The Good Old Days

The passage of time. When I was a kid, I loved to hear my grandparents and parents tell me stories about "the good old days." Things that used to be so much better back when. The movies that were more enjoyable. The television that was more watchable. The music that was more listenable. At the same time, while I regaled in these tales, I remember wondering just how bad were the current times that I was living in.

Gee, probably not so much. Because, indeed, those childhood days of mine are now "the good old days" of my life. I suppose we all become one more link in the eternal chain. So, when I tell the "youngsters" in my world how much better things used to be, is it appreciated and respected as much as I did with the yarns knitted by my family?

Gee, probably not so much.

I got a nostalgic blast of air over the weekend not one, not twice, but three times. From my "good old days." Which used to be the days I was told were not as good as my parents' "good old days." And on and on and on. But, after this weekend of revisiting some of the classics from my youth, I realize that I wasn't all that deprived. Because I had some good stuff to behold firsthand myself.

Take, for instance, Friday night. I went to see the very limited release of a movie called "The Life of Reilly." Never heard of it? Except in limited circles, you probably never will. But, it's a film that celebrated one of my favorite personalities of my "good old days."

Charles Nelson Reilly.

It's a shame he died last May and didn't get a chance to drive down Santa Monica Boulevard and see his name in big red letters on the marquee of the Nuart Theater. And that there was an appreciative audience of about 75 people Friday night (including his longtime companion), all gathered to see the film record of his last ever performance. Years after he participated in his last match with Gene Rayburn, Charles developed a one man show that beautifully encompassed the highs and lows of his 70 plus year life. From his original roots in the Bronx (why is it that all the truly creative people were born there?), Charles takes us on a journey of laughs and tears. From his mother who regularly yelled out the window, "Kike, dago, wop, pollock, eightball." To his father whose brilliant career as an illustrator and a potential future in Hollywood working for Walt Disney was upended by his wife's negativity. About the NBC president who, after meeting with Charles on some live drama roles in the 50s, told him, "Queers will never appear on television." Charles has the last laugh in the movie. He pulls out a TV Guide from one week in the 70s and counts his name in the listing over 50 times. Now, Charles asks, "who do I have to F&*k to get off television?"

This movie is a filming of his last stage appearance ever, from October, 2004. It is funny. It is raw. It is amazing. And a terrific reminder of what an enormous talent he was. Ironically, there is very little mention of "The Match Game" from my youth. But, indeed, still, he was a part of my "good old days."

Saturday brought me another page from my youthful scrap book of memories. For the first time, I ventured down to San Diego for an alleged reunion of the creative forces behind my favorite all-time Broadway show, "They're Playing Our Song." I had originally seen this show a few days after it opened in February of 1979. The tickets were a birthday present from a good friend of mine. I don't know why but the whole production, complete with Marvin Hamlisch score, Carole Bayer Sager lyrics, Neil Simon book, and Lucie Arnaz and Robert Klein as the stars, just clicked perfectly for me. So much so, that I wound up seeing it another five times. It was one of those shows that I simply had to share with all my other friends individually. I must have been incredibly annoying. But the time I had seen it for the final time, I think the leads were being played by Henny Youngman and Ethel Kennedy. Nevertheless...

The very same friend who took me in 1979 drove me down to San Diego for this supposed recreation of the show. With second row center seats no less. Marvin Hamlisch is one of the current conductors of the San Diego Symphony and I hope the Hollywood Bowl steals him right out from under their noses. Given that I also have seen another Hamlisch show, "A Chorus Line," five times in my life, I figure that I pretty much paid for the tuxedo he was wearing. He was a charming host for the evening, as he opened with some renditions of retro TV themes as well as some of his film scores. Then, inexplicably, out came Robert Klein to do about 30 minutes of his stand-up. I had not seen Klein in a while, but I had heard from friends that his humor had gotten mean and bitter following an apparently violent divorce. Not so Saturday night. Klein was terrific---the funniest I had seen him in years. And another one from the Bronx!

While none of this was anticipated, it was all a pleasant and somewhat nostalgic surprise. And certainly I wasn't as old as 95% of the audience, which was on line buying Metamucil at intermission. Even with my admitted age, I was a good 15 years younger than the whole row behind me.

To open up the second half of the performance, Lucie Arnaz, who has always been an amazingly ignored talent despite her lineage, slithered out and did five numbers from her cabaret. I've seen that several times over and it's always fabulous. Backed up by a symphony orchestra, Lucie was dwarfed. It was like hearing "Silent Night" played by seventy-six trombones.

Finally, they got around to doing a Cliff Notes version of "They're Playing Our Song." The lines seemed a little creakier, the voices a little older, the hairline on Mr. Klein a little deeper, and the knees on Miss Arnaz a little knobbier (we were THAT close up). But, still, as soon as the first musical strains were ushered in...

Goodbye, San Diego, 2007. Hello, Imperial Theater, 1979. It had all the aural comfort of an earmuff during a blizzard. Now, I wanted to go see this another five times.

Back in Los Angeles, Sunday found me completing the retro hat trick. The American Film Institute's annual festival was the setting for a premiere screening of John Landis' new HBO documentary entitled "Mr. Warmth: The Don Rickles Project." Another packed house with Landis in attendance, along with, for some totally bizarre reason, actress Anne Jefferies. Hair in bun with little black gloves on. Just like when she was standing in front of that fireplace with Leo G. Carroll in "Topper."

Along with Johnny Carson, Don Rickles was my favorite comedian when I was in high school. Probably because his vision of life around was so much like mine. Let's face it, to this day, we are still surrounded by dummies and hockey pucks. And Rickles, working to this very moment, still remains humor intact despite an increasingly politically correct world. One could argue that Don is probably the only one on this earth who can get away with making fun of Chinamen, colored guys, and the like. Landis follows Rickles during several of his night club appearances and, while the comedy is exactly how it was left in the 70s, it is amazingly fresh. When an audience member tells Don he is English, Rickles quickly counters, "Oh, yeah, we need you for the muffins." Only Don can do this anymore. At the age of 80, he totters all over the stage and remains as screamingly on the nose as he was 40 years ago. In several decades, will cameras be following around the likes of Dane Cook or that Mencia idiot? Doubtful.

"Mr. Warmth" is filled with delightful vintage clips from the Tonight Show as well as some sidesplitting home movies of Mr. and Mrs. Don Rickles on vacation with their good friends, the Newharts. Watch Don with the two Vietnamese street kids. He is the only one who can get away with this today. And do it so you laugh as a result. Because you know that, way deep down, he is the nicest guy alive. You go into his den and he looks at all the pictures of friends and fellow performers on the wall. "Dead, dead, dead, on the ropes, cancer, dying, dead, dead, will be dead soon." And that sparks me to want to see Rickles in person one more time before he's up on that same wall.

So that was the weekend. Charles Nelson Reilly. Marvin Hamlisch. Robert Klein. Lucie Arnaz. Don Rickles. Sounds more like the cast list for a "Love Boat" episode. But, for me, it was truly a touchstone. To my life.

Gee, everything was so much better when I was a kid.

Dinner last night: Grilled chicken salad.

Tomorrow...live from New York.