The Sheila Variations

L.A. snapshots. No context.

"It's a quasi-dystopian universe."

"The leader of the group then tried to hug him into submission and he shrank into a fat Mexican."

"Say goodbye to cousin Sheila, Seamus!"
"BREAK A LEG!"

"My needs as a woman are simple and biological. I would like to have a penis on a regular basis and perhaps a child."

"Big Papi's losin' it."

"There's a hegemony."
"A what, Cash?"
"Everything is one."
"Oh, Okay."

"Nobody holds hands anymore. And everyone has Brazilians. I just don't fit in."

"You drove the Volvo yesterday, right?"
"The black one?"
Long pause full of scorn.

"I'm at the point where I don't want to know what anyone does. Like, don't tell me you use anal beads on your wife, okay? I don't want to hear it."

"You have to know it has taken an act of superhuman strength for me not to write about all of this."
"Really?"
"Dude, are you kidding me? Do you have any idea who you are dealing with?"
"Really?"

"Please tell me you're not a tax accountant."

"Meanwhile you're just pissed off that you don't have a hickey."

"I really like Star Trek, but I don't want to be a Trekkie. I am going to try really hard to not go down that path."
"It's okay, Cash. You have a family who loves you. We won't let you."

"You literally cannot stump Seamus with Simon Says. It's amazing." (it really was.)

"Julio Lugo is spending way too much time at his tango academy. We warned him that this could be a problem."

"No. We do not put stickers on each other's private parts." (this is akin to Jean Kerr's dictum "please don't eat the daisies")

"Can you just drop me off at Pavilions?"
"What? No, we'll wait and drive you home."
"Oh, please, I know I'm so weird, but no, please just drop me off."
"Uhm ... okay ..."
"I just want to stroll the aisles and get Chex Mix and Ginger Ale in peace."
"Wow. Okay."
"Please?"

"Hi, Uncle Sheila!"

Snapshots

-- I have never made so many lists in my life. I cannot live without my lists. I keep everything on the same To-Do List, so that "buy nail polish" lives side by side with "Get a life".

-- Lucy is growing so fast and I feel like I'm missing out! At least I get pictures on almost a daily basis.

-- I'm not renewing my lease. Let the adventures begin. The great unknown. Leap of faith.

-- Green Day's new album is a bit of a revelation. I was almost tentative, going in, because I loved "American Idiot" so much. I was afraid "21st Century Breakdown" would fall short. Well, no. It hasn't. Funny thing is - and this is mainly because of my iPod and how I listen to music now - it was a while before I listened to the whole album, start to finish. I clued in on one or two songs ("East Jesus Nowhere" and "Horseshoes and Hand grenades" primarily) - but then a couple of days ago I listened to the whole thing, start to finish, and my God, they have done it again. A perfect modulation of rage and nostalgia and sweetness and cynicism - each song leading into the next - nothing standing out as "not fitting". I'm going through phases. I mean, I just bought the album last week, so it's early yet - but first I clicked in to "East Jesus Nowhere". Couldn't stop listening to it. Then it was "Vive la Gloria" - couldn't stop listening to that one. I had a couple of hours where "Last of the American Girls" became THE song for me ... and now I am deeply embedded in "21 Guns", and listen to it on eternal repeat and it shows no sign of stopping any time soon. LOVE the album. I'm thrilled.

-- Too much to do in too little time. Hence: the lists. Oh well, whether or not I get it all done, the rest of this week WILL happen. Time WILL move forward and I will move along with it. Hard to see that, though, as I scurry around "buying nail polish" and "getting a life".

-- ME: "So what should we do? Saturday night? Friday? What's your schedule? Are you free? Should we nail down a time? Am I able to chill out? Seriously not sure. Talk to me. Pick a place, pick a time. Where should we go?"

HE: "Everything's going to be fine."

"And then I might ...."

It may be dumb to post these really simple lyrics, but along with the music - they just make me happy happy. I've always loved this song. And I love it even more now. Perfect Saturday night music. A couple clips below. One dumb montage, with the original song playing over it ... and another of Evan Rachel Wood singing it (wonderfully) during the opening of Across the Universe. Love love it.

Hold Me Tight

It feels so right now, now hold me tight,
Tell me I'm the only one,
And then I might,
Never be the lonely one.
So hold me tight to-night, to-night [to-night],
It's you,
You you you

Hold me tight,
Let me go on loving you,
To-night to-night,
Making love to only you,
So hold me tight, to-night, to-night
It's you,
You you you

Don't know what it means to hold you tight,
Being here alone tonight with you,

It feels so right now.
Hold me tight,
Tell me I'm the only one,
And then I might,
Never be the lonely one,
So hold me tight, to-night, to-night
It's you,
You you you

Don't know what it means to hold you tight,
Being here alone tonight with you,
It feels so right now.
Hold me tight,
Let me go on loving you,
To-night, to-night,
Making love to only you,
So hold me tight, to-night, to-night
It's you,
You you you

It's kind of nice when you realize ...

... that something you thought would be a dealbreaker turns out not to matter at all.

It's not that you don't have a moment, like: "OMG, two weeks ago I thought that was a dealbreaker ... but ... hmmm ... let me look at my feelings about this to see where I am really coming from" ... but once you examine your conscience you come to the conclusion that, " ... uhm ... Nope. Doesn't matter at all."

I still maintain that if someone is a dick to a waiter, I would still walk out on the date - like I did that one time in Chicago. It took me about 15 minutes to make the decision - because the second he was a douchebag to the waiter, I was done. In my mind I was thinking, "I never want to see you again. All is lost. I will never respect you now, you have lost me entirely. This is our first date and I already find you reprehensible from your one small action in this regard - because actions speak louder than words - and anyone who just behaved in the way you did doesn't merit one more second of my time." But ... but ... how do you handle that on a date? I suffered in silence for 15 minutes, until finally I just stood up, put money on the table and said, "Sorry. I can't do this. You were just rude to that waiter, and I just can't go any further with this date. My apologies." And I walked out on him. It was glorious, one of my finest hours. I felt like I could eat nails for breakfast!!!

So I still feel that behavioral stuff like that really matters ...

... but then there are other things that come up and you realize: what on earth were you holding onto THAT for? Does that really matter?

Of course it might also mean that I have no solid principles whatsoever, but at this point in my life I think that would be okay too.

And honestly I might be stupid to think love is love ... but I do

Mr. Harris - by Aimee Mann

Listen here. Have Kleenex ready.

So he's retired
lives with his sister in a furnished flat
he's got this suit that
he'll never wear outside without a hat
his hair is white but he looks half his age
he looks like Jimmy Stewart in his younger days.

and honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

My mother's calling
from where she's living up in Troy, Vermont
she tries to tell me
a father figure must be what I want
I've always thought age made no difference
am I the only one to whom that's making sense?

And honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

The day I met him he was raking leaves
in his tiny yard.

Of course I know that
we've only got ten years, or twenty, left
but to be honest
I'm happy with whatever time we get
depending on whichever book you read
sometimes it takes a lifetime to get what you need.

And honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you.

honestly, I might be
stupid to think love is love but I do
and you've waited so long and
I've waited long enough for you

There's a story behind this song. There's always a story.

I first heard it in 2000. I love Aimee Mann but I was unfamiliar with this particular song. I went with my friend Jen to Don't Tell Mama's, a cabaret joint in New York, where a friend of Jen's was performing. It was a week or so before this. That was coming, but it hadn't arrived yet, and I was still in a state of suspended animation. Looking back, it is obvious now that the storm was coming, it was about to break, but when Jen and I went to Don't Tell Mama's, it was still just gathering. I was still holding out hope.

Jen's friend had about an hour-long set. A lovely clear voice. We sat at a little table in the club, and had a wonderful time. It was an emotional night, I remember. Jen and I were roommates (she makes an appearance in the final moments of that link above), and we were both having an intense time of it. Jen is a singer, too, and she sat there beside me having all kinds of feelings about her own career, her own voice ... she was so proud of her friend, but she couldn't help but reflect on what she wanted, for her own life.

As for me, I was just enjoying the music, yo. I wasn't sitting there, thinking of a gathering storm, or my hopes, or anything like that.

Until Jen's friend sang "Mr. Harris". A song I had never heard.

She said, "You know, I've always just loved this song, and wanted to sing it. Aimee Mann's 'Mr. Harris.'"

And from the first strains on the piano, I was GONE.

When she started singing, the club itself felt like it contracted. I suddenly was aware of the walls pressing in on me, and my own personal response to the song becoming far too large for that venue. The strain of holding back was so much that I actually felt a white-hot burning go all through me. The way I feel in kick-boxing class at about the 40-minute mark. Things actually burn. I couldn't breathe. I was afraid to. If I took a deep breath, huge stormy sobs would come out, and I wouldn't have anywhere to go. The moment was not supposed to be about ME ... but i couldn't help it. The song sliced through the artifice, ripped me open to myself, and the pain that I had been hovering over, fearfully, not going into it yet, was revealed to me. I flew in nervous circles above myself - looking down on the wreckage - that I couldn't even feel yet. It was like I had been horribly injured, and had flown up out of my body. A bird killed in the street - and its mate flutters over the dead body, flapping its wings in a panic, swooping in, back up, in, back up ... like: No, no, no, this cannot be .... I don't know if I was aware of anything like, "This is what is ahead of you ... this is the sadness you are now ignoring, that is going to come to the forefront in a week or so ..." That's not really how it was. It was more primal than that. The brain was not involved, except in the most detached way, disengaging from the white-hot burning, and looking down on it, observing. For the most part, I just listened to that song - and was filled with a hot searing liquid - and I couldn't breathe - and the club was suddenly too small for my experience. I thought the song would never end.

"Mr. Harris"'s tune was part of what sliced me open. It's slow, it lulls you into a feeling of safety, it says, "It's okay ... it's okay to have yearnings, to be sad, to have hope ..."

But the lyrics. My God, the lyrics. At that time, in love as I was with an older man, I thought I was going to die. I couldn't catch a full breath.

The sadness was so acute that calling it sadness isn't really accurate. Maybe "grief" is more like it. Or loss. I felt like I was looking at an alternate life, the life where it did work out with this man ... and that was the life I wanted to be in. Not the one I was actually in. And how could I ever ever come to peace with that?

I loved him so much.

Finally - finally - the song ended. Tears had been boiling down my face, rolling off and into my lap - but there was a strange stasis inside of me because I couldn't openly sob (or, I felt I couldn't). I was drowning. Taking teeny tentative breaths, drenched in tears. "Mr. Harris" was over, and she moved on with her set - and I recovered immediately. There was no hangover. It had been a spell. While the song was going on, I suddenly became my own bird-mate, flapping its wings frantically over the dead body of myself in the street ... looking at the guts and crushed bones and thinking, panicked, "No, no, no, no, it can't be as bad as all that, can it???" No ... my sadness isn't going to be THAT bad, will it? How will I bear it? Oh God, oh God, help me bear it .... And then the song finished, and abracadabra, I was back to myself, back to normal.

