Well, dear readers, we are less than one week away from our New York filming and the prep work is amping up, oh, yes, the prep work is amping up and frankly, it’s amping ME up. But I’m also trying to get as much sleep as I can before the journey to New York, New York, the city that never sleeps. But I’ve talked to our wardrobe person, our prop person, we’re still not quite fully cast but I’m sure that will all be settled today, and I’m putting something I revised when we were going a different casting way that didn’t pan out, back the way it was, along with a few other tiny adjustments. And I’m too het up to really focus on movie watching, so I’ve been watching some stuff on Tubi, compilations of terrible exploitation trailers – I’ve heard of almost none of the films and I would, of course, have zero interest in seeing them. And I watched a little documentary on the 1970s film phenomenon of Naziexploitation films. I’ve never seen any of those films, and one has to wonder just what attracts film FANatics to them – they have large cult followings. From the trailers and short scenes they show, it’s simply sex and torture in equal measure, horribly directed, and I guess I just don’t understand anyone who would respond to them. Apparently, some people find them amusing on some level. And I did watch the first twenty minutes of What’s New, Pussycat earlier. Back when it came out, I saw it over and over again during its first run, at either the Bruin in Westwood or the Vogue in Hollywood. I thought it was the most hilarious movie ever – I howled with laughter along with the rest of the audience. Only at the end did it completely peter out with the go-kart chase but the rest was so hip and crazy, I just loved it. Peter Sellers was hilarious, Peter O’Toole was perfect, and Woody Allen was still at his most nebbishy – he’d tone it down in subsequent films – he was still a nebbish but not quite as severe. From what’s been written, the script was basically thrown in the air and pages landed where they landed and that’s the film. Mr. Allen, who wrote it, was very unhappy with the entire experience, which is exactly why he became a director – to protect his screenplays. His lines are obviously his own, but everyone else sounds like they’re doing an awful lot of making it up as they go – sometimes to good effect, sometimes not. Watching it now is interesting. It’s no longer got any hip factor and its style was ripped off relentlessly back then. Most of the great comic bits still work, but the sum of its parts doesn’t quite make the whole that it did back then. It’s too long for its own good, and then it just doesn’t know when to end. They should have removed the entire go-kart chase – it’s completely unfunny and in all the longer shots it’s completely obvious that there are stunt drivers in the cars who look nothing like the actors they’re supposed to be. Back then, I thought Clive Donner was the greatest comedy director. Of course, he wasn’t – he never made another successful comedy. He tried, but the results were terrible, especially his awful film of the play Luv. His 1980s “comedies” included the horrible The Nude Bomb and Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen. His other films of the 1960s and 1970s were mostly unsuccessful, especially the huge bomb known as Alfred the Great. None of his post-Pussycat films were hits, actually. And he certainly did not begin as a comedy director – most of his early films are dramas. Given his early films and Pussycat, his subsequent career can only be viewed as a disappointment – I do know that at some point I began to give his films the Donner pass.
Yesterday was that kind of a day. I got nine hours of sleep, which was a good thing, answered tons of e-mails and texts, had many telephonic conversations, went and got two Popeye’s mild chicken breasts and brought them home and ate them – they were pretty good. My screenwriting partner found a couple more things to adjust – very small – and we now have a new PDF of this latest version.
I did some work on the computer and then finally sat on my couch like so much fish, unmotivated to really watch anything of substance. After I finally shut the TV down, I made about three ounces of spaghetti with butter and cheese as a little snack. It was good for what it was, which was three ounces of spaghetti with butter and cheese. The rest you know.
Today, I’ll be up when I’m up, I’ll do whatever needs doing, I’ll have the usual telephonic conversations, I’ll do the small script adjustments and resend those to those who need them and hopefully casting will finally be finished. I wish I could have had a few more of my Broadway folks in it, but scheduling proved to be impossible for a lot of them. If we’re lucky enough to have a successful first season, viewer-wise, and we do a second season, they’ll all want to do it, just like the old days when every single working performer in New York wanted to do the albums we did back then – that’s how it usually goes. Of course, the biggest challenge is getting the viewers and that’s a whole other ball of potatoes. I’ll eat, and then at some point, I’ll watch, listen, and relax.
The rest of the week is more of the same, and then I shall be on my way to New York on the red eye flight Friday night.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, be up when I’m up, do whatever needs doing, have the usual telephonic conversations, do script adjustments and send those out, finish casting, eat, and then watch, listen, and relax. Today’s topic of discussion: Which director did you love whose career then never delivered the promise of the films you loved? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I hit the road to dreamland, after giving What’s New, Pussycat the Donner pass after thirty minutes.