Where Have You Gone, Hollywood Bowl?

The summer evenings there used to be so magical.

Not anymore. The only magic that might be coming is when I, like David Copperfield, disappear from the Hollywood Bowl for good.

Oh, last Saturday night, the fireworks (shown above) that dotted the sky after "Bugs Bunny at the Symphony" were cool. But you have to wonder when you must depend upon a few pyrotechnics to save another evening of what is looking to be a dreadful summer at the Hollywood Bowl. That's sort of like going to see a production of "South Pacific" simply because you want to admire the grass skirts wore by the Seabees.

The Hollywood Bowl has gone off the track in ways that Amtrak couldn't even imagine. Indeed, the telltale signs of slow implosion began innocently several years back when former conductor and creative genius John Mauceri left the Bowl for a teaching gig back East. Under Mauceri, the Bowl had thrived with superlative entertainment. Admittedly, I focus on the more mainstream weekend fare. I could care less about the midweek displays of jazz or Mahler this and Mahler that. But, on the weekends, Mauceri led the Los Angeles Philharmonic and virtually caressed the Hollywood scene. He infused the Bowl schedule with film and Broadway music, along with the occasional detour into rock or country. The resulting energy could have powered the electricity of the entire city.

When Mauceri left, we worried a little about the future. In reality, we should have worried a lot. And, this season, we are watching the perfect storm of missteps and misjudgments that is now resulting in what could be perfectly described as a musical oil spill. It's been that bad. And I'm beginning to wonder if the Hollywood Bowl is now being managed by Rahm Emanuel.

So far, of those evenings I've attended, there has been little to admire. The Fourth of July spectacular with Vince Gill was definitely not. A Beatles celebration focused on their later works and was shepherded by a C-list of singers, save for perhaps the always reliable but misused Brian Stokes Mitchell. Last weekend, the annual Bugs Bunny concert, which features the orchestra playing live accompaniment to selected animated shorts, did the almost unthinkable and impossible. They managed to make Looney Tune cartoons boring.

At this point in my Bowl summer, I'm usually thinking "Gee, we only have five more evenings this summer." This year, I'm thinking "God, there are still five more evenings this summer." I'm particularly dreading next week where I misguidingly purchased tickets for an evening of music devoted to the "Planet Earth" TV show. I'm anticipating lots of tree-hugging, wild animal-loving, and incessant snoring from me. My seats might be available on StubHub as early as tonight.

Okay, there is still time for the Bowl to redeem me. There will be a concert performance of "Rent" directed by Neil Patrick Harris. A night of Harry Connick Jr. usually never disappoints. An evening of John Williams will probably be predictably schizophrenic. He will drive you crazy playing an hour's worth of a rotten film score and then pull you back with the first strains of the theme from "Star Wars," no doubt accompanied by light sabers in the audience. And we'll wind up the season with a night of Twentieth Century Fox music played against film clips on the big screen.

But, still, the seams are not only showing. They are tattered and frayed. Has the Bowl gone on the cheap? Apparently. In past years, even kitschy nights with the wigged Diana Ross and Liza Minnelli slip-sliding her dentures up and down the Cahuenga Pass brought smiles to my face. For the first time ever, there are no pleasure guarantees when you buy a ticket to the Hollywood Bowl.

The complete Bowl experience is always an arduous one anyway as you endure stacked parking lots, non-existent parking attendants, long walks up steep hills, and noisy Philistines who insist on talking behind you during performances. But, if the entertainment is good, those hassles melt away. Now, this year with lousy shows, those annoyances are even more pronounced. I think about the $16 dollar parking fee, the loudmouth in the next row, and the extreme marathon walk down the hill. And I wonder if my grandmother always had the right idea when she said "next time, I stay home."

To make matters worse, the venue itself has seen infinitely better days. I rarely bring food and could always rely on the concession stands to feed me. Not anymore. Inexplicably, the Bowl on several weekends has run out of hot dogs. How do you operate any kind of arena in 2010 and manage to do that? But, you certainly can count on getting a variety of sushi offerings. Raw fish on a humid summer night? Even if I did eat seafood, I'd rather eat something caught in the Gulf of Mexico.

One of my most favorite summer things to do is grab a Drumstick cone or Haagen-Daz bar during the intermission. Er, not anymore. Most of the stands no longer have freezers. Again, how do you operate any kind of summer area in 2010 and manage not to feature ice cream? Other friends have told me of other now-missing staples from the concession stands. Sangria, for one. Wine spritzers, for another. There's money to be made and the Hollywood Bowl is ignoring it.

I'm grinning, but not bearing it. I'll figure it out, but I'm already doubting if there's a Bowl in my 2011 summer. And, from my past life history, I can assure you. Once you've lost me, it's permanent.

Greek Theater, I'm available. What have you got?

Dinner last night: Grilled bratwurst sandwich.