Jen and I walked to Port Authority after the show, to take the bus back to our apartment. We stood in line, talking about the night. She told me her experiences sitting there, her feelings about singing, how much she wanted to do it, and do it more (she has a beautiful voice), and how it had been a very intense night for her. I told her about what happened to me during "Mr. Harris". How I was suddenly on fire from within, and thought I might LOSE it in that very small club. We got home, and Jen actually had the Aimee Mann CD on which "Mr. Harris" appears. She gave it to me. I made a copy immediately.

I listened to it constantly that next week. I didn't have the same experience to it that I had had that first time at Don't Tell Mama's. I no longer felt myself full of molten lava with boiling tears coursing down my face. It still wove a spell, but it was more of a gentle melancholy spell. I suppose I was, somewhere, gearing up. For my trip to Chicago and all that that would entail. I'm no dummy. I knew somewhere what the outcome would be (although I could have had no clue that the trip would end in such a crazy way - see that link above) ... and maybe I knew I needed my strength for it. I needed to go into it calm, and open ... not grasping and already-sad ... and so "Mr. Harris", with its brief burning realization of the damage that had been done ... followed by the gentle melancholy of the subsequent listenings ... prepared the ground for me.

It helped me take that deep deep breath before the plunge ... the one I had been afraid to take while sitting in Don't Tell Mama's.

For years afterwards, when I listened to the song, I thought of that night, yes, at Don't Tell Mama's. I also thought of that trip to Chicago the next week, and the complete chaos of my trip home, and the "total dark sublime". I didn't have to call the images up, or concentrate ... It was a time-traveler. It took me back. Immediately. Some songs are like that.

I have found myself turning to "Mr. Harris" recently.

And it's funny. Or not so funny. But it is seeming like a different song to me now. I am hearing it in a different way.

Of course I know that
we've only got ten years, or twenty, left
but to be honest
I'm happy with whatever time we get
depending on which book you read
sometimes it takes a lifetime to get what you need.

Those lyrics sounded very very different to me when I first heard the song.

Listen to "Mr. Harris" here.

You think that I'm strong. You're wrong. You're wrong.

Robbie Williams. "Strong". (Video below)

The first time I heard this song I was hooked. Forever.

It always makes me think of that homeless guy I dated that one time. I was listening to Robbie all the time then. That season passed, and while I still think Robbie Williams is a total kick, I didn't have to listen to him all the time the way I did then.

But "Strong" has kind of risen again in my consciousness ... it's like a need. I've felt it. "Hm. Let's listen to 'Strong', shall we?" It feeds something, it represents something ... not so much the lyrics (although yes, the lyrics too) - but the music.

The ground breaking up ... things emerging again ... hopes? No, not hope again, please not that!!! But yes, yes ... there it is again. Hope. Possibility. Dreams.

To me the song says "hope". And I love that line. "You think that I'm strong. You're wrong. You're wrong."

I relate to that.

But maybe that's okay, too.

"These moments are so alive and spontaneous, it's difficult to believe that 'Faces' was entirely scripted; though the actors were given great freedom when it came to their gestures and motivations, there was virtually no improvisation on set."

A great review by Dana Stevens of John Cassavetes' Faces, a movie I've never written about (my bad, entirely) - and the latest Criterion Collection release. I have the Cassavetes box set, so I don't really need to buy the latest (the box set is truly deluxe, with enough special features to take up a week of your life - great stuff).

I saw Faces when I was about 15, and I had never seen anything like it. I was disturbed by it, thought about it for days. What did it mean? Who WERE those people? Why didn't they settle the hell DOWN, and stop dancing and laughing for one goddamn second, because they obviously were all so sad and angry!!

It was one of those moments in my life where I see a movie "too soon" - I was too young to get the adult emotions on display - I was too young to understand what I was watching - and it was the best possible thing for my development. A small leap forward, a bit of a tesseract. I saw Dog Day Afternoon "too soon" - and my entire mindset shifted about what I wanted to do with my life: "I have no idea what that was all about ... but I sure as shit know I want to be a part of it."

Faces was like that for me. An unforgettable groundbreaking film.

Wonderful review - read the whole thing.

And watch Faces, if you haven't already.

Additionally, if your only experience of John Marley (late father of Ben Marley) is his unforgettable scene with the horses' head in The Godfather, then you need - yes, NEED - to see him here.

Empty

A really good friend of mine said that on her first date with the man who is now her husband, at one point they were sitting on the couch and they had two glasses of soda on the table in front of them, and for some reason, she looked at them and it occurred to her, "Two. There are two there. I never thought there'd be two." It amazed her to see two glasses. In retrospect, maybe it is like her soul knew her own future - that this unknown man on the date with her - would be the one for her, would be her mate, her husband, father to her children. I don't think she ever thought she would get married. And that is why the fact that there were two glasses really got her attention. Look at that. There are two. I never ever thought there'd be two.

I have had such moments myself, and BOY did I end up NOT marrying the man in question. So I am wary of them now.

You invest objects with meaning, and suddenly you start having specific expectations of a specific result. Which, in my experience, leads to heartache. It's hard though (especially if you are one as me, who tends towards the cosmic view). I'm not big on fate, or destiny or any of that crap. It's just that ... it's just that ... things line up sometimes and start to make an unbearable sense. I realize that this is a part of mental illness, having things just click-click into perfect place, got it ... but that doesn't change the fact that this shit happens to me all the time. I write about it all the time. Or, no, not all the time. But certainly recently.

I have this thing with empty chairs. I rarely sit down and have dinner at my table, it's not my thing. Well, first of all, I don't have a table, so that might be a factor. I do have two kitchen chairs, given to me by Barry, my dad's best friend. They are awesome vintage chairs, with red leather seats, and curved chrome sides. I love them. Very comfortable. I look forward to the day when I have the room to actually show them off. In a sunny vintage breakfast nook, for example, or in an old-school bar area, like I'm living in a Thin Man movie. I sit in one of them sometimes. Hope will jump up in my lap. I'll put my feet up on the other chair, the empty one, and Hope and I will have a nice quiet time together.

In bad moments, the empty chair haunts me. Or, no, not haunts me. Taunts me. Sometimes I want to throw it out the window. Which would be dumb because I live on the first floor and what's the point of that.

Most of the time I don't think about it. It's just a chair. Sometimes I sit in one, sometimes I sit in the other. Nobody ELSE is supposed to be sitting there.

The other day I was sitting in a park in lower Manhattan, having a snack, and chilling out in the middle of a long stressful day. It's been beautiful spring-like weather here, not too warm, not too cold - but with a zest in the air itself. The park is surrounded by trees exploding in white blossoms, and on a windy day the air looks like it is full of snow. There are green metal benches all along the periphery of the park, which is where I normally like to sit, but on that sunny day there were no spots available. There are also little green wrought-iron tables in the park, with little green-painted chairs around them. Sometimes people gather around them for study groups, or lunch. There was a little table available with three chairs. I sat in one of the chairs, put my bag down on one of the other chairs, and just sank into a state of total stillness. Trying to relax, breathe, clear my head. Lots of stress this week! Long long days. I was just enjoying the sun on my face, and the white blossom snowfall around me, and the sight of New Yorkers lying on a small patch of grass in bikini tops, reading, drinking lemonade, whatever.

And suddenly my eye caught the empty chair facing me. The chair's back was to the Hudson, and it seemed, to me, as though someone had just left it. Or was about to sit in it. I don't know, it appeared to be waiting.

This was a spontaneous observation. I didn't reach for it. The object itself suggested that to me. A presence, either just left or approaching.

Got a small prickle on my spine, that yeah, was exciting, it's been a while, but also pricked with dread. To quote that great song from Closer Than Ever, "I've been here before."

But no. I haven't. Not here. Not specifically here. No.

Then, as though pulled to it, I glanced at my bag. My big empty journal was visible, peeking out. I still carry it around, in case I suddenly feel like starting to write. So far I haven't, but that's okay. Must have it there anyway, if the urge to start describing this ongoing narrative comes over me spontaneously.

So it was an odd triangular moment, there in the sun with the green grass and the gleaming Hudson River, and objects that seemed as though they were trying to tell me something.

An empty chair. A blank journal.

I wanted to see into the future. See what those pages might hold. Who might be sitting in that chair. If anyone.

But so far those objects ain't talkin'.

Show up, pay attention, tell the truth, and ....

Maybe it's because nothing is normal now ... so anything that happens is going to occur to me as important and necessary ("this is exactly what I need!!"), or maybe it's just because my life has always been a literary conceit and things always seem to line up according to some invisible plan, with the perfect thing coming to me at the perfect time ... or maybe it's because I have the tendency of a Textbook Manic to see everything in a grandiose "everything makes sense" way, dovetailing threads of sense and perfection all centering on me alone... maybe a mix of all three, but what has been happening lately defies description.

As I have said repeatedly: Someday I will tell this story.

My cousin Mike actually sent me a funny potential-title for the story I will eventually write about all of this - I will not share the title here, at least not yet, since it seems like bad luck. Even if the title ends up not working for THIS still-unfolding story, I must keep it in mind for something else. But there is a story here, a big one, and since everything is on fast-forward and I am basically just trying to keep up with events, I can't really write about any of it yet. It is not in my nature to be coy, and it is also not in my nature to let things percolate, but that is what I am learning right now, and it is not easy, very annoying, and at times I feel like I am having a full-on nervous breakdown. At the same time, I am productive and busy, with only occasional moments of spinning-out into mania (you know, blasting a crazy email at Michael over an imagined insult, etc.) I am sleeping well, I am working out, I haven't had a piece of bread since mid-January and that alone appears to have caused me to lose 20 pounds without even working at it. I miss bread, there are times when I want to gnaw off my own arm pretending it's a French roll, but now that I've cut the cord, there's no going back. More to do, and I am doing it, with fits and starts, and insecurities and all the rest ... but the most important thing is nothing is stagnant right now. Nothing.

There is a bittersweet aspect to all of this, I suppose, because it seems like it has all happened too late. Too late to make a real difference. (The lesson of Tess of the D'Urbervilles?) Also too late to share with the one person who would have appreciated it the most. But the bittersweet-ness is also part of the experience. I guess that's what it means to be a grownup.

Recently, for the first time in a long long time, I picked up a journal. I haven't really kept a journal since 2002, I guess. I started my blog in October of 2002, and that started to take care of the writing impulse, when I got sick of stewing in my own experience privately, and just succumbed to the emotional exhibitionist that I have always been. But since January, I have started thinking about keeping a journal again. The blog is a performance-art piece, frankly, and I pick and choose what I reveal. It's a difficult concept for some people to get, but whatever, it serves a need in me, obviously. What I write offline (in my book, in essays) is very different from what goes on here, and while I may seem to be very open, I am actually the opposite of an open book. My itch to start writing personally and in private again (for me, I mean, not for publication) came over me in January, and I haven't been writing every day - not even close. Maybe once a month I'll pick up the journal and jot down some thoughts. It is scattered, stream-of-conscious. I feel no pressure to explain, or catch my journal up to date. It is present-tense. Immediate. I don't worry about narrative (for the first time in my stupid life I am not worrying about narrative). It's kind of weird to be writing in a journal again. I feel rusty, almost shy. Anyone who's ever kept a journal with any regular basis will probably know the weird feeling of which I speak. The journal is a book, that's all, a blank book ... but I look at it sometimes, hesitantly, thinking, "Okay ... do I want to share this?" Not just with the book, of course, although the book does seem like a real listening entity (Anne Frank knew what she was about when she named her diary "Kitty") but with myself.

