Well, dear readers, there I was, jogging away, looking quite pathetic, when all of a sudden I saw a grasshopper. That in of itself is not such a big deal, but the grasshopper was not on the grass, you see – it was on the concrete. So, I said to the grasshopper, “Excuse me for living, Mr. Grasshopper, but you are not on the grass – what gives?” The grasshopper cocked its head and looked at me and replied, “Listen, you great steaming glob of nougat, I am not on the grass because I am a concretehopper not a grasshopper.” First of all, I’m sure I’m not the only one here who finds it odd that the grasshopper – excuse me – concretehopper – was speaking. Second of all and even odder was that the grasshopper – excuse me – concretehopper – was speaking in a British accent, cockney actually. Third of all, the worst part was that I then had an immediate craving for a steaming glob of nougat. In any case, that was the tale of the concretehopper and I. Next we’ll have the tale of The Randy Vicar and Kiwi Fruit. Did anyone notice that I jumped ahead? I’m completely out of order now, notes-wise, which is very difficult for now the notes are akimbo, order-wise, and I’m very confused.
A new paragraph might help. Yesterday was a nice sort of day. I was awakened by she of the Evil Eye’s ringing of the doorbell. I hadn’t actually gotten to sleep until two, so I didn’t get my necessary eight hours, but at least it was close. I then had to leave the home environment for a few hours, so I went and had some matzo brei and a bagel, after which I did some errands and whatnot. I picked up one tiny package and the important envelope. I then came back home and prepped the eBlast, so that’s done. I can’t really remember the rest of the afternoon very well – other than I was really tired and zoned out for most of it. I know I did some stuff, but at some point I found myself sitting on my couch like so much fish.
Last night, I began watching the new Blu and Ray box set of the Sherlock Holmes movies. I know this is heresy, but I haven’t seen most of these, or I’ve just seen snippets of several, but only a couple complete. For example, I’d never seen anything but the first ten minutes of The Hound of the Baskervilles. It’s an enjoyable but not great film – a score would have helped immeasurably (after the main titles, there is no further music until the end titles). But Basil Rathbone is just magical as Holmes – they don’t make actors like him anymore, and it’s a real shame. I was thinking about it the other day – who are the Basil Rathbones or the Claude Rains’ of today? No one, that’s who. It’s a kind of character actor that simply doesn’t exist. Mr. Rathbone had a VOICE. Actors today don’t have voices, they just mumble and every one of them sounds like the other. It’s interesting that Mr. Rathbone receives second billing to Richard Greene in this film. I mean, it’s a Sherlock Holmes film, after all. I gather that’s put right in all the subsequent films. Mr. Greene, of course, went on to have his biggest success in television as Robin Hood. There’s a lot of fog and some nice gothic sets, but despite its brief running time, it didn’t hold my attention that well. Next up is The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which, according to the credits, is an adaptation of the William Gillette play.
I then went and got a couple of little snacky things from the Gelson’s deli counter – some cheesy potatoes, some righteous red potato salad and some Chinese chicken salad – just a little of each, and that hit the spot perfectly. I then watched a motion picture on DVD entitled The Fantasticks. Earlier, I’d had a lovelier than lovely telephonic conversation with Mr. Harvey Schmidt, and since I’d never actually been able to sit through Mr. Francis Ford Coppola’s butcherization of Mr. Michael Ritchie’s film, I decided it was high and/or low time to rectify that situation. Way back in 1995 when the film was finished, Harvey sent me a VHS letterboxed tape of it. I didn’t think it was too good, but I admired Mr. Ritchie’s passion for doing it. I’d heard all the stories about the filming and Jonathan Tunick’s orchestrations from Harvey while it was all going on. The film ran 111 minutes and there were some nice moments in it, especially the Luisa of Jean Louisa Kelly. After a series of tepid screenings, MGM shelved the film and it sat shelved for five years. However, Michael Ritchie had a contractual obligation with Harvey and Tom that the film had to be released if even for a day or two. So, five years later, Mr. Francis Ford Coppola put his grubby hands on it and hacked out almost thirty minutes of footage and with it the movie became completely pointless, erratic, and jerky-looking. His first brilliant decision was to remove one of the most famous opening songs in history, Try To Remember. Then he cut verses out of songs, rendering them choppy and weird sounding. His wholesale removal of scenes made things incoherent. I mean, Mr. Ritchie had a vision, Harvey and Tom gave him a screenplay that conformed to it, and for better or for worse, Mr. Ritchie made the film he made. The timing was bad for a musical film in 1995 and it was worse in 2000, although it was about to get a whole lot better with Mr. Rob Marshall’s film of Chicago. But the point was and is, if they were just going to release it in four theaters for a week, why NOT put out the original version? Mr. Coppola’s version didn’t suddenly make it brilliant or palatable for audiences – it did under $50,000 in its brief run, and that is its entire box-office takings – on a budget of ten million dollars. It’s a shame they didn’t include both versions on the DVD, but they DID include all the cut material as bonus features, so it’s possible to burn the DVD to your computer and then insert all the cut footage where it belongs. Happily, I still have my VHS tape somewhere, and I think I’ll have it transferred. The most interesting aspect of the film are the orchestrations of Jonathan Tunick. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will ever replace the brilliant sound of the off-Broadway productions’ piano and harp – it just IS the sound of The Fantasticks. But I have to say that Mr. Tunick’s work is fantastic. The vocals, thanks to Mr. Ritchie’s insistence that they be sung “live” to playback on the set, are not as good as they should be, and hearing them completely dry is like chalk on a blackboard occasionally. I remember really loathing the El Gallo, but I kind of liked him this time around. And the film does have some nice things in it – unfortunately Mr. Ritchie just doesn’t seem to have the rhythm for a musical film. Another thing that works surprisingly well is the choreography by Michael Smuin – very nice stuff.
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I must get myself to the bedroom environment for a hopefully excellent beauty sleep.
Today, I shall hopefully awaken from a great night’s sleep. I shall then jog (I’ve actually been jogging every day – and I got up to two miles yesterday), and then I have my early Easter dinner to attend – I have to be there at two-thirty and will hopefully be home at six to watch the next Sherlock Holmes movie and relax. I have to get the notes posted early and to bed because I arise at six the next morning to announce our two new releases.
Tomorrow, I will hopefully be printing out a LOT of orders for both titles, and I have some errands and whatnot to do, and then I type up the edit road map for our next release, and I may even get the liner notes done so that’s one less thing to deal with next week.
The rest of the week is filled with rehearsals, meetings, meals, and seeing God of Carnage. Saturday, I have a work session with the twelve-year-old and then she and I and her family are going to celebrate her birthday, and I will then have to call her the thirteen-year-old.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, do a jog, attend an Easter dinner, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: It’s free-for-all day, the day in which you dear readers get to make with the topics and we all get to post about them. So, let’s have loads of lovely topics and loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland and wake up to Easter Sunday and gaily-colored Easter eggs, marshmallow bunnies, and the like.