Capping off a TV season where we all celebrated the 40th anniversary of Saturday Night Live, we get this motion picture documentary called "Live From New York!" Note that I got the exclamation point right. I only wish the filmmakers had done the same. Gotten it right, I mean. "Live From New York!" is what I would call a hybrid documentary. It's interesting and completely uninteresting at the very same time. You sit there with a smile on your face, but you keep waiting for the good stuff to show up. It never does. Director Bao Nguyen allegedly had full access to anything SNL from long time producer Lorne Michaels. Extensive clips and the cooperation of mostly anyone ever associated with the show. And, at the end of ninety minutes, you wonder just what Nguyen did with that privilege. You wind up being subjected to the cardinal sin of any documentary. You learn nothing new. Sure, it's always fun to see the legendary clips again but they zoom by so fast that you don't have a chance to laugh one more time. Naturally, a great deal of time is spent with the first cast better known as the five "golden" years of SNL. You see their screen tests and hear their thoughts on their place in TV history. But I didn't hear anything that I didn't already know. Then, almost mystically, the years after that cast left are virtually blown off by a simple statement that they were "the anti-golden years." The story picks up almost ten years later when the likes of Dana Carvey and Phil Hartman arrive. Say what? For me, I would love to know more about those alleged failures. I remember the first replacement cast and crew was so inept that the f-bomb would occasionally get on the air. Is there more info about this? You won't find it in this film. Indeed, I personally thought that the 1984-85 SNL season, which was not shepherded by Lorne Michaels but Dick Ebersol, ranks among the best. It features lots of hilarious character-driven sketches with the likes of Christopher Guest, Harry Shearer, Billy Crystal, and Martin Short. You see virtually nothing of this. No talking heads. No Billy. No Marty. Meanwhile, an inordinate amount of screen time is paid to the lack of racial diversity amongst SNL cast members. Except they certainly found enough of them to interview for over twenty minutes. Hmmm. There's also an uneven dose of attention paid to all the politicians that made cameo appearances on SNL, which shows you just how badly our leaders have sunk in an effort to get the 18-34 year-old vote. Sure, SNL has an innate ability to reach a wide variety of demographics. But, the filmmakers here take that a little too seriously and they obviously spent way too much having midnight cocktails with Lorne. And where are the stories about all the drug use in the early years? That would have been captivating. Perhaps they were not included because one of the eager participants back then is current US Senator and resident asshole Al Franken. Don't get me wrong. Our TV lives have been enriched for forty years thanks to SNL. But, let's be realistic. It will never ever be as good as the first five years. And I have always argued that the show should be only a half-hour long. Think about it. Every sketch after 12:15AM is terrible. Usually the only reason to watch is for the opening. And, frankly, most of the cast members now phone it in. This documentary does include a quick interview with the most important guy on the crew --- the dude that prepares the cue cards. Watch a current SNL and then view an episode from thirty or forty years ago. You see how much more rehearsed the cast was then. But that's not anything you would see in "Live From New York!" This film is basically a love story and nothing more. As a result, it's a documentary that falls down faster than Gerald Ford...I mean...Chevy Chase. LEN'S RATING: Two stars. Dinner last night: Bacon wrapped hot dog at the Dodger game.
Check out those goofy 1968 prices for Shea Stadium. And, even better, a ticket that has two game numbers on it. What's that, you ask? A good, old fashioned holiday doubleheader. What's a doubleheader, you ask? If you are indeed asking, you are on the wrong freakin' blog. As we conclude our holiday weekend, I am relishing a perfect one for this baseball fan. The Mets and Dodgers, my two cherished teams, are playing each other at Chavez Ravine and it's another weekend of me clapping for my team with one hand. I go to the park here as I will for Met-Dodger contests at Citi Field later this month. Wearing a Met t-shirt and a Dodger jersey. Or vice versa. Trust me, the wardrobe choice gets weird looks. Of course, baseball tickets like my season seats at Dodger Stadium don't look anything like the ones shown above. Indeed, nowadays, you access your tickets via e-mail and print them just like e-mail. As long as there is a bar code, you can get into a park. Even if you printed the damn thing on toilet tissue. But, back in the day, tickets looked like...well...tickets. Small and compact. With your seat number and the price...gasp...of $3.50. Back when I was a fledgling Saturday plan holder at Shea Stadium, my Loge Section 7 Row E Seats 1 and 2 tickets looked just like this but they were tan. That clever Met management color-coded the tickets in the same way stadium levels were tinted. So, when I was a Saturday plan designee, these suckers were easy to come by. But there were a few earlier years in my new life as a Met fan where tickets had to be purchased just like anybody else. And you loved to have them in the house because you knew you were going to a baseball game. I've written before about the very first Met game I went on July 24 and that anniversary is coming up soon. The seats we had that night were the season tickets of a Rambler (Official Car of the Mets) employee, who happened to be the wife of the guy my father carpooled to work with. I never kept the stubs to that game. But there would be others. In those much safer times, I started to go to games on my own. My best friend from childhood Leo and I work out a cool system when we were just twelve years old. He was a Yankee fan. I was a Met fan. We alternated going to each other's stadium. The Yankee Stadium ride via subway was easy. About an hour, depending upon how long you had to wait when you changed trains at 149th Street-Grand Concourse. The sojourn to Shea was much longer. Deep into the bowels of Manhattan. Change at Times Square for the blue 7 Train. 90 minutes door-to-door. Yes, these were safer times. No need to report our parents to Social Services. So we would save up allowances to buy our tickets. And, if we wanted to do this in advance, this would involve another subway deployment. Once or twice, I rode out to Shea Stadium...still 90 minutes from Mount Vernon, New York...to their advance ticket window. But there were closer options. Back when, the Mets had a deal with Howard Clothes, which specialized in mens' business suits...yes, business suits. There was an outlet on Fordham Road. So, when there was ticket buying to be done, that's where I would head. Take the bus at 241st Street in the Bronx and get off on Fordham Road. Walk up the hill and then sift your way through a haberdashery that you would never ever shop in. I didn't care. I needed Met tickets. Of course, if you were short on allowance...or having dollars curtailed due to some punishment you had earned...there was another way to get those damn tickets. You had to drink a lot of milk.