For me, when I write something down, that's when it is real. I have always been that way. And maybe if I hold off on writing about all of this, I will ... what? Stave off the inevitable disappointment? Keep myself in the hovering space I am in now, where everything is still just a potential, as opposed to an actuality? I am not against actuality, but actuality brings its own sadness and loss. When everything is almost there, you feel like anything at all is possible. And, it must be said, with as little self-pity as possible: I am not really used to actuality. My dreams (in general) remain theoretical, unrequited, palpable (at times) to myself only. To have one of those dreams actually burst forth on this plane of existence - and take shape in the real world - to materialize? Sounds great, right? But since it's all kind of new to me, it brings a sort of panic and exhilaration that I am just trying to be with, work with. So writing this stuff down before it becomes actual - is, what, a way of remembering for my future self what it was like BEFORE the chips fell where they may? It's a chilling thought, because I am so used to disappointment (cue violins), and I steel myself for heartbreak without thinking about it. This is a Pavlovian response, and it comes from years of life experience that I will not discount or scorn, and I am working with it, doing my best to acknowledge it (yes yes hi, I see you) but move on anyway.

My friend David said to me recently, "Even with everything that has happened, you still are like ..." and he made a "gimme gimme" gesture with his hands. Like: Bring it on. Whatever it is. Bring it on.

I gotta be insane.

And the weirdest and most unsettling thing about writing in my journal right now is that (it's hard to write about this without sounding self-pitying, so whatever, I'm going to stop worrying about it.) ... so anyway, I write a paragraph in my journal, and this has happened a couple of times now, especially in the last couple of months, and I will become conscious of the blank pages ahead of my entry, and - like I used to do in high school, when I would be so wrapped up in some melodrama and I wondered frantically WHAT WILL THE FOLLOWING MONTHS BRING??, I flip through the blank pages, almost fearfully, looking at their clean white emptiness, and I wonder ... holy shit, what will I be writing on these pages? What will I be saying in, say, August?

And the amazing thing is: I have no effing idea. Things are that up in the air. It has been years since I have had such an awareness of the unknown, of the possibility, of the truth that seriously, Sheila, anything can happen.

That has always been true, by the way, but in my 30s, I just was flat out unaware of it. Things settled, got rigid (much of this was my own fault, I retracted from experience itself). So the overall LOOK of my life did not change. I did not get married, I did not have a huge relationship, I did not star in an independent film, I did not become an op-ed columnist, I did not suddenly find myself working the poles at Scores. Any of those things would have been a break from the ordinary - the placid surface of life. But when I step back (and that's one of the things that's going on right now - I have lost the ability to "step back" - that's what happens when things start accelerating) - all I can see is the sameness of it all. Compared to my friends who are buying houses in the suburbs, and having children, and changing jobs, and all of that. Comparisons are odious, and thankfully whatever envy there has been has been expressed - but also, you realize, in talking to your friends: You know, no matter what the outer circumstances, it's all the same shit. We're all in the thick of it. You may have what I want, but I also have some things that you want. And thank goodness we're friends, basically, and can talk about this stuff.

But again, I don't like to write from too far back in perspective, because it can make me sound too new-agey (which I abhor), or too "over it", as in "We all die, solar systems collapse, suns burn out, seas dry up, life is meaningless", and who the hell wants to read that shit. I don't like to have too much perspective when I write, I guess is what I am saying - because it makes your writing general. You start to use the royal "we", and even worse, you use it with utter certainty, as though you alone have the perspective to talk about all of humanity. "We all feel that ..." "We all go through such things ..." It is a terrible habit in writing, one of my biggest pet peeves - I have fallen into it myself. I am so attuned to it now that I notice immediately when the impulse comes up in me to say "we" when I write. Hmmm, I feel like saying 'we' right now ... What would happen if I replaced 'we' with 'I' ... Hmmm, much better, more personal, braver ... It happens without fail. When I feel like writing "we", I am hiding.

Christopher Hitchens has written about this from time to time, and I love his words on it, and try to keep them in mind. Whenever he sees some writer using "we" with regularity, his first response is (of course) a contrarian, "Don't presume to speak for me." But then again, I'm a contrarian, too. I dislike it when someone presumes to speak for me. "As women, we feel ..." Yeah, I'm a woman, I don't feel that way, so don't presume to speak for me. "As women, we are brilliant at multitasking." No, I'm not. I turn down the radio as I approach a toll booth. I can't talk on the phone and cook at the same time. Disaster will befall me. "As women, we know that shopping is a potential cure-all for the blues." No. I hate shopping. I like to get in, get out. Shopping actually CAUSES the blues for me. "As women, we can get frustrated when our hubbies care more about the football game than about being there for us." First of all, don't ever say the word "hubby" to me again, let's just get that straight. Second of all, if my boyfriend tried to engage me in a deep meaningful conversation about our relationship in the middle of an October Red Sox game, I very well might break up with him, because he is obviously retarded and doesn't get it. Anyway, you get the point. All this "we" business makes me cranky. I'm a woman. I don't give a shit about baking cupcakes, crafts, scrapbooks, handbags or window treatments. I don't judge you if you're into that stuff, more power to you, but the assumption that all women must be into that stuff because "we as women" all are like that, I am not down with in the slightest. So what does that make me? I have the same genitalia as Martha Stewart, but am I less of a "real" woman? Don't presume to speak for me. It is insidious. It is also, much worse sin in my eyes, bad writing. I am with Christopher Hitchens on this one (as with so much else) 100%.

My desire to not get too far back from what is going on now is part of the tension of the whole experience. This is one of the lessons from my life which I have never really had a chance to put into practice, but I am trying now. When you only see things as cosmic (as I am wont to do), and everything making sense, and "oh my God, isn't it perfect how this has unfolded" - when it all becomes the Big Picture (tm) you begin to assign meaning to things (and even if you're right, you don't want to assign meaning too early) - OR you start to believe that things should work out according to the plan you've got going on in your head ... and that if it DOESN'T unfold in just that particular way, then something is very very wrong. This is where I have been shattered in the past. It's a terrible habit, and I think it comes, to some degree, from being a cerebral person, a brain-focused person ("We, as women, usually lead from the heart ..." No. We don't.), and vaguely uncomfortable with the physical world. Just bein' honest here.

"But ... but ... it seemed so perfect," I have said to myself in the past.

Well, maybe it was. And maybe it still is. But the outcome wasn't what you hoped for.

Ouch. Tough lessons.

Everything comes back to Ellen Burstyn's 4 rules for acting (which can also be 4 rules for life):

1. Show up
2. Pay attention
3. Tell the truth
4. Don't be attached to the outcome

I wrote my thoughts on that here, so I will not repeat myself. All I will say is that these days I fluctuate from one to the other, being challenged, confronted - on every score. Wait - am I really showing up right now? What can I do to be more present? Oops, totally getting attached to the outcome now ... take a step back. Wait, wait, things are happening too fast ... am I paying attention? Pay attention, Sheila! Doh, just felt like gilding the lily, or just felt like putting forth my PERSONA as opposed to my real self ... just tell the truth, Sheila, tell the truth.

I am the definition of high-maintenance, and I'm actually starting to be a little bit okay with that. Finally.

I mentioned here that I haven't been able to read since February. I have had a book in my bag since I was 7 years old, so it's been kind of upsetting, and very odd. Thankfully, I've had a ton else to occupy my attention but not reading has felt wrong. I broke the ice with the book Mike sent me, which was very good for me, because it wasn't a straight narrative (again with the narrative??) - but pictures and fragments and snippets - very much like my experience of life right now. I could slide into that story, it didn't make too many demands on me to focus ... It was working on a subliminal level with my own life, it dovetailed perfectly. That's obviously what I need right now.

I often wonder how this winter and spring will look to me by next year, but again, that way danger lies.

I'm trying to get back into reading other blogs now (not easy, nothing really holds my interest), and the other day I came across this post on Book Slut, a favorite site of mine, which I haven't been able to visit for a while. That essay about Necessary Sins (a memoir by Lynn Darling) caught my eye. I don't know why. I kind of care about Lynn Darling's husband Lee A. Lescaze, for obvious reasons, if you know his background. But I honestly don't know much about Lynn Darling, I know nothing about their story and the last thing I want to read right now is the story of a giant love affair, which ends with Lescaze's death.

Not up my alley, first of all - since I don't know about the people involved, and I'm not a big memoir person (unless I'm already wildly into the person, like Joan Didion - I'll read a grocery list if it's written by her). But for whatever reason, that piece on Book Slut really caught my eye, in a way that is rare in my experience. In general, I "listen" to Book Slut (Jessa and her other writers) about books ... we seem to be in sync, in terms of taste and interest. They have led me to incredible books I would not have picked up otherwise (lots of first novels, which I normally stay away from - but if Book Slut recommends it, I'll probably read it).

The post on Necessary Sins ends with:

Her affair with Lescaze derails her career at the Post. And at 29 and 30 years old, she’s still lodged in the persona she’s constructed around herself: “a tatterdemalion creature composed of bits and pieces of old rock songs and half-remembered lyrics: hard-drinking, fast-driving, lawless, and irresponsible.” It’s hard thing to do, to shake the idea that “passion was perfect because it was unconnected to the real world, because it overwhelmed, at least for the moment, everything you were meant to be or were supposed to do, conferring the exuberant license of a snow day.” It’s especially hard if you’re a ambitious self-doubter and scared as hell about being an actual adult in the world.

According to her, it takes falling in love, getting married, having a child to shed these ideals. And it’s not entirely convincing that Darling does so all the way: “I didn’t know how to be married now that I was a mother, just as I didn’t know how to be a writer, or a woman for that matter.” Early on in the book, she refers to the Style section as “a study in the triumph of personality over character.” In Darling’s case, it’s not clear which wins out.

Before I even finished reading, I had purchased the book.

Again, do I really need to read something like this now? Is this where I need to go? I don't know what about it called to me, but I needed to have it.

What interested me about the book in the piece on Book Slut was twofold:

-- the sexual aspect of the book. My kind of content. I love honesty in that realm.
-- the part of the book that focuses on "the persona she’s constructed around herself" - a concept that has particularly frightening and palpable resonance for me right now

Maybe a part of me thought about the book I just wrote, and my hope that I was honest, and open, and fair. Not just to the old boyfriends, but to myself. It is the kind of writing I love to do, the kind of writing that is hardest. But I honestly don't know. It's honestly not my kind of book at all.

A memoir of grief? A wife writing about her husband of many years who just passed away? A great love affair, remembered?

I gotta be insane.

I am reading it. Being pulled into it against my will. It's a small book, not too long or dense, and I imagine I will finish it. Even though every fiber of my being is telling me to put it down. Put it down.

I feel strangely named by the book, in a way that hollows me out. I do not get a warm fuzzy feeling of recognition, like I do with some books, where I read about shenanigans and smile with nostalgia, like, "Oh, hey, I was like that in my 20s too!" No, no, because who she was in her 20s exacted a PRICE later, a price that, at times, was too high to pay. That 20 year old - she was playing for keeps. But how could she know that? How could she know the price that would be paid by the 30 year old for her folly? That these things are forever, dammit. The same thing happened to me. I can't write about it, but now (after reading this book) I know I need to. Necessary sins. And yet, it was Darling's great love. It was her great love. There was a ruthlessness in what those two did to be together, and was it worth it? She asks that question. She sits with it. But at the same time, it seems like the least important question of all.

