Well, dear readers, here we are on a fine Monday morning in the fine month of August. We had an absolutely sparkling chat last night, with quite a roomful of people. The conversation was lively and witty and a grand time was had by one and all and all and one. As I posted in a late post last night, I did have to get a bit snippy at the end because someone simply wouldn’t identify himself, even after I’d asked several times. I’m afraid that the situation I’ve spoken of before has returned – it involves a dear reader and someone who should not be posting here, and it is a situation that I need to keep my eye on. So, I would simply ask that in chat if you can’t get in with your own name, just tell us who you are straight out. Don’t make us ask over and over – at least for now that’s the way it’s going to have to be.
Those people on another chat board are now trying to call our very own Juliana anorexic. Let me tell you, Juliana is so not anorexic – she is healthy as a horse, she has a lovely appetite (I’ve taken many meals with her) and she couldn’t do eight shows a week if she was starving herself. But on they go, rather disingenuously, saying she’s sending out the wrong message to her fans and then acting like they’re really worried about her. Well, I do hate to ruin their fun, but there’s nothing to worry about and they are full o’ beans.
Last night I watched a motion picture entitled Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band. I know this film probably has some nostalgia value for some, but it really is one of the most excruciating films I’ve ever sat through. It does have a couple of nice things in it – I liked Sandy Farina’s songs, and I liked Frankie Howerd’s When I’m Sixty-Four (otherwise, he’s totally wasted), and Steve Martin is somewhat amusing. But the thing just goes on and on and their attempt at having a plot is ludicrous and totally unfunny and, worst of all, boring. The director has no feel for how to shoot a musical number, which doesn’t help a film that is virtually all musical numbers. However, it is worth the price of the disc to watch the finale – it is mind-boggling. All these rock stars of the time, mixed with people like Carol Channing, Gwen Verdon, Chita Rivera, Connie Stevens – I mean, it’s what the people of my generation used to call “a trip”. The transfer and sound are top-notch.
I also watched Mr. Roman Polanski’s strange film, The Fearless Vampire Killers. I really liked it a lot – beautifully directed with terrific performances and a great score by Krystof Komeda (billed as Christopher Komeda). Polanski himself plays a leading role and he is a terrific actor. And Sharon Tate was amazingly beautiful.
What am I, Ebert and Roeper all of a sudden? Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I must be on my merry way, don’t you know.
I had a lovely conversation with our very own Harvey Schmidt last night, and he has graciously agreed to do the cover painting for the third Kritzer book. Isn’t that exciting? Isn’t that just too too? He wasn’t aware that the Pasadena Playhouse will be doing 110 In the Shade shortly, directed by our pal David Lee, who did their Do I Hear a Waltz. I’m hoping I can get Harvey to come and see it. Since I have never actually seen a production of 110 In the Shade, I will be there with bells on or, at the very least, with kettle drums on.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must hie myself to the Oaks of Sherman with bells and kettle drums on, I must work all the livelong day, and then I must hie myself home where I must write a page or two and then sup a foodstuff or two. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s nightmare casting time – let us have our worst-casting scenario for our special haineshisway.com revival of – A Chorus Line. Go to it, and discuss anything else you so choose, and let’s have loads of lovely posts for my mental delectation, shall we?