Bowl No More

For me living in California, the new barometer for the passage of time is the end of my Hollywood Bowl season. A baton exchange between summer and fall and ultimately another winter. And so it went on schedule last weekend. Oh, the Bowl is open for a few more weeks, but the final offerings are not my glass of Zinfandel. There is an evening of sitar music called "India Calling" and I can easily skip this tribute to telemarketing. There is a disco night and a Brazilian evening, so you can now understand why I have already packed away my seat cushions for 2009.

This summer at the Bowl was highly uneven. Almost bipolar as if it were programmed alternately by Democrats and Republicans. You had the great Henry Mancini evening and the marvelous staging of "Guys and Dolls." On the flip side, you had the ear-piercing knockoff bands of Abba and Neil Diamond, which could have provoked a class action suit for all those in attendance. There was even a jarring swing of the pendulum in one evening when Michael Feinstein delivered his usual class and sophistication in the first act and an incoherent Jewel whined through some alleged tunes in the second act.

So, going to the Bowl this past Saturday and Sunday night, it was fitting that a similar confused duality would take place one more time. Because Saturday and Sunday's programs looked like they had been developed on two completely different planets.

Saturday's fiasco was a shock to me. It was the annual concert of movie music as conducted by legendary Hollywood composer John Williams. This has always been a homerun in past years. The other night, it was a weak ground ball to second base. Maestro Williams might be having some bladder issues these days. How else can we explain the angry treatment the audience received at his baton waving hands?

When you go to see John Williams, you expect to hear some of the traditional scores he has composed. Just like Andy Williams singing "Moon River" or Tony Bennett singing "I Left My Heart in San Francisco." But, on Saturday night, John Williams didn't follow suit. I imagined him backstage bellowing, "I'm going to play what I Goddamn want to play, so fuck 'em if they don't like it." And that's exactly what he did. It was as if the four Beatles had reunited for the first time ever and spent the night playing the hits of the Partridge Family.

Act One was nothing but forty five minutes of underscoring from Harry Potter films. Actress Lynn Redgrave did the narration throughout, and every time she stood up at the podium, I felt that Christmas had been cancelled all over again. Now, I'm not a Harry Potter fan so this was all lost on me like all the seemingly misspelled words that show up in those books. But, I could have endured about ten minutes of this by closing my eyes and thinking of the Dodgers' upcoming postseason. But, Williams' baton and Harry's broom flew around endlessly and I now will avoid Miss Redgrave as if she was a carrier for swine flu. When it finally ended, I wanted to call my doctor and book my next colonoscopy since I had just gone through the musical equivalent of an enema. I was not alone. My companions for the evening were equally addled. And the men in the bathroom at intermission were so dazed that some missed the urinals all together.

The first chords of Act Two offered us some daylight under the full moon. Quick clips and music from the likes of "Casablanca," "Gone with the Wind," "Psycho," and "The Magnificent Seven." But, ultimately, it was as if Williams was showing the picture of a cheesecake to people in a fat farm. It was a tease, because the sadistic and now borderline satanic conductor quickly journeyed back into more musical score obscurity. What followed was twenty minutes of jazzy dreck from "Catch Me if You Can," a movie its own director Steven Spielberg could only sit through once. We also got to hear some crap from "The Witches of Eastwick" and "Dracula," two movies that are on no one's queues at Netflix. The crowd around me grew restless and I had a feeling that a health care town hall meeting was about to erupt.

Finally, Williams heard us all say "uncle" and went into Star Wars mode. At the first intergalactical chord, the itchy fingers in the audience finally flicked on their light sabres and the lovefest had blasted off. Several sabres battled each other in the crowd and I noted that virtually all of the sabre wielders were over 35. All kept careful time with the music. Those who were sabreless waved their Black Berrys as weapons instead.

At the end, Maestro John Williams finally came through with the goods, but, in a final finger to all, he ignored our pleas for an Indiana Jones moment. And, ultimately, the force may have been with us but it really fucked us over badly.

As offputting as Saturday night was, the Turner Classic Films-sponsored "Night at the Movies with Rodgers and Hammerstein" may have been the most enjoyable event of the summer. Once a year, the Hollywood Bowl hoists a big movie screen and the LA Philharmonic will play along with the clips being shown. Live scoring just as if you're watching it done at the Warner Brothers sound mixing department. It's always my favorite night and this year, particularly in light of the swill that had preceded it all, it stood out even brighter.

TCM host Robert Osborne was aboard to intro the clips and music from the likes of "Oklahoma," "State Fair," "Carousel," "The King and I," "South Pacific," "Flower Drum Song," and "The Sound of Music." All along the way, he brought along the same factoids that he presents on television and it was ultra-fascinating. For instance, Elizabeth Taylor was considered for the role of Nellie Forbush in "South Pacific," but essentially got scared and ran away. Christopher Plummer, the Captain of the Von Trapps, hated the movie and frequently referred to it as "The Sound of Mucus." I was entertained and educated and it felt so good. My most teachable moment of the year. As he made one comment after another, we noted that Osborne was doing so without the aid of paper or cue cards. It was all off the top of his head and not a teleprompter was needed, Mr. President.

After the show, I ambled down the hill one last 2009 time and was exhilerated by the old show biz adage at play. The best was saved for last. Ultimate redemption had been secured. I couldn't wait to be back at the Bowl again next summer.

And now if you will kindly excuse me. The $25,000 Pyramid is on the Game Show Network and I need to change the channel. One of the celebrity guests is Lynn Redgrave.

Dinner last night: Crispy spicy beef at the Cheesecake Factory