The sexual aspect of the book is, indeed, wonderful, and she captures beautifully the time when you and all of your friends are still virgins and you have conversations about what "it will be like", and if it's important to "be in love", and what will change after we have "done it". It's not as spectacular a book as, say, Year of Magical Thinking - Darling is not the writer that Didion is, but boy, are there passages here ... Passages where I am tugged along, knowing it's leading me into some pretty treacherous waters, but the prose flows so beautifully, so emotionally, that I can't stop reading.

It's making me cry.

Not for her loss, although I can feel her loss vibrating through every word. This man saw her. This man saw past the carefully-created persona, and instead of saying, "No thanks, I want no part of that", he waited - he waited - for her to calm down enough so that she - she - could come out to play.

In the middle of all of this, lives were ruined. And dreams also came true.

I'm not done with it yet, and I have moments where I need to put it down. I can feel the tears start to come, the kind of tears that make me know I'll be down for the count in a matter of moments.

Last night I read this. It is absolutely chilling how much I relate.

We didn't flirt - not in the way I defined it, anyway, hiding behind double entendres and practiced gestures, skipping between provocation and retreat, hoping to be followed but never found. Flirtation was the best of games, and I had always loved to play it with proper men like him, rubbing against their rectitude the way a yearling rubs the downy fuzz from his antlers against the bark of a tree. But this was foreign country to me. I felt no urge to conquer, no combustible alloy of anger and desire, no lie at the heart of it, none of the hollow druglike urgency that desire induced.

Instead we talked, and drank, and drank some more until it grew late and looking deep into each other's eyes, we called for the check. Back on the street we smiled and said good night and got into separate cabs. What did he want? What did I?

It was not a question I had ever needed to ask myself. Desire in its own right had always been enough. Until then I was entranced by the mere possibility of passion, the way it created its own reality, set in motion by the beauty of a man's forearm when he rolled up his sleeves or the way he raked his fingers through his hair. For such gestures, Virginia Woolf wrote, one falls in love for a lifetime. Or at least for a night. I loved the way the heart just turned and suddenly there was someone you wanted more than anything - or just as suddenly wanted no longer. I couldn't understand why anyone ever got married. Passion was perfect because it was unconnected to the real world, because it overwhelmed, at least for the moment, everything you were meant to be or were supposed to do, conferring the exuberant license of a snow day. In some obscure way I knew it was an escape of sorts, a balm for anxiety and a way to delay the future, but that had never seemed like much of a drawback.

Now Lescaze had come along and screwed the whole thing up. I had tried to turn him into a character in my latest fantasy, but he refused to play the part. He didn't have the kind of vanity that puffs up in the presence of admiration. I had tried to turn myself into a character he would find fascinating, but that hadn't worked either. He seemed to look right through my attempts with a kind of amused patience, as if waiting for me to simply settle down and be myself. As if he had seen the good in me and was just waiting for me to see it too.

That was the difference between him and all the others, I realized finally. He offered me the chance to connect the dots between my public and private selves, maybe even to find bedrock. And heart in throat, I took it.

I remember the image from Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye, of Grace's mother with the bad heart: it was like an apple with a bruise that goes all the way through. I can no more get rid of my life story, and its long-lasting effect on me, than I can get rid of my freckles. Nor would I want to. There are bruises, wounds, injuries. Stuff left over, stuff left behind.

I have spent the last decade (almost) of my life trying to not think about the "injuries" too much, because, frankly, 1998-2002 wore me out. Wore me DOWN is more like it. So I retracted, armored up, and tried not to sit around inspecting myself for how much damage had actually been done. I wiped my hands, and thought, "Phew ... I'm still here ... Moving on."

Then why, 8 years later, would I read Necessary Sins and feel, almost tangibly, the bruise going to the very heart of the apple and all the way through to the other side?

But maybe, in the end, none of that matters.

It would be a miracle if it ended up not mattering. It would be a fucking miracle if the fact that the bruise goes all the way through the apple doesn't matter one little bit. I have tears in my eyes as I type this. It would be the "substance of things hoped for", and even now, I retract, feel the anger coming up, the armor, against such thoughts. I write in my journal tentatively, detailing a little bit of this going on, a little bit of that, not giving too much away, even to myself.

Alice and the fawn, remember?

The best part of the fast pace right now is I honestly don't have too much time to think about all of this.

Just have to wait and see. The blank pages of the journal loom at me, white, flipping ahead through them, dauntingly empty. And I wonder if Mike's title-idea will end up being the right one for this particular still-unfolding story. Regardless, I'll use it anyway. Somewhere. I close the book.

Try not to be attached to the outcome.

Dear cousin Mike:

Thank you so much for the nervous breakdown you gave me last night. Which then led to illumination.

I really needed it.

Love,
cousin Sheila

It all began a month ago when I mentioned casually that I haven't been able to read in a couple of months. I was going okay there for a while, and was halfway through the Nureyev book, when suddenly I put it down in February and have been unable to pick up anything since. I'm kind of upset about it, but I can't force myself to read. There's also so much else going on. I am able to read my own work (thank God), and there's been lots of activity in THAT area, so at least I've had some intellectual stimulation, even though it's only from myself.

One of the things about my cousin Mike is that you can't say anything to him without him immediately providing a possible solution. Even if that's not what you're looking for. Seriously, don't share anything if you don't want a solution.

"I've lost 20 pounds, but I need to kick up my weight loss program."
"Here's a colon cleanse. Do it now."

"I'm bored. I have nothing to do."
"Write me something. Here are the parameters. GO."

"I'm so in love, I can't concentrate!"
"Go carve 'Sheila Hearts So-and-So' on a tree in Central Park and then get back to work."

"Gosh, my hands are cold."
"Let me Fed-Ex you some mittens."

You have to be careful what you tell him!

So when I mentioned that I haven't been able to read, Mike's noggin went click-click-click, and three days later I come home to an Amazon package at my door. I was confused. Had I ordered something? I opened it. It looked like a catalog for a museum show. There was a note from Mike included: "This'll get you reading again. Love, Mike." He is off the charts, isn't he?

I sat down and flipped through the book. It is called Important Artifacts and Personal Property from the Collection of Lenore Doolan and Harold Morris, Including Books, Street Fashion, and Jewelry. It's written (although to just say it is "written" is not correct - it's really stage-managed, art-directed, conceived) by Leanne Shapton. I got the jist of it as I flipped through it, and at first I thought it was real - but then Mike told me that no, it's all a performance art piece.

I didn't read it right away. I put it down. But last night, feeling a bit of that old melancholy approaching like the shadow from a cloud, I picked it up.

An hour later I put it down, and lay in bed, with tears rolling down my face. Hope tiptoed around me, concerned, purring.

Basically, what Shapton has done - is create a relationship between two people (and we see their photographs throughout the book, they are real people - only this is all a trompe l'oeil, they've been hired to embody these main characters) - which has crashed and burned after a couple of years, and the conceit of the book is that all of their shared possessions and photographs (and the memories therein) are now being held for auction, and the book is the auction catalog. "Lot 1001, Lot 1036" - and we see the photographs of the items, and we get a brief description.

There isn't any editorializing in this format, because of course why would there be? It's a catalog. But you don't need editorializing ("he loved her so much, she loved him so much") because it's all there, in the items. An entire relationship. How it started, how it blossomed, the turns it took ...

And since you know, from the beginning, that these are "artifacts" of a relationship that is now dead, each item is suffused with nostalgia, pain ... because sadness bleeds backwards. You wish it wouldn't but it just seems to work that way. It colors everything, even the joy. You look back on a happy beginning, and your heart aches because you know it won't last, and all you can see are the tough times that are ahead of you. But, we had so much hope back then! But, we loved each other so much! What happened? How could it just ... end??

And sometimes it is not just the relationship ending that you mourn. It is all the STUFF, all the THINGS you have accumulated as a couple ... each one with a memory, something important attached to it... your relationship is IN the "things".

I have a piece of beach glass, no bigger than a baby tooth ... a relic from a great love I had, so far the greatest love (see how I say "so far"? I live in hope) ... and there have been times when I have been so paranoid about losing that stupid piece of beach glass that I have actually carried it on my person. I have moved past that, thank God, and now it sits in a little china bowl I have on my dresser - with the rest of my beach glass collection - buried in other glass, just part of a larger whole ... not called out or highlighted in any way. He knew I collected beach glass, so he gave it to me. All of my beach glass is OCEAN beach glass, but this was from Lake Michigan, so he thought it would be good to add some variety to the collection. Everything else is salt water, which is me - the girl from the Ocean State. But there's one piece in there that is freshwater beach glass, from the man who grew up in the Midwest. It is the smallest piece of beach glass I have, barely a chip, and now I know I would be fine if I "lost" it, but still. It's there. A relic. An artifact. Of the swoon I had for this man, this great love in my past.

If I were to put together a catalog of my love affair with that man, there wouldn't be much to sell. A Swatch. Some letters. A cartoon he drew of him and me. A refrigerator magnet. And a tiny chip of freshwater beach glass. But again: the SIZE of the love is not reflected in the amount of STUFF accumulated.

Leanne Shapton's beautiful book calls to mind all of those memories, all of those thoughts. It's hypnotic. You stop thinking, "Wow, this is such a clever idea" on around page 3, and you just enter the story. You watch these two people meet, pursue each other, fall in love, meet each other's families ... all through their objects, mind you ... and then, slowly, again like the shadow from a cloud, you start to watch it break down. It is impossible to read this little volume and not think about your own life and loves and losses. And what each relationship would "leave behind" in terms of artifacts ... what you would put on the auction block for each one, and what you would declare as its value. The chip of beach glass is priceless. I'm just saying.

It's actually a very confronting book.

Damn her.

And damn you, Mike.

Back in the dark ages of my life, I had a first boyfriend. I had had a couple of trial runs in high school and college, but then - at age 20, 21, "he" came along. I had actually known him for about 4 or 5 years at that point, we were good friends, and suddenly, one summer, hmmm, we were hanging out all the time, and hmmmm, we spent our days off together, and hmmm, is he pursuing me??

Yes, he was! We fell in love and that was that for the next four years. My first boyfriend. When that thing crashed and burned, man, it crashed and burned. Unbelievably, we are still good friends. But that took some doing. It took years. We were unable to have any contact for YEARS.

In my recent scanning frenzy, which was what I did in lieu of reading, and it was also my way to let in memories without having them kill me - I came across a lot of old photos of us. It was good to look at them. I posted some of them here, and beautifully - he was looking at them, too - and even commenting. So the sorrow doesn't bleed backward forever. It may take years, but what I am eventually left with - is the joy. And that, to me, is a miracle. It hasn't happened with all of the old loves, but it's happened with a couple of them, and I am strangely grateful. Also proud. I don't think it's an accident that these men who loved me once still want to be connected to me. I know that I have something to do with it. Not everything, of course, but something. I am aware that it speaks well of me, and I try to feel good about that. You know, small miracles.

