link. That’s a lot of talent coming together.
The original series ran from 1971 to 1978. It did not have a “series finale.” The final episode on May 13, 1978 was “The Conspirators” where Columbo tracks an IRA gun runner (and I learned that Sinn Fein means “Alone Together,” one of the important clues of the episode). Falk brought the character back in 1989 for two seasons and a bunch of special episodes, with the last appearance of the character on January 30. 2003. I never got close to those shows.
More from Falk’s tribute to Capra:
“[Pocketful of Miracles] was my first Hollywood picture. I went to see Mr. Capra and said, “Mr. Capra, This is a comedy. And I think you ought to know that I’m not funny.
He said, what do you mean? I said, 'I’m a New York actor, I’m a serious actor.'
He started to chuckle and says, ‘Don’t worry Peter. You’re gonna be all right. Look at it this way. Maybe no one else will be funny, and you’ll be the serious relief.’"
We’re glad that Peter Falk took Lt. Columbo seriously. He gave rise to Bobby Goren, Adrian Monk, and Greg House at the very least and kept our little grey cells working on some very interesting puzzles.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)