Ah, those familiar containers. The Mets had a promotion. They would print coupons on the sides of the milk cartons. The coupons listed a variety of game dates on which you could take twenty...count 'em, 20...coupons and redeem them for a general admission ticket. We did that once or twice. And we had better bone structure as an added bonus. H-O Oatmeal offered a similar deal. For Yankee games, you cut out the panel on the cardboard container and you sent it for two free tickets. For some reason, my father opted to go to this game. And almost turned around to go home when we found out where the actual seats were. Cloud 11 hovering over first base. "What are they kidding?" Um, Dad, what did you expect for two oatmeal box coupons? "Don't eat that stuff again." Er, okay. When you have partial plan seats or season tickets, the whole ticket purchasing quandry goes away. And there are days when I miss it. But, heck, I miss the actual tickets that used to slip conveniently in your wallet. When my Saturday plan tickets officially died on the next-to-last day of Shea Stadium in 2008, I took special care to keep the tickets. And, yes, they still looked like tickets. I had them blown up and now they hang in my bedroom.
Too big to slip into my pocket. But forever nestled in my heart. Dinner last night: Grilled bratwurst at the Hollywood Bowl.
Celebrity memoirs or autobiographies are ideal if you fly a lot between Los Angeles and New York. Often, you're flying with other celebrities. You want to look hip. And the best thing about these books is that you can pretty much finish them in one five-hour flight. And that's what I did with Martin Short's "I Must Say." It read so quickly that I was almost done by the time they did the second beverage cart service. There's no deep message attached. It's light and breezy and funny. And, if you're a fan of the author, you've hit reading pay dirt. Truth be told, I've been a fan of Martin Short since I saw him at a live filming of a sitcom called "The Associates" way too many years ago. In that episode, Marty got up and did a Judy Garland impression. It was spot on and hilarious. I thought to myself that I would follow his career path because he was certainly talented. So I watched him for several years making us laugh on SCTV. Then, the single year on SNL, which was a classic season in my book. On to films and Broadway and concerts. I've seen him in all those venues. For a while, he was very active on Facebook and I was attached to him there. I'd get occasional "likes" for my one-liners there. Talk about being blessed by a pro. You follow all of Marty's career in his book and there's nothing sleazy or controversial in anything he writes. He seems like a nice, likable guy and that's probably the way he really is. Nobody doesn't like Martin Short. So, the book won't give you tons of new information or any really juicy gossip. The last third of the tale focuses on his late wife's illness and that's suitably sad because, from his writing, you can tell how much in love they were. Once again, it's all very, very nice. So, if you're on a flight and you want a salacious memoir about Hollywood, Martin Short's book should not be in your bag. But, if you're a huge fan and you want to learn all about how his life has gone, "I Must Say" is the book for you. And me. It's funny and touching and...well...nice. Reading it, I almost thought that Marty was in Seat 13E right next to me. Hell, I should be so lucky. Dinner last night: Snacks during the day, so nothing really.