Some of the scanned photos I hadn't looked at in years. And I was in a place in January where I could really look, where I could really let my mind go back, in a way that wouldn't shatter my present-day moment. It was incredible for me. The best possible way to handle the maelstrom I was in.

For example, he was there to share triumphs with me. Proud and beaming and at my side.

In the photo below, we are at the beach, the summer we started dating. This photo was taken the day after I lost my ...... something. Hmmm ... where did it go, I wonder?

The following photo is one that would have caused me psychic agony way back when, in the aftermath. Because it so captures our love, and who we really were to each other. It still touches me now, to look at it. Not that I carry a torch, oh my God, no, but ... to acknowledge that it happened, it was good that it happened, it wasn't a mistake, the relationship wasn't a mistake ... we loved each other to death. Out of all of the photos I have of us as a couple, this is the one that captures US.

And now I can look at it with no pain. As a matter of fact, it makes me smile. That was real. It happened. The sorrow that came later has washed back with the tide. The psychotic break involving the broken-down van in Los Angeles is now a funny story, something to revel in, share. It's a good story. It has turned into narrative.

Leanne Shapton's book made me think about all of this.

The other thing it made me think about is all of the artifacts I no longer have. When we broke up, I had a hatbox overflowing with our artifacts. We spent the first year of our relationship in a long-distance situation, because he was in law school in Philadelphia. There was no email. Or, Al Gore was probably using email, and busy inventing the Internet, but WE didn't have email. So we wrote letters in long-hand. Long long love letters. Pages long sometimes. Filling each other in on our week, but also just talking about how much we missed each other, and how great it would be to see each other on spring break, or whatever. There were other things in that hatbox. Fortunes from fortune cookies that seemed prophetic. Photos. Pressed flowers. Playbills and theatre tickets. Movie stubs. Our entire relationship was in that hatbox. When we broke up, it became far too painful to look through that stuff (where did it go?? How could THAT have ended?), but I couldn't get rid of any of it.

I moved to Chicago with zero possessions. All I brought with me was a suitcase of clothes and that hatbox. I am not exaggerating. I lived in my first apartment, with my cat Sammy, and my life began in Chicago, and I was dating people, and having the best time of my life, careening through the midnight streets of the Windy City. I had bad moments when I missed that old boyfriend. We had stayed in contact at first - and it became a strange issue with timing.

My friend Brooke had said to me, as a warning, "You're gonna be sad first - and he's gonna seem fine. That's going to hurt. But then, look out, as you start to recover, he's gonna start to get sad." She was right. It's not that me doing better made him feel sad and he wanted me to keep being sad - no, I will not assign a petty motive to someone else's emotional experience. It was that we were on different timelines, perhaps men and women in general are ... that's just the way it goes ... and it happened just like she said. It was like rolling waves coming in. I was sad, I started to get better, then he got sad, and it went that way, undulating, for a while.

I was in Woodland Hills, California, in the immediate aftermath of our breakup, losing my mind, in an utter and complete panic about what had happened. And he was fine. He was dating lots of people, and he actually seemed relieved to be out of our relationship - which absolutely crushed me, yet because Brooke (my more worldly experienced friend) had warned me ahead of time that that would probably be the case, I wasn't surprised. Then, when I landed on my feet in Chicago, and promptly began making out with every man in a 5-mile radius, my old boyfriend started breaking down. It started hitting him what had happened, that this was really OVER, and I would get these terrible voice mail messages from him, where he didn't even sound like himself. And I was in a whole new world, with hickeys on my neck, and showing up at my temp job in the same clothes from the day before, and now it was me who didn't relate.

It was all going according to plan.

Maybe a year later, I was starting to fall in love with someone else (beach glass man) and suddenly that hatbox full of relics started haunting me. But not in the way it used to haunt me. I started to look at it like, "Why am I keeping all of that crap? Is it holding me back?"

And then one day, I will never forget it, I sat down on my floor and went through the whole thing. Piece by piece. I read all the letters. I looked at all the Playbills. I picked up all the movie stubs. I sobbed from beginning to end, tears streaming off my face in an Alice in Wonderland manner. Then something snapped, and I picked up the whole hat box, walked down the back stairwell into the alley below, over to the dumpster, threw the entire thing in - not saving ONE PIECE - and walked back upstairs, still sobbing. I cried and cried and part of me kept thinking, "It's still down there ... I can still go retrieve it if I want ..." The call to go get that hatbox was so strong that I left the house and went to a movie. I had to white-knuckle the rest of the day (and night, I might add) ... until the next morning, when I knew ... the trash had been picked up. It was gone. It was gone. I felt panic, on some level. Like: what have I done??? I so wanted to have that hatbox back.

I actually wish I had it now. Not because I am holding on, but because I am older now, and I have come to love my artifacts (beach glass) and it's okay to have them around. I can incorporate them into my life now. My past is a PART of me, and whatever man comes into my life now will obviously have to deal with that, we're not kids anymore, we're not struggling to define ourselves ... we're adults. A piece of beach glass given to me 15 years ago won't threaten anything now. But back then I didn't know that. That hatbox was holding me back. If I was going to fall in love again, I needed to have it be GONE.

As a writer, these artifacts and relics have become precious to me. Much of writing is like acting, or a sense-memory exercise, where you can re-enter your own past with precision. Stuff like old journals and letters can really help jumpstart the process if you need it.

But I will not scorn my younger self who needed to throw away those artifacts. She knew what she was doing, in that moment, and if I regret the loss now, that's just part of life. Again, loss is to be incorporated with the present-day. There is no other way. If you buck against loss, if you resent it, if you wish that it didn't happen or that if it didn't have to be ... then you are in some way an undeveloped personality. I have that in me, I know that. I have that tantrum-toddler inside of me that screams, "WHY DOES IT HAVE TO BE THIS WAY?" But as an adult, if you LIVE in that place, if that is primarily where you operate from, then you are still a child. Not only that, but you are closed to possibility, to future ... and you also steel yourself for the next disappointment. You are only aware of the possibility that all things will end ... even at the hopeful beginning.

That way danger lies.

I am nothing if I cannot hope for things. I am nothing if I cannot succumb, yet again, to the pull of love. I will be truly lost if I give that up. If I let my toddler tantrum shove her way to the forefront.

An interesting coda to all of this:

About 4 years ago, I came home to a package at my door.

No, it was not Mike sending me mittens.

The package was addressed to me in handwriting I know so well that if I came across it in freakin' Kazakhstan, I would know that my old boyfriend was in the vicinity. We don't send each other things, so it was all very curious. I opened it, and a small leather-bound book fell out. It was a small journal that we (my first boyfriend and myself) must have bought at a flea market - it had a lock on it, and it was embossed with the words "Lest We Forget" - and we filled it with all of our private jokes as a couple. I have no memory of buying that book. I have no memory of the book itself. Some of the jokes in the book are completely forgotten by me - but some just blazed off the page, as funny as they were the day we decided to write it down. I read the book from cover to cover - with entries in his handwriting, entries in mine - and laughed so hard and so loud that I am shocked the police were not called. I was DYING.

I am usually the one with the good memory. My friends know this about me so they come to me with questions about their own lives. "Who was I dating again in the spring of 1993?" "Uhm, let me think ... my hair was short at that time, I was a receptionist, so that means you were dating the Xerox repair salesman from the South side." "Thank you." So it's always shocking to me when someone remembers something I don't. (A recent example). I love it when that happens. It's like fragments of my own life are handed back to me on a platter, and I wonder what else I have forgotten. What else is out there?

My first boyfriend sending me the "Lest We Forget" book was handing me back huge fragments from my life that I had forgotten - and perhaps would NOT have forgotten if I hadn't thrown out that hatbox. (But again, no regrets. We do what we need to do in the moment we need to do it. Let's move on.) Enormous landscapes of humor and activities and vacations we had and things we loved came back to me - fully formed. It was one of the best surprise gifts ever.

Now of course, we have email, so we spent the next couple of days HOWLING with laughter over email over all of these old jokes, now 20 something years in the past. Truly extraordinary.

An artifact.

On the auction block.

Lest we forget.

Last night, feeling the familiar melancholy approach, the neediness, the anticipation of disappointment that always comes for me at such times ... I picked up Mike's gift.

I lay in bed, with Hope curled around my head, and started reading.

How could Mike know? How could he know, from across the country, what I needed? And unlike someone who sends a gift of, say, a self-help book, something with a title like: Women Who Love Beach Glass and The Men Who Let Them or Hitachi Withdrawal in 12 Steps: A Daybook or Learn To Pretend There's More Than Love That Matters (and Get a Cat, too) ... he sends me a book that is an auction catalog, something completely contrived and created by Leanne Shapton - an amazingly innovative person - detailing the beginning middle and end of a relationship through the objects accumulated.

How to fall in love again knowing that everything you accumulate, with excitement and joy in the present moment, could one day be on the auction block? How do we do that?

It is the human condition.

I don't know HOW to do that, but I know I MUST do that.

The morning is grey, but I no longer feel melancholy. Leanne Shapton's riveting book has infiltrated itself into my life already, re-arranging the set pieces, and making me see that no, I have no choice. Not only will I move forward, but I will also - come hell or high water - make art out of it. Whichever way it goes.

Thanks, Mike.

And damn you.

Dovetail

Someone helped me yesterday. He barged into my issues, my insecurities, my waffling, spoke the truth, in no uncertain terms, and cleared a bunch of stuff away so that I could see the path. I obviously needed it, because I can get bolluxed up, all by myself in my own head. And he said it in a way that didn't belittle me, but made me go: "Oh. It's all very obvious. Here is what I need to do. Of course. Of course this is what I need to do. I am terrified, but I will do it anyway." The best part of it was that I knew it all along. Just needed the push. I feel I must mention that other friends have pushed me, too, in this respect. Friends and family members. Pretty much everyone. "Sheila, don't be an idiot. Do it." I can be stubborn in my neuroses. It's where I am comfortable. I cling to them. Not a pretty admission, but the truth. This is what happens when you are alone too much, and you do your best to, you know, stay honest and in the game ... but certain things start to seem inarguable. You start to believe that "this is the way things are." But they aren't. It's just what you've become used to.

And that is what he said to me yesterday, akin to a slap across the face. It was not gentle. It did not concede ground. It did not give credence to my weaknesses, my insecurities. It acknowledged them, but it gave them no importance or room to breathe. No. No. This is what you do. Do it now.

Suddenly, exhilaration, fear, panic, all of those great things ... making me literally go weak in the knees.

Took a fevered walk along the Hudson (gorgeous day yesterday), iPod blaring in my ears, and the first song that came on in the blessed Shuffle was "Get Up", by Bleu.

A moment of dovetailing. The universe. Flowing in. The words seeming to come from somewhere else, not just Bleu - but from "it", the grand scheme out there, and also, perhaps, from myself. And from him.

"Get Up" - by Bleu

Where were you the other night?
We coulda used you in the fight
Oh, and everybody said to say "Hi".
We all were wonderin' when you were gonna stop by.
Oh, I know ya had a little bad luck
But didn't anybody tell you everyone does?

Get up
You're just in a slump
Get up
You're stuck in a rut
Get up
Before you lose touch
Get up

Don'tcha think you've had enough?
You gotta stop beatin' yourself up
Oh, I know how much you like to play rough
But if ya don't allow the scabs to heal, they scar up
Don't you know I've heard it all before?
So don'tcha leave your sad excuses outside my door

Get up
You're just in a slump
Get up
You're stuck in a rut
Get up
Before you lose touch
Get up

Can't you see no matter what I do
I just can't seem to get my shit together without you

Get up
You're just in a slump
Get up
You're stuck in a rut
Get up
Before you lose touch
Get up

(You can listen to it here). It is best played really loud, and it is best played as you walk through a blazing spring day, the white caps on the Hudson to your right, with long-dormant plans and schemes and hopes surging through your whole damn body.

Testing one two

Me: Is this thing on, you think?
Cousin Mike: It's always on. That's how we got made.

Speaking of Cousin Mike, and things "always being on" because that's how we got made, let's not forget those big moments that life can sometimes provide.

And if I'm not mistaken, Varitek told Mike that he had thrown a strike.

You know. Life can be an amazing thing. Nice to have an "always on" mindset where you can appreciate it as it is happening. I'm trying.

Because this is not a dress rehearsal.

"The Cold Reader"; dir. Jeff Levine, starring Ben Marley

Cold reading refers to a set of techniques used by professional manipulators to get a subject to behave in a certain way or to think that the cold reader has some sort of special ability that allows him to "mysteriously" know things about the subject. Cold reading goes beyond the usual tools of manipulation: suggestion and flattery. In cold reading, salespersons, hypnotists, advertising pros, faith healers, con men, and some therapists bank on their subject's inclination to find more meaning in a situation than there actually is.

-- from The Skeptic's Dictionary

When I was in college, I knew a guy very well whom I now see was a sociopath. He was crazy good-looking, disarmingly so, and when he turned that charm onto you, you found yourself flattered, softened, it was as though you were the only person in the world. He talked emotionally, going right to the heart of things, in a way that could be off-putting at first, but eventually irresistible, even to a prickly chestnut like myself. He'd come up to my side at a party and smile at me, eyeing me kindly, seeing right through me, and make a comment about my body language, and how the way I was crossing my arms told him such-and-such about my emotional state. Now, I was friends with this guy, so on some level I gave him permission to get that close, to 'see' me, to know me. It was only later, years later, that his vicious side was revealed, that it became clear how he was more than willing to use all that he knew about me as an attack against me. When he felt threatened or trapped, he went for the jugular, in a way that left you defenseless. But when he was in a good place, everyone fell in love with him. He didn't know how NOT to be close to people. He bonded intensely with the gas station attendant, the costume-shop assistant, the teenager behind the deli counter. I would watch him flirt, indiscriminately, with men, women ... and I would watch them all fall like ninepins. It was hard to resist. Especially if you were in a vulnerable state, as I often was then, a restless insecure virgin, looking for a way to break out. We never dated, nothing like that, but we were friends. I finally realized how addicted HE was to closeness, to getting people to "tell him things", to reveal themselves. But what did he get out of it? What hunger did it feed in him? That remains unclear. Obviously he was very damaged, but his surface was so perfect, so gorgeous, that the damage never showed. All you knew was that this archangel was paying attention to you, and you found yourself telling him your deepest thoughts.

Jeff Levine's 11-minute film called The Cold Reader, starring Ben Marley, from 2008, is about a guy like that. Only he has turned his sociopathic tendencies, his desire for a mirror everywhere he looks, into a profession. He has set himself up as a medium, a channeler, a guy who can communicate with "the departed". He's a con man. This dude couldn't talk to the dead if he leapt into an open grave. He's in it for the secrets people tell him, he's in it for how his clients give over to him, submit. It turns him on. It's a chilling glimpse (yet also very funny) of a calculating conniving personality, and yet, over the 11 minutes we spend in the presence of this man, we are sucked in, too. Seduced. He turns that focus on his two elderly clients, and you watch them melt. That makes him feel powerful, jazzed, and even though everything he says to them is bullshit, because they are already credulous (they made the appointment, didn't they?) they fall for it, but not just "it", not just the information he tells them about their dead loved ones, but for him. That's the con. That's the sociopath at work. It's all about HIM. He chooses his clothes, his shoes, carefully, to create the impression he knows will be a slam-dunk. And so when they look at him, openly, nervously, with submission, he knows who he is. Without that reflection, he'd be lost.

How does a film show all of this in only 11 minutes?

Well, first of all, you start with a kickass script, taut as hell, nothing extraneous. Jeff Levine has done that, with his screenplay. It is based on a short story by Matthew Simmons, and Levine took the source material, already very strong, and fleshed out what was a nice character study into something laser-sharp, precise, dramatic, even poetic.

The story is a straightforward first-person narrative, with the lead guy telling us what he is going to do in his con, and how he does what he does. He's a magician, telling us how he pulled the rabbit out of the hat.

Not everyone is a strong skeptic, with critical mind intact, especially not those who are vulnerable, who need an answer, who need comfort in their grief, who are the most susceptible. Anyone who is a recruiter for a cult of any kind understands this. And the Ben Marley character knows it too, as do all con men. The interesting and insightful element in the script here is the sexual rush this guy gets from the openness with which his clients come to him. It is feeding some need in him, some bottomless pit of need. In the short story, he has sexual impulses during sessions towards his clients, especially when one of them offers up information to him: He wants to nuzzle her, stick his tongue down her throat, hold her close. He doesn't act on these impulses, but they are there. It is his version of intimacy.

In the film, Levine has a couple of fantasy sequences, where Marley lays his head in the lap of one of the women, where romantic music plays, and they slow dance, cheek to cheek. Not so much a sexual thing, but tender. You can see where the guy is coming from psychologically, drawn to the openness of the symbolic female, her giving nature, so different from his slick sleek male-ness. Of course he glances up at the camera at one point, sprawled on his knees laying his head on the couch, lost in the fantasy, and says to us, "Who doesn't want to re-attach to the nipple?" It's a chilly moment of self-knowledge, and self-awareness. You can't put anything over on this guy. You could not make an observation to him about being "drawn to the openness of the female". He would have contempt for such theories. You can't tell him anything. He knows exactly what he is doing.

One of the best things about the screenplay is that we are not outside of the action, we are not left out in the cold by an omniscient eye. We are invited in, by him - the unnamed lead (played by Ben Marley). He talks directly to the camera, telling us his thought process, how he does what he does, and while he doesn't really explain why, where this need for connection comes from, I can make a guess. The funny thing is that the character talks about "tells", which any poker player will understand immediately (he alludes to this in the script). People "tell" you things, with body language, unconscious, and if you have a good eye, you can see the whole story. It reminds me of Christopher Walken's moment in True Romance with Dennis Hopper, which needs no introduction:

There are seventeen different things a guy can do when he lies to give himself away. A guy's got seventeen pantomimes. A woman's got twenty, but a guy's got seventeen... but, if you know them, like you know your own face, they beat lie detectors all to hell. Now, what we got here is a little game of show and tell. You don't wanna show me nothin', but you're tellin me everything. I know you know where they are, so tell me before I do some damage you won't walk away from.

I love that a woman's got twenty, but a guy's got seventeen. Isn't that the truth? If you're a man, and you're chatting up a woman, and the vibe is good, and she says, "I'm really not into getting involved right now ..." all while touching her face and lips randomly, or twirling a strand of her hair around her finger, and you believe the words and miss the body language? Then you're an idiot, sorry. And if you are a woman, and you are not aware of the signals you are putting out, by touching your lips and twirling your hair, then you need to grow up and be responsible for the firefly-flashes you are emitting, sorry. It's the courtship dance, body language is key. That's the fun of it.

So this "cold reader", played beautifully by Ben Marley, knows the seventeen (or twenty) pantomimes by heart, and it is his life's blood. I could say to my friend in college, while feeling terribly awkward at a party, but trying to hide it, crossing my arms in front of my body, "No, really - I'm having a blast!", and he would gesture at the body language, which belied the words, and I have to say, there was a relief and a humor in such moments. You could be truthful, you would be safe in this man's hands, it would be okay to admit what was really going on. It is frightening to look back at this, to realize how much I let him know me, and see my weaknesses. Because make no mistake, he will use those weaknesses against me. He is just waiting for the right moment.

I love how the film captures how much he is getting out of the nonverbal clues given to him by the two women who come to him, vulnerable, that day. This is not casual for him. He is not just a cool con man, oh no, he gets something out of this. Again, like my friend in college, it is not clear what exactly, or where the damage comes from, why he is so soulless ... looking to others for validation, existence.

The script, with its mix of real-time action and interior monologue spoken directly to us, manages to capture all of that, simply, with humor and precision, and it's a joy to watch.

What Levine does is find the variety in the device he has set up. A cleancut guy, in a scarily-pressed shirt, talks directly to us, telling us what he is about to do, his technique, and he tells it with a relish. Here's the con. Here is how it will go.

He's not gearing up, or getting himself into the correct emotional state. This guy doesn't need prep time. This is his obsession, his reason for living. It is the only time he knows he is alive.

What I also liked was the disparity between the public persona (Marley with the clients), and the private persona - who was, albeit, public in a way since he is talking to us. But he is alone. When he is with his clients, he is cool, smooth, he offers wine, he is a gracious host, he is immaculately dressed and confident. And when the film cuts, intermittently, to him alone, telling us, "See what I just did in that moment? Do you see how I just bullshitted my way out of that moment?" - he's always doing some man-boy-esque activity, a completely different energy than the confident gentleman he shows to the clients. He's lying on the couch reading the racing times, he's juggling, he's building things out of his kitchen appliances, he's eating a truly awful sandwich (the worst sandwich I've ever seen, all processed cheese slices, and bright yellow mustard - it also freaked me out that he didn't just pick up the cheese slices with his fingers, he used a fork ... I don't know, that freaked me out - like he's afraid of his own germs), drinking a beer, smoking a cigarette, watching television. He dances with himself, mamba-ing about in a self-pleased circle. We get these glimpses of who this guy is when no one else is around, and then we cut back to the smooth operator sitting on the leather couch, pretending he is listening to a dead mother talking from the afterworld. None of those man-boy activities are in the short story. They have been invented by Levine, and perhaps Marley had a hand in them, too, and damn, they just work. They add to the uneasiness inherent in the whole situation, because you can see, so clearly, what a bullshit artist the guy is. You get worried for the two ladies sitting opposite him on the couch. Like: do you have any idea who this guy really is?

Levine shows his strength as a director in, not only his filming of this story, which is wonderful and varied, but in his adaptation. The sections of the original story that give away the guy's secrets, the tricks of his trade, could have been done in voiceover, but that would have been a deadly choice. Instead, Levine shows us the private life of this creep: eating, television, boredom, building a frightening contraption out of his kitchen appliances which at first I thought was some clinical gynecological instrument (shows you where my mind goes) and now I know is a Tyrannosaurus Rex. (I'll get to that later, and how perfect an image it is, how much it "fits" with the larger themes of primal need and hunger.) There are layers going on in this film, and it really benefits from repeated viewings.

Of course that is a T-Rex, it is so obvious to me now. He has created a dinosaur out of his damn salad tongs and corkscrew, in his spare time, waiting for his real life to begin when his clients show up.

But again, I think a strength of Levine's work here, as well as Ben Marley's acting, is that my mind would go gynecological when I looked at that thing. In other words, that I would spend my first two viewings wondering what nightmarish speculum this guy was concocting in between channeling sessions. That's part of the subtext, I got it loud and clear.

Even if it wasn't a T-Rex, a speculum would make sense, and I'm stickin' to my story.

All I need to see is Ben Marley, blissed out, eyes falling shut in mid-sentence, confessing to us how much he loves how "open" his clients are to him, and what a "turn on" it is for him, to know that something sexual is going on with this guy.

While I'm on the topic of seeing this guy by himself in his apartment (or condo, whatever it is), I want to take a moment to sing the praises of Paul Greenstein, who was the Production Designer for The Cold Reader. It's a one-set movie, all interior, and that space is perfectly rendered and imagined. The Ben Marley character talks about how much he loves "tells", when a client tells him something without saying a word. Well, his condo tells me everything I need to know, and he never says a word. It is all browns and creams, with two big leather couches which reflect the light in an alienating way. You couldn't cuddle on those couches. They squeak when you move your butt on them. They're sleek, cold. Against one wall is an ostentatious liquor cabinet, which draws your eye, no matter how much you want to look away. There's a samurai sword on the wall. If some dude was courting me, and his apartment looked like that, warning bells would go off in my head. It wouldn't be a dealbreaker, like being rude to a waiter is a dealbreaker for me (I walked out on a date once when he was a dick to the waiter - basically got up, said, "Sorry ... I'm done ..." and walked out. It took me about 15 minutes to decide to get up and go, but I finally thought Life is too short, and that behavior is a #1 dealbreaker. I'm done. Nothing can repair what just happened. What's done cannot be undone. I will never respect you again. Buh-bye), but I would definitely take note of the coldness in the decor, and be on alert for what that would mean. There are no family photographs anywhere, there is nothing that says this guy is connected to ANYTHING.

There's a big television pointed right at the sleek dining room table, and beside that there is a tall cabinet filled with stainless steel bowls and kitchen appliances. It all gleams in, again, an alienating way. They all seem completely unused, out-of-the-box new, untouched. Would this dude ever use one of those mixing bowls? I think not. Not judging from that atrocious sandwich he was making. Every detail of the production design is perfect. Everything you see adds to the story that Levine wants to tell. There are things that are not explained, which I also love: it takes a really good director to allow room for mystery. For example, Homeboy has three umbrellas in a stand by the door. Why three? Yes, there are three people in the scene, but the two ladies didn't enter carrying umbrellas. All three are his. Another example: He's got a big wall unit with books and vases and things on it. He has a turntable, old-school, with a bunch of vinyl records. The main record I can see is a Roger Williams album. No, not Roger Williams, the troublemaking founder of my home state, Rhode Island, but the famous pianist. Okay, hm, so that's interesting. To me, that's the only really personal touch in this guy's decor. Everything else looks like he hired some interior decorator, told her: "I want it to be sleek, macho, and cold", let her go to town, and then basically wanders through the space, playing with all of these things that actually have serious functions. But the turntable? That's personal. Those records? They are beloved by our handsome sociopath. The books on the shelves (naturally, I had to scan the titles) are mostly hardcover, and they're Tom Clancy books, Stephen King books. These are not dog-eared paperbacks. There's something off about them. Like they're for show. But this guy didn't go the route of buying identical sets of books from world literature, stuff that looks nice with his decor. No, they are big mass market hardcovers that appear to be untouched.

I saw the film before I got my hands on the short story it was based on, and so I was quite gratified to read the following paragraph:

One bookshelf filled with contemporary novels, popular nonfiction, biographies, mountain-climbing stories, tragedies at sea. No Sylvia Brown, or Edgar Cayce. No Madame Blavatsky. No theosophy. No Manly P. Hall. No dusty leather bound volumes full of diagrams, and arcane discussions of the humors, or energy. I even have my latest Skeptical Inquirer on the table.

That's a lot of great information there, and Paul Greenstein completely followed the author's lead, by the books chosen to fill those shelves. I noticed the vibe and knew in my heart that it was deliberate, a deliberate choice. It's perfect. And again, that room and everything in it (what's with the creepy little toys you can see on the shelves behind him?) is full of "tells". This character has put together a space ("where I sleep and eat", he tells us, giving us a glimpse of what "home" means to this guy, with that primal need thing going on) that creates an impression on his clients. They walk in and feel perhaps intimidated by the decor, its perfection, its lack of warmth. But perhaps that is why they trust him, perhaps that is why they feel that he is the genuine article. He IS a charlatan, but his decor doesn't "tell" that. It tells the opposite. Very nice work.

In many ways, Marley's character here reminded me of Cary, played by Jason Patric in Neil Labute's Your Friends and Neighbors, a performance that, frankly, scared the shit out of me when I first saw it. It reminded me so much of my friend in college. If you meet someone like Cary, the smartest thing to do is not engage, don't try to win, don't try to beat him at his game. He is a predator. Recognize that. Walk away. Or shoot him in the face. Those are your only choices. Now Marley doesn't come off quite as malevolent as the smooth slick ruthless Cary does. The Cold Reader takes a lighter view of people like him, we can see him as a manipulator, a conniver, there's something missing in this guy, there's a blankness at the heart of him. Lord help any woman who dates him. Because he, too, is a predator. Which is why it is so perfect that he constructs a makeshift T-Rex in his spare time, the ultimate predator.

At one point (and it's my second favorite moment in the film), Marley, after having a breakthrough with his clients, turns to the camera, almost confused, hand on his stomach, and says, "Huh. I'm still hungry."

He doesn't get why that should be. Wasn't he just "fed" by the clients totally succumbing to him? He should be satiated now. He should be lying under a tree on the savannah, licking his chops from the gazelle he just killed. But no. He's "still hungry". So he knows, then, that he's not done. And like an animal does not examine its motivations, does not wonder why he is still hungry ... and just goes about procuring food as quickly as possible, Ben Marley here knows what he must do. He suggests they come back "for another session ... I have a really good feeling about this." Part of the beauty of such a hunger, and part of the beauty of being a successful con man, is that you can prolong the hunger, knowing you will be able to feed yourself again. Part of joy is the delayed gratification of it, like with sex, or looking forward to a big meal. This is the environment in which he thrives.

The two women who come to him, played by Joyce Greenleaf and Dianne Turley Travis are nervous in his presence, hesitant at first, one more skeptical than the other, but their need to hear from their dead mother overrides their critical thinking.

At one point, the cold reader goofs up. He's been guessing all along, as he informs us cockily, saying things to the women like, "October. What's the connection to October?" Now, naturally, if you are faced with a question like that, and you scan back over your life, you're going to find SOME connection to October. But in the moment of contacting your dead mother, it seems like a miracle that your mother's sister, your Aunt Judith, was born in October. And so trust begins to grow between the cold reader and the clients.

It's almost too easy, isn't it?

The cold reader is not interested in having it be too easy. "Saying it out loud would have been showing off," he tells us, lounging on his couch. The pleasure for him, the rush, comes in having the CLIENTS do all the work for him. He's probably a horrible lay, with that attitude.

But at one point, he over-reaches. He hits on something that does not resonate at all with the two women. The energy shifts, dramatically. He has guessed at some factoid, and they both shake their head "No" at him, and he can see ... he can see that he has lost them.

What's great about what The Cold Reader does is it allows for him to basically flip out in the face of doubt (which feels like abandonment to him). We get to see what happens when he gets it wrong. He sits on the couch, rubbing his temples, as though trying to "see" clearly into the afterlife, but we get quick cuts to him pacing around his condo like a madman, hair messy, dark circles under his eyes, five o'clock shadow on his face. He twitches, tries to laugh it off, but he looks like a wolf caught in a trap, panicked and desperate. The music, which up until this point has been kind of dreamy and romantic, goes off the rails. Finally, Marley just crouches down against the wall, staring right at us, in a total panic. Hands over his mouth. What a fun and nervy representation of what happens to these narcissistic types when their needs aren't met. Everything falls apart. It's a house of cards. There is no SELF within to express itself, to comfort itself. Everything comes from the outside, from the reflection. As long as you are dominant, then that's fine. But when the world does not cooperate in giving you what you need, what happens then? Clearly, you lose your shit, and curl up into a fetal position.

This episode is not in the short story, and I find it to be a very creative and cinematic fleshing out, not just of the actual events being depicted, but of the character's psychology, which is quite fragile, pressed shirts and slick shoes notwithstanding. It's riveting to watch him pace around, throwing glances at us, the viewer, as though now he feels caught, busted. He's not embarrassed by being a con man, as long as he's successful at it. He brags to us about his technique, he loves the mechanics of what he is able to do, how much he is able to see. But in the moment of his downfall, he can barely look at us anymore. He totally unravels.

As should probably be pretty obvious by now, I have a great affection for Ben Marley and his acting. I want to see more of him. He's terrific. He was terrific when he was a teenager, and he's terrific now. One of the things I love the most about his performance here is how much fun he seems to be having. He gets a kick out of acting, or seems to, anyway. It's fun to watch someone who is in that zone, who seems unconcerned with making an impression, or showing off, or making it about himself. I wrote about that in my piece on Apollo 13, but it was there in Skyward as well. He's a natural. There's a humility in his acting, which is an odd paradox, but would make sense to any actor you talk to. Yes, you have the desire to do this thing where you are the center of attention. So there's that. But then you also have the desire to fit into the larger story, and not pull unwarranted attention to yourself, or your acting. Marley always has that humility in him, even when, like here, he is playing a cocky confident unselfconscious attention-whore. It's a cliche, but it's true: I had an acting teacher say once, when someone was struggling with "how" to do a scene: "Just do what the character does." Now obviously, it's not always that simple, especially if you don't have talent. Some people can never "just do what the character does". But in everything I have seen Ben Marley do (and I haven't seen it all), that's what I get. He knows how to "just do what the character does". It's a beautiful thing. It is an oft-unsung talent in the industry today - which seems to reward the bells and whistles of acting (accents, limps, costumes, playing a drug addict with mental problems, or a mental case with drug problems, whatever) as opposed to what I would call "essence" acting. Something simpler and more grounded. Essence acting cannot be faked. It is not put on from the outside. It is the uncanny ability that some actors have to let us into their heads, their hearts, just by standing there in front of the camera. You can get a tutor to learn a Cockney accent, but you can't get a tutor for that other kind of acting. Spencer Tracy was an "essence" actor. Gena Rowlands is an "essence" actress. Mickey Rourke is an "essence" actor. Jeff Bridges, Kurt Russell. No surprise that these people are all my favorites. They still transform, they are not the same person picture to picture ... but the work itself is invisible. They do not want you to notice it. Their egos, while obviously involved in the endeavor (anyone who wants to be an actor has to have an ego), are submerged for the good of the project. Ben Marley has that in spades.

My favorite moment of his in the film can't be described, really, it's all in the timing - so funny - but I'll give it a shot. He's kneeling by the empty couch, obviously lost in the jazzed-up fantasy of how open his clients are to him, telling him all their secrets willingly. He's staring at the places on the now-empty couch where the two women were sitting, and he keeps staring. There's a long pause. He drags his eyes away finally, reluctantly, and glances at us. Intense. He is intense. He doesn't speak right away, and when he finally does, he says, with 100% sincerity, "I love this." Slowly, his eyes drag back up to the couch. It's like he misses the women now that they are gone. It's a truly funny moment, which loses a bit in the description, but my friend Allison and I burst out laughing when we saw it, and had to rewind it to watch it again. We see him as the operator, the smooth host, but in that moment, you can see that he is actually mad. Predator needs to be fed. But you never see the nuts and bolts of Marley's work. It is mysterious - and yet never opaque or muddy. It's not mysterious for the sake of being mysterious. It has the beautiful clarity of essence in it.

Jeff Levine has engineered a minor miracle with this short film, which feels much longer than it actually is. That is a compliment. I finished watching it, and my first thought was, "That was only 11 minutes long?" It's rich. Detailed. It has a great eye for nuance, it allows silence, it doesn't explain too much. At the center of it is a riveting character. You know he's a con man, but you want to keep seeing him. You want to keep watching him.

And what ultimately I am left with is the image of a handsome guy in a pressed shirt, dancing around his creepy apartment by himself, grinning at his own cleverness, lost in himself, glancing at us to see how impressed we are by him. The reflection he has received from the two women has been accurate, as far as he is concerned, and he now can fully see himself the way they saw him. He is powerful, insightful, sexy, and basically awesome. And so he is satiated ... but all the while the T-Rex he has built sits on the table in the background, reminding us that this cold reader will never be satisfied.

The Fawn and Alice, part 2

She very soon came to an open field, with a wood on the other side of it: it looked much darker than the last wood, and Alice felt a LITTLE timid about going into it. However, on second thoughts, she made up her mind to go on: "for I certainly won't go BACK," she thought to herself, and this was the only way to the Eighth Square.

"This must be the wood," she said thoughtfully to herself, "where things have no names. I wonder what'll become of MY name when I go in? I shouldn't like to lose it at all -- because they'd have to give me another, and it would be almost certain to be an ugly one. But then the fun would be, trying to find the creature that had got my old name! That's just like the advertisements, you know, when people lose dogs -- 'ANSWERS TO THE NAME OF "DASH:'" HAD ON A BRASS COLLAR' -- just fancy calling everything you met 'Alice,' till one of them answered! Only they wouldn't answer at all, if they were wise."

She was rambling on in this way when she reached the wood: it looked very cool and shady. "Well, at any rate it's a great comfort," she said as she stepped under the trees, "after being so hot, to get into the -- into WHAT?" she went on, rather surprised at not being able to think of the word. "I mean to get under the -- under the -- under THIS, you know!" putting her hand on the trunk of the tree. "What DOES it call itself, I wonder? I do believe it's got no name -- why, to be sure it hasn't!"

She stood silent for a minute, thinking: then she suddenly began again. "Then it really HAS happened, after all! And how, who am I? I WILL remember, if I can! I'm determined to do it!" But being determined didn't help much, and all she could say, after a great deal of puzzling, was,"L, I KNOW it begins with L!"

Just then a Fawn came wandering by: it looked at Alice with its large gentle eyes, but didn't seem at all frightened. "Here then! Here then!" Alice said, as he held out her hand and tried to stroke it; but it only started back a little, and then stood looking at her again.

"What do you call yourself?" the Fawn said at last. Such a soft sweet voice it had!

"I wish I knew!" thought poor Alice. She answered, rather sadly, "Nothing, just now."

"Think again," it said: "that won't do."

Alice thought, but nothing came of it. "Please, would you tell me what YOU call yourself?" she said timidly. "I think that might help a little."

"I'll tell you, if you'll move a little further on," the Fawn said. "I can't remember here."

So they walked on together though the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of the Fawn, till they came out into another open field, and here the Fawn gave a sudden bound into the air, and shook itself free from Alice's arms. "I'm a Fawn!" it cried out in a voice of delight, "and, dear me! you're a human child!" A sudden look of alarm came into its beautiful brown eyes, and in another moment it had darted away a full speed.

-- Alice Through the Looking Glass

The story, which I can't quite tell in its entirety yet, has something to do with the "swimming through the bees" post I wrote about Counting Crows, where I mis-identified the lyrics to that song, which means the world to me ... and how I just recently learned the REAL lyrics to that one particular line. But I will still think of my hand "swimming through the bees" with pleasure and little pricks of pain. It is what it means to me, ultimately, that matters ... and that is the beauty of music. And literature too, which is related, but which I can't really talk about yet.

It seems like my blog is personal, but I really don't reveal SHIT, which is important to keep in mind.

So, on March 10, I posted this. I know that people like Oliver (ha!!) are upset at the "insider" feel of the blog, but whatever, traffic is up, so I don't worry too much. Maybe the mystery is intriguing. Who knows. So I was going through something at that point, on that day in particular, where I felt like I needed to be Alice, coaxing the fawn into the glade. That was how I remembered that episode in the book, having not read it in years. I remembered it as Alice walking through a magical wood where animals are tame, and the fawn approaches her, and it is sweet and open to her, and she puts her arm around its neck, and they walk together, through the wood, not afraid of each other, or suspicious ... until they exit the wood, and the fawn realizes its species and what it is supposed to be afraid of ... and bolts in terror.

That was how I remembered it.

I felt like my role was to be Alice, coaxing a wild animal to trust me. Be very quiet, very still, calm ... no sudden moves ... The point was to project: I'm okay, I'm safe ... Tenniel's image was my guiding spirit for that week. I always look to literature to show me how to be. You can always find something in literature if you're lost. "Oh wait! I'm being like Dorothea Brooke right now! So you have to STOP THAT." "Uhm ... is he as weird as Mr. Rochester and how do I feel about that? And why is he wearing a dress?" "Harriet [the spy] writes that sometimes you have to lie. Well, allrighty then, here I go. Lying." I was so in danger of spinning up into the atmosphere on March 10, that I needed an image, something to tell me how to be. Yeah, I have arrested development. I don't know how to be. I need help. So that image, of Alice cradling a wild animal, spoke to me.

Needless to say, it was successful. Thanks, Lewis!

But now I see that my understanding may be upside down about all of this. Which wouldn't surprise me, because I am, actually, as dense as fog.

Yesterday was a crazy day where again I felt myself spinning up into the atmosphere, leaving a trail of wild sparks behind me. Nothing to latch onto, or hold me down. It was just experience - immediate - coming at me, in the moment ... something to be dealt with in the here and now, not some theoretical future. Again, I turned to literature. Not to mention my unbelievably patient friends and siblings who have been talking me off cliffs on sometimes a moment-to-moment basis.

I thought again of the fawn. Of Alice hugging the wild animal, and what a comforting image that was.

Well, a lot has happened since March 10. And yesterday, in the middle of my mania, I went back to Alice Through the Looking Glass, looking up the exact part of the book that I felt I needed. The magic wood part. I needed to read the whole thing.

Imagine my surprise (and delight ... and terror) that I had mis-remembered the whole thing. It's not that Alice finds herself in a magical wood where the animals are tame. No, because that would mean that Alice is still HERSELF, that would mean that she is the one with all the power, that it is solely up to HER to make the fawn trust her.

The actual episode in the book is subtler: It is not a wood where animals are not afraid of humans. It is wood where nothing has a name. Alice enters the wood and forgets the names for everything, including herself. She does not know who she is, what she is, she struggles to label things, but the labels will not come. Classifications and definitions fall away ... even as Alice struggles to hold onto them ... and in the middle of this, a shy fawn comes up to her. It wonders about her, she wonders about it. But neither of them have a word for their particular identities. They cannot say, "Hey, I'm a predator - ie: human being - therefore you should not trust me" because all of those "names" have melted away. The fawn doesn't know to be afraid, and Alice doesn't know to be a predator. They walk together, nameless, comforted, enjoying their time together, which is mostly wordless. They just walk together. Not too much chat about how weird it is that all names for things have vanished.

Once they exit the wood, the fawn realizes the position of danger it has put itself in, remembers the "names" for things - "fawn" "human girl" - and basically flips out, leaping away in terror and remembrance. This leaves Alice, who has the complacence of a natural predator, with sadness and regret. Why was the fawn afraid of her? She was just a little girl ... and wasn't it nice to walk, arm in arm (so to speak) with the fawn for a time?

I suppose I needed to mis-remember that particular episode the week of March 10th, and needed to see myself as the calm still center of power, drawing trust to me, through my own willpower and a certain kind of magic.

But now, in this new world I am in, that is not at all an adequate metaphor.

Alice forgets who she is too. Alice doesn't remember herself. They BOTH are lost.

During the events of yesterday (before I went back to the book), I suddenly had a revelation (based on my incorrect memory of the book - but no less correct or profound): I am no longer Alice. Now I am the fawn. We all need to be drawn out. We all need to be told that the coast is clear. First it was me doing the telling. Now it is me trying to do the hearing.

But what a miracle, what a GIFT, to go back to the book yesterday and realize that no, no, I had it all wrong. It's not a matter of power dynamics, of one person being Alice, the other person being the fawn ... and then switching places ... No. As potent as that image was for me (and, ultimately, helpful and beautiful) ... it's not as potent as the other, based on the real episode in the book: two creatures, with their long-dredge of past and engrained-in-stone species-classification, suddenly coming together in a magic quiet space, where they can walk together, quietly. And yeah, they connect, but the end of the wood is nigh, and what will happen then? Connecting requires a surrendering of all that you have known up until that point. Nobody even knows their own damn name in that environment.

Just fancy calling everything you met 'Alice,' till one of them answered!

Someday I will tell this story.

Skyward cleared for landing NOW.

I'm trying not to read too much into this, or turn it into a literary conceit or anything, but here are the facts: a copy of Skyward that I sent to someone in California has not yet arrived (I sent it on the 13th of March, so something is not right) - AND the copies of Skyward that Glenn in Texas made for me - have not arrived on my doorstep, although he chose 2-day priority mail and sent it mid-week last week.

It's making me crazy, since I made promises, and sent my copy out blithely into the universe ... only to find that it is not there yet.

And so, think of this, if you will: at this very moment, no less than 11 copies of Skyward are floating in the airspace over America, lost and unmoored, circling, banking, circling banking ...

I just want them all to LAND already and get their butts into the proper mailboxes.

Come on, Gilstrap, bring that plane in, just like Billie Dupree taught you. You can do it.

Literary Conceit, part 478

One of the problems when your life is a literary conceit ...

... is that you maintain faith in the happy ending.

Even with all evidence to the contrary, even with a terrible track record years-long, when things line up perfectly (aka literary conceit) it seems apparent that things should "work out".

This is not only insane, but an incorrect assumption about literature.

"Literary" does not = happy ending. Ever read Anna Karenina? Yeah, that book has one HELL of a happy ending, don't it?

The fact that things line up doesn't mean shit. It just means that things line up. It takes a certain sort of brain to perceive patterns, themes, and I have always had that kind of brain. My perpetual heartbreak comes from trying to turn the patterns into something meaningful. Or at least something I can grasp.

Sometimes the themes are so loud that they often seem to be screaming at me to pay attention. I have learned my lesson through years of practice. I take note of the literary conceit, tip my hat to it, acknowledging, "Yes, yes, hon, