When you're looking for sophisticated comedy...

This is a typical story.

In the mid 80’s my partner and I had a pretty good movie career going along with our TV work. (I think this was that honeymoon period between the time VOLUNTEERS was made and actually released…because that window was pretty short as I recall.) Disney wanted to meet us.

We trooped down to Burbank, appropriately entered the Dopey Building and met with this very nice energetic young executive. If we had any movie ideas he wanted us to bring them to Disney first. Because of our work on CHEERS we were the perfect writers for them. They were looking to do sophisticated romantic comedies with with and heart, and smart crackling dialogue. Very few people could do that but we could and that’s what they wanted. We were obviously very flattered and said when we came up with something we would call them.

He then said, “Listen, while you’re here, we do have one project that’s open, and we think you guys would be perfect for it. THIS was the movie:We graciously passed. We could write sophisticated comedy but we weren’t Noel Coward.

Fireworks

I hope you enjoyed fireworks last night without blowing your hand off. I never quite got the attraction of holding lit sticks with small explosives made in unknown countries by craftsmen who earn nineteen cents a month.

I saw a lovely fireworks display last night at the Hollywood Bowl. Of course, so did people who paid much less for seats than me and saw them just as well.

Being a baseball announcer I see firework shows at least five times a year. They’re usually on when I’m doing the postgame show, trying to read out-of-town scores while Baghdad is being bombed in the background.

When I broadcast for the Mariners we used to have indoor fireworks at the Kingdome. That never seemed like a good idea, and in fact ceiling tiles began plummeting to the ground.

And then of course there was the post game fireworks show at MacArthur Stadium when I was broadcasting for the Syracuse Chiefs. A spark started a brush fire beyond the left field wall.

But the best fireworks show I ever heard of was on July 5th, 1985. It was supposed to be a July 4th show. The Atlanta Braves were hosting the New York Mets that night. The game went 19 innings and ended at 3:55 in the morning. At 4:01 the show began. I’m sure the twelve people in the stands LOVED it.

Happy July 4th weekend. Drive safe out there.

The 4th of July

When I was a kid growing up in Woodland Hills, California – a suburb in the San Fernando Valley we always had a July 4th parade. It was not very big. Zero floats. A few school marching bands all playing Stars & Stripes Forever and Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini, girls twirling batons (which proved to be more dangerous to crowds than today’s maple bats), local dignitaries (“Hey, there’s Mr. Neider from Neider’s Auto Body!”), some elementary school classes, and local politicians (“We have a councilman?”).

But for me the REAL reason to stake out my spot on Ventura Blvd was that the grand marshal was always Buster Keaton. He was probably 150 by then but still, there he was. Mostly forgotten today but Buster Keaton was a comic genius in the era of silent films and early talkies. His flair for physical comedy was so inspired that even today I don’t think there’s a single comic who can remotely touch him. If I couldn’t still see George Washington in person at least there was Buster Keaton.

I miss those parades. If you still have one where you live, go. Wave a flag. Cheer. Just duck when the baton twirlers go by.

HAPPY 4th OF JULY EVERYONE!

Friday question of the week on Thursday

Since tomorrow is the 4th of July and no one reads blogs anyway on holidays I thought I’d do my Friday question on Thursday.

A reader asked about those pop up ads and ridiculous banners that now appear during programs. As a writer, does it drive me nuts?

YES! As a writer. As a director. As a viewer.

The pop ups are intrusive, they’re DESIGNED to divert your attention from the show you’re watching, they’re completely disrespectful to the creative team that mounted the show, and the audience resents them.

You want to say to the network geniuses who dreamed up these screen invaders, how would you like it if you were in the middle of a private conversation and I jumped in and started screaming for thirty seconds?

Or you’re driving on the freeway and I stick my hand in your face for thirty seconds?

Or you’re in the middle of sex and Universal tour bus drives through your bedroom?

Writers kill themselves to create compelling and entertaining stories that hold the audiences’ attention. If we wanted Kathy Griffin to suddenly appear in the corner of the screen we’d put it in the script. If we thought the viewer was so stupid he wouldn’t know he was watching FRASIER just by seeing Frasier on the screen, we wouldn’t be writing Cezanne jokes for the show.

I find it amusing that networks are so concerned about the program content that they note the writers and producers to death and then when the show is aired it’s obliterated by Brad Garrett or David Caruso (and nothing can kill a laugh faster than seeing that mug on TV).

I remember watcing an episode of SABRINA and as an experiment they employed that Pop Up Video device throughout the entire episode. A character would say a line and a box would blip on saying the cat in this scene died a week later. I felt sorrier for the writers than I did the cat.

I understand that people fast forward through commercials and promos and networks need alternative ways of getting their messages across but turning off viewers is not the way to attract them. I wish I could get some network brass to read this. Hey, is there any way I could put a widget on the bottom corner of their computer screens?

Vacation tip: Where to find writers

I read articles all the time about where tourists visiting Los Angeles can see stars. There are also maps to the stars homes (although Jack Benny and Lucille Ball have moved to more permanent residences. ). But what about all those millions of visitors who come to Tinsel Town just to catch a glimpse at writers? There’s yet to be an article about that….

Until now.

So for those of you scribe groupies hoping to see an actual TV or screenwriter this summer vacation, here are some places to go:

NATE N’ AL’S – This perennial Beverly Hills delicatessen is officially Broadway Danny Rose west. Here is where old comedy writers go to die of heart failure. Usually in tables of five or more, piled high with pastrami sandwiches (“I’m hungry now that I’ve quit smoking!”) the old sitcom guard holds court, trading stories of the good old days when Elizabeth Montgomery was a doll to work with but that Cosby kid was a handful. (“Two comedy albums and suddenly he knows funny!”) Morning meetings between writers and agents, managers, or producers start about 9. The ones that are over by 10 are working writers, the ones that go on til 11 are not.

