Saturday Night Corpse

Like rats to a garbage dump, anti-Trumpers have been gravitating to SNL the past two years.   As a result, people have been saying that the NBC comedy show has never been better.   Brilliance as it brings our nation together.

Puh-leze.  

I am proud to say that I have pretty much avoided Saturday Night Live for the past five years.   Eons before Trump fired off his first White House tweet, I wrote off this television shit hole.   And, just so you know, it's tougher to avoid the show out on the West Coast where they air it twice.   But I have successfully done so.  For me, the initials SNL stand for "Sleep Never Lost."

Okay, that's not to say I haven't checked into the first sketch now and then.  Of course, it's always carved right from the headlines of the week as you see in the photo above.   You just knew that last week's show would open with a riff on Kanye West and Trump as played by that 300-pound malignant tumor called Alec Baldwin.   Was it funny?  Hell, no.   And then the show goes downhill so fast that it could set Olympic speed records.

The sad thing is that, for many dopey millennials, SNL is the only news they get so they actually believe what they see in a comedy sketch as truth.   There's no balance whatsoever.   Lord, Maxine Waters and Nancy Pelosi would be wonderful comic characters on SNL.   Have you seen them depicted?  How about somebody playing Alec Baldwin beating the shit out of some photographer?  I wish they would do these sketches.  They haven't.  Instead, we get that numbskull Matt Damon as Brett Kavanaugh and the senile Robert DeNiro playing anybody else they can find.   What should be a wonderful snapshot of satire in America is nothing but rubbish.

Sad to say, I remember when that wasn't the case.   I can recall when SNL actually breathed new ground in comedy.   Can you tell me the last time there was a surefire breakout comic character or bit on SNL?   Where's Emily Litella?  Or Wayne's World?  Or the Church Lady?  Or Molly Shannon as the Catholic school girl?  All funny.  All a distant memory.

Of course, all of the current fecal matters come from producer Lorne Michaels, the bloated creator who has had a creative thought in his head since Gilda Radner died.  Somehow, Michaels has turned this into a Civil Service job.   The fact that NBC pays him money for this dreck is the real criminal activity that warrants a special investigative committee.

Let's face it, this show has been phoning it in for years.   When was the last time there was a guest host who wasn't promoting the hot movie that was opening that weekend?  When was the last time any of the mediocre actors didn't spend ninety minutes reading cue cards for the one sketch they appear in?  When was the last time I laughed...ever?

SNL has been around since 1975.  It used to have its finger on the comedic pulse of America.   Now it's time to check to see if there is any trace of a clever heart beat.  I think not.

Will somebody please call the time of death?

Dinner last night:  BLT sandwich at Cafe 50s Diner.

Monday Morning Video Laugh - October 15, 2018

Today would have been my grandmother's birthday.  In her honor, let's remember her favorite TV show...wrestling.

Dinner last night:  Grilled koockwurst.

Your Weekend Movie Guide For October 2018

Every time I uncover a new photo of one of my hometown movie palaces, I get excited.   Here's one of RKO Proctor's in Mount Vernon, New York circa 1955. From this shot, I had no idea the name of the theater was on the top of the building.   But I so remember the marquee and the flashing lights.  And the camera store on the corner where my mom developed photos.

What will be memorable this weekend in our movie theaters?   I have my doubts.  You know the monthly drill, folks.  I will sift through the pages of the Los Angeles Times movie section and give you my gut reaction to the fare on the big screen.

If only I could be at that palace on Gramatan Avenue one more time.  The office building is still there.   The movies, however, are not.

22July:  A movie about over 70 kids killed in a Norway terrorist attack back in 2011.   So, a musical?

Beautiful Boy:  Steve Carell's now annual attempt at getting an Oscar.  Give it up already!

The Old Man and the Gun:  Robert Redford's final film.  Maybe.   He is already backtracking just like Cher and Barbra did with their so-called farewell tours.

Venom:   Probably about the Democratic party.

The Sisters Brothers:  An old fashioned western with John C. Reilly, Jake Gyllenhaal, and Joaquin Phoenix...three names that don't hold a candle to John Wayne.

Colette:  All about the French novelist and I am stifling a yawn right now.

A Star Is Born:   Reviewed here recently.   Avoid it at all costs if you are a fan of any other version of this movie.

First Man:  Neil Armstrong lands on the moon and this is one movie I am looking forward to.

The Kindergarten Teacher:   Maggie Gyllenhaal stars and it's good to see both brother and sister are working these days.

Can You Ever Forgive Me:   All about famed celebrity biographer Lee Israel as played by Melissa McCarthy and the last two words just turned me completely off.

The Great Buster - A Celebration:  All about Buster Keaton as told by Peter Bogdanovich and I can't wait.

The Advocates:  A documentary on the homeless crisis in LA.  Will somebody send a copy of this to that dumbbell mayor Eric Garcetti?

Big Kill:  Gamblers back in the Old West.  Also not starring John Wayne.

Brampton's Own:  A career minor leaguer tries to restart his life.   Hmmm.   I could see this.

Change in the Air:   A woman with mysterious ways.   Starring Rachel Brosnahan of "Mrs. Meisel" and my new girlfriend.

Charm City:  A documentary about crime in Baltimore.   Hopefully it focuses first on City Hall.

An Evening with Beverly Luff Linn:  Who???

Galveston:  A mob hit man on the lam.   I doubt we'll hear the wonderful Glen Campbell song.

Halloween:  Jamie Lee Curtis is back in this reboot of the original thriller and I am oddly attracted to this.

London Fields:  A dying American author and an English seductress and here comes that pesky yawn again.

High Voltage:   The lead singer of a rock band is struck by lightning.   Fill in the rest as you so choose.

Mid90s:   All about a LA skate shop back when.  I'm yawning yet a third time.

The Super:  Tenants have gone missing in an apartment building.   I guess they didn't fill out the proper repair forms.

Bigger:  Uh oh.  The "B" word.

The Oath:  Who the fuck is Tiffany Haddish?

Night School:  And I am asking that question again.

Fahrenheit 11/9:  Michael Moore's latest stab at making up shit and calling it a documentary.

Reach:  A suicidal teen.   I guess they cancelled "Riverdale."

Thunder Road:  A Texas police offer and I am doubting we'll hear the Bruce Springsteen song.

What They Had:  Two grown children deal with aging parents.   Hey, I did it all by myself!

Wildlife:  Domestic drama in 1960s Montana.   In case you were wondering what life was like in 1960s Montana.

Dinner last night:  Chopped Chinese chicken salad.

The Sunday Memory Drawer - The Bucktoothed Beaver

Continuing on with my childhood dental trilogy.   My personal Lord of the Rings.  Except, in this case, the metal circles were around my teeth.

I was a kid and I was hearing it every day from the other yokels in my school.

"Eh, what's up, Doc?"

"How fast can you eat an ear of corn?"

"Can I show a movie on your two front teeth?"

Years later, screw all of you!

Yes, I had two big ole buck teeth.  The Bugs Bunny look all the way.  And, as I progressed through each grade in Grimes Elementary School in Mount Vernon, New York, the nasty comments increased at geometric intervals.  Probably because the overhang of my top dental plate kept getting bigger and bigger.  I was starting to look like the upper deck at Tiger Stadium.

The answer was an easy one.  Braces for you, young man. 

Over the next four years, I'd be making regular visits to the big building on the right of the photo above.  10 Fiske Place in downtown Mount Vernon, New York.  The daytime home of my orthodontist, Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player.  That's exactly how he introduced himself to me.   And anybody else he talked to.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player."

Ha ha.  The joke got stale pretty quickly.

Upon my very first meeting with Dr. Ash, it was apparent to both of us that we'd been spending a lot of time together.  And that we might be able to get that backyard swimming pool from the money my parents would have to cough up to get their son de-rabbitized.

The first step in the process is the immortalization of your miserable overbite.  A cement mold is made of your bite and Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player was so proud of this that he had a whole wall in his office devoted to displaying the miserable dental structure of unsuspecting teenagers all over Mount Vernon.  It was the Grauman's Chinese Theater for bicuspids.  Mine quickly joined the display window.

After one long look at Len's Red Cross Disaster of a mouth, Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player designed a very aggressive and protracted plan of attack.  It was going to be the heaviest of artillery.  Full braces on the top and the bottom.  For a while, rubber bands attaching it all.  Then bite retainers.  Three years of 10 Fiske Place and Rome was built quicker.

The first volley was pounds of US Steel thrown across both the top and bottom of my mouth.  Cemented into little studs that surrounded some of my teeth.  I no longer had a smile.  I had a 1965 Buick Skylark.

It took some getting used to all the chrome I was now sporting.  There were foods I had to avoid.  Gum was verboten.  And goodbye to salt water taffy on our annual Atlantic City vacations.

Even with all the glue and paste adorning my cheesy grin, snafus could still occur.  One weekend summer afternoon, I was watching a Charlie Chan movie on TV with Grandma.  Suddenly, I felt a pop and then the sharp jagged edge of a wire in my cheek.  Uh oh.

The top brace had escaped its mooring and was now embedded in the inside flesh of my mouth.  It was time for an emergency visit to 10 Fiske Place.  Except...

"Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player is on vacation.  He'll be back a week from Monday."

D'oh!

Now, most families would immediately seek out whoever the replacement doctor was.  Not my folks.  Quicker action was to be taken.

My father took a wire cutter and gave me immediate relief.

The rubber band era didn't have such dire repercussions, but there were bumps in the road nonetheless.  A loud, raucous laugh would also widen my mouth and then, suddenly....

SNAP!!!

Ow!!!

I quickly became an expert at being able to demonstrate all sorts of loud noises without opening my mouth more than a fraction of an inch.

You don't see it happening when you're in the middle of a relationship with an orthodontist, but the treatment does eventually work.  At first, Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player could fit his whole thumb into my overbite.   Slowly, less and less and less of his thumb would fit.  He'd pull my cement choppers from his display case and show them to me.  The quintessential before and after you normally see in Jenny Craig ads.  Except, Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player was so proud of his work on me that he would share it with strangers in the waiting room.  I became a major part of his resume.  If this happened today, I'd undoubtedly be the first mouth you'd see on his website.

"Wow, your teeth were really that bad?"

Yes, they were and thank you, Doctor, for the wonderful boost in my self esteem.

When my teeth were pronounced straight and the novelty of my mouth wore off, Dr. Arthur Ash Not The Tennis Player and I ended our weekly trysts.  He removed the dental shackles and, at last, I would be able to smile and show everybody my new never-had-a-cavity-before teeth.

Except, now braceless, food bits from meals of three Thanksgivings ago reappeared in all their glory.  Along with all the bacteria and plaque that went with them. 

I was not done with regular visitations to 10 Fiske Place.  Indeed, I was just moving down the hall.  To my new regular dentist.

Enter Dr. Paul Cipes.

To be continued...

Dinner last night:  Shrimp and noodles.

Classic Newsreel of the Month - October 2018

Sixty Octobers ago...

Dinner last night:  Hamburger.

It's A Sign

Dinner last night:  Chopped kale salad.

Arresting

See what I did there with that title?   Sometimes, my own cleverness astounds me.   Heh heh.

While I saw this documentary on HBO, it technically is a movie I can remove since it was in theaters for about a week.   Regardless, it's a film you should check out wherever or whenever you can.

Say what you want about Jane Fonda.   She's had a fascinating life as a daughter to a legendary actor, a sexpot, a felon, a political activist, an actress, and now a champion for senior citizens.   Heck, I'm tired just typing that sentence.   I know folks who still think she was a crackpot for all the Viet Nam protesting. But, she was exercising her First Amendment rights and I give her a pass.   

"Jane Fonda in Five Acts" by famed documentary maker Susan Lacy covers all of the above beautifully.   Most notably, this film has the full participation from Fonda herself whose words essentially power the story.   At all times, Jane is candid, fascinating, and amazingly glib.   The film's first four acts are developed around men in her life:  Father Henry, first husband/French director Roger Vadim, second husband/politician Tom Heyden, and third husband/broadcast executive Ted Turner.   The final act focuses on Jane's life now and it is a fitting conclusion.

The true mark of a good documentary is when I learn things about a known subject that I never knew in the first place.   For instance, I didn't realize what a major influence the suicide of her mother played on Fonda's life.   Nor did I realize she had a daughter was an "unofficial" adoption from the natural parents who were members of the Black Panthers.   Indeed, the segment about her relationship with Ted Turner is made more special when she visits him on his Montana ranch.   Surprisingly, she calls him her "favorite ex-husband."

Again, people are divided over how they view Jane Fonda.  For me, I specifically consider the film work and she has done some memorable movies.  Even her current work on the Netflix sitcom "Grace and Frankie" is to be admired.   This documentary captures all of her many nuances and is a very compelling look at an iconic figure in both film and political history.    If you're a devotee of either of those areas, you'll want to check out this one.

LEN'S RATING:  Three-and-a-half stars.

Dinner last night:  Sausage and peppers at Vito's Pizza.