Happy birthday, Olivia de Havilland. There's lots of people we could have used in the photo spotlight today, but, heck, she's turning 99 on her way to 100. That works for me. 69: TIBERIUS JULIUS ALEXANDER ORDERS HIS ROMAN LEGIONS IN ALEXANDRIA TO SWEAR ALLEGIANCE TO VESPASIAN AS EMPEROR. Since those soldiers probably like to swear anyway. 1097: CRUSADERS LED BY PRINCE BOHEMOND OF TARANTO DEFEAT A SELJUK ARMY LET BY SULTAN KILIJ ARSIAN I. Does anybody know how to pronounce any of that?? 1523: JOHANN ESCH AND HEINRICH VOES BECOME THE FIRST LUTHERAN MARTYRS, BURNED AT THE STAKE BY ROMAN CATHOLICS. Plus they forgot to put something in the offering plate. 1643: FIRST MEETING OF THE WESTMINSTER ASSEMBLY IN LONDON. Did they start the dog show? 1766: JEAN-FRANCOIS DE LA BARRE, A YOUNG FRENCH NOBLEMAN, IS TORTURED AND BEHEADED BEFORE HIS BODY IS BURNT ON A PYRE ALONG WITH A COPY OF VOLTAIRE'S DICTIONNAIRE NAILED TO HIS TORSO FOR THE CRIME OF NOT SALUTING A CATHOLIC PROCESSION IN FRANCE. That's a lot of typing just to say "he's dead." 1837: A SYSTEM OF CIVIL REGISTRATION OF BIRTHS, MARRIAGES, AND DEATHS IS ESTABLISHED IN ENGLAND AND WALES. The beginning, the middle, and the end. 1858: JOINT READING OF CHARLES DARWIN AND ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE'S PAPERS ON EVOLUTION IN LONDON. Who's a monkey??? 1863: DURING THE AMERICAN CIVIL WAR, THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG BEGINS. Start writing that speech, Abe. 1870: THE UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE FORMALLY COMES INTO EXISTENCE. Good. Now crime can begin. 1874: THE SHOLES AND GLIDDEN TYPEWRITER, THE FIRST COMMERCIALLY SUCCESSFUL TYPEWRITER, GOES ON SALE. The first unsuccessful one? lyltkwsfgqtrercxvas. 1879: CHARLES TAZE RUSSELL PUBLISHES THE FIRST EDITION OF THE WATCHTOWER. Get off my front porch! 1903: START OF THE FIRST TOUR DE FRANCE BIKE RACE. No word on what year it ended. 1906: BUSINESSWOMAN ESTEE LAUDER IS BORN. The only perfume my mother wore. 1908: SOS IS ADOPTED AS THE INTERNATIONAL DISTRESS SIGNAL. Replacing.....Help!!!!!!!!! 1916: ACTRESS OLIVIA DE HAVILLAND IS BORN. Ordering one cake and one fire extinguisher. 1916: WORLD WAR I - ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE BATTLE OF THE SOMME 19,000 SOLDIERS OF THE BRITISH ARM ARE KILLED AND 40,000 WOUNDED. Those are Somme casualties. 1920: ACTOR HAROLD SAKATA IS BORN. Oddjob! 1925: ACTOR FARLEY GRANGER IS BORN. A stranger on a train. 1931: ACTRESS LESLIE CARON IS BORN. Gigi! 1934: ACTOR JAMIE FARR IS BORN. Nice dress. 1943: TOKYO CITY MERGES WITH TOKYO PREFECTURE AND IS DISSOLVED. SINCE THIS DATE, NO CITY IN JAPAN HAS THE NAME "TOKYO." Or, for that matter, "Mothra." 1952: ACTOR DAN AYKROYD IS BORN. That's good bass. 1958: THE CANADIAN BROADCASTING CORPORATION LINKS TELEVISION BROADCASTING ACROSS CANADA VIA MICROWAVE. Linking TV with popcorn forever. 1960: INDEPENDENCE OF SOMALIA. Good, I was worried. 1962: INDEPENDENCE OF RWANDA. Okay, now redundant. 1962: INDEPENDENCE OF BURUNDI. Obviously, a slow news day unless you live in Burundi. 1963: ZIP CODES ARE INTRODUCED FOR US MAIL. And still my mailman sometimes doesn't show up until 7PM. 1967: CANADA CELEBRATES ITS 100TH BIRTHDAY. Why not celebrate it with an Expo?? 1979: SONY INTRODUCES THE WALKMAN. Remember those???? 1980: "O CANADA" OFFICIALLY BECOMES THE NATIONAL ANTHEM OF CANADA. That's funny. I thought it always was. 1984: THE PG-13 RATING IS INTRODUCED BY THE MPAA. Goodbye, M. 1987: WFAN RADIO IN NY IS LAUNCHED AS THE WORLD'S FIRST ALL-SPORTS RADIO STATION. Hello, Vinnie from Passaic. 1991: ACTOR MICHAEL LANDON DIES. Little Grave on the Prairie. 1995: RADIO HOST WOLFMAN JACK DIES. Spinning the hits on that great AM station in the sky. 1996: MODEL MARGAUX HEMINGWAY DIES. Even beautiful people have demons. 1997: ACTOR ROBERT MITCHUM DIES. I always thought he was eating way too much beef. 2000: ACTOR WALTER MATTHAU DIES. Never a bad performance ever. 2004: ACTOR MARLON BRANDO DIES. He actually was a contender. 2005: SINGER LUTHER VANDROSS DIES. Grammys kill. 2009: ACTOR KARL MALDEN DIES. Wonder if Karl and Marlon knew they would share the same date of death when they worked together in "On the Waterfront." Dinner last night: Chef's salad.