THE AMC THEATRES, CENTURY CITY – weekday matinees only. Usually in pairs. Listen for the keywords: “Who greenlit this shit?”

THE FARMERS’ MARKET FOOD COURT – weekday mornings, early. They have coffee, read the trades, bitch about their fantasy baseball teams, and get the hell out before all the tour busses arrive.

Every STARBUCKS and COFFEE BEAN on Ventura Blvd between Vineland and White Oak. They’re easy to spot, sitting in front of computers, nursing one $3.00 ice blended for eight hours.

ART’S DELICATESSEN – Studio City. The San Fernando Valley equivalent of Nate N’ Al’s. Close to CBS Radford with oversized artery clogging triple deck sandwiches that include pastrami AND chopped liver. The one-time popular haunt of all the MTM writers so it’s kind of a shrine.

CEDARS SINAI HOSPITAL – West Hollywood. Home for all reunions of GRACE UNDER FIRE, CYBILL, and ROSEANNE writers.

THE SMOKE HOUSE – Burbank. Across the street from Warner Brothers studio. The bar area. Leave it to writers to think a good place to pick up chicks is at an old style red booth restaurant that’s been around since John Barrymore used to pass out there. Historic note: Captain & Tennille were discovered playing the Smoke House lounge – thus adding even more to the hip factor.

THE AROMA CAFÉ – Cute little coffee house with cute outdoor patio. On Tujunga Blvd in the valley mere steps from where Robert Blake had the love of his life whacked.

RESIDUALS – A bar in the valley that used to let writers pay for drinks with residual checks that were under a dollar. They eventually had to stop that practice because they were getting too many. I myself have received a check from THE SIMPSONS for one cent. And I’m sure it cost $5.00 to process and mail the check.

THE BRENTWOOD COUNTRY MART – Westside smaller version of the Farmers’ Market Food Court. Writers and news anchors hang out here. You’ll have no trouble telling which is which.

THE OAKWOOD GARDEN APARTMENTS -- Burbank. See recently divorced writers.

Any coffee shop above Hollywood on Franklin – Lots of guys trying to write the next PULP FICTION. Or TIL’ DEATH.

Happy hunting. One rule though: no handing out spec scripts! Let me repeat that:

NO HANDING OUT SCRIPTS!

Either working writers will be pissed or non-working writers will give you theirs.

Grant Morrison Is Not Messing Around

Like a lot of people, I'm not 100-percent sure of everything that's taking place in "Final Crisis," but that's actually a good thing. This isn't a beefed-up Super Friends situation. Writer Grant Morrison is setting up something seriously dark and unsettling, and it isn't playing out the way I assumed an Event Comic would.

(Spoilers ahead!)

Issue No. 1: Martian Manhunter is murdered in one panel. The end. Issue No. 2: Det. Dan Turpin is seen beating the living shit out of a cowering, broken Mad Hatter. I mean, this is a savage, blood-on-the-walls beatdown, one that the reader is totally unprepared for. What does it mean? Who knows? I didn't even mention the opening sequence in Japan (presumably Tokyo), where Sonny Sumo rips out the heart of an idiot robot who challenges him to a fight. Before heading to the bathroom, Sumo leaves the guy's extracted heart on his drinking glass. Um, wow. And I don't care that it wasn't a total surprise: That last panel of the Flash (Barry frickin' Allen!) sprinting back from the dead was thrilling.

Morrison's also working his nonlinear voodoo on "Batman," and I think it's intriguing. I'll have to wait until tomorrow to (maybe) find out what happened after Bruce Wayne collapsed and Alfred was brutally attacked in the Bat Cave.

Phew. Morrison's stuff is cardio for the brain.

Slamming the Suburbs

"I lower my head in astonishment and embarrassment for those of you who need gas guzzlers to make it from your stepford suburbs into town every day."

The above comment came from an annoyed Tallahassee.com poster who was defending recently-announced plans for condos along Gaines Street. In his/her defense, they were responding to an equally cranky post criticizing the project. But I am so tired of all suburb-dwellers being stereotyped as Hummer-driving evildoers who, when not cheating on their spouses or calling Rush Limbaugh, shoot endangered wildlife for fun. Frankly, I agreed with everything the poster said until s/he opened fire on everyone who lives outside of Capital Circle.

When we moved to Tallahassee eight years ago, the first places we looked for houses were in town. I fell in love with Lafayette Park, Betton Hills and Midtown, and I told our Realtor not to bother showing us anything in Killearn. Nothing against Killearn, but I didn't want the commute. This was right before housing prices went nuts, but we were new parents who didn't have tons of money to spend. So after ruling out flood zones, fixer-uppers, Killearn and in-town neighborhoods we couldn't afford (see: Lafayette Park, Myers and Betton Hills), we settled on Buck Lake. In other words, we didn't choose the 'burbs because we were desperate to get away from fast-and-furious urban Tallahassee. (Besides, according to my utilties bill, I'm a bonafide city dweller.)

When I was in my 20s, I lived in a series of old, funky apartments in urban neighborhoods. So my dream house isn't a huge, gated home in Golden Eagle; it's a Craftsman-style bungalow close to downtown. But even in this market, those kinds of homes — the ones that don't need any work — are expensive. I don't have the time or the funds for a major renovation project. I have even less patience with a certain kind of ZIP code snob who thinks no one outside of their neighborhood listens to NPR or buys fair-trade coffee.

A) I don't drive an SUV.
B) My "Stepford" neighborhood is pretty diverse.
C) I'm rooting for a more vibrant urban core. Maybe I'll even get to live in it.

Can't we all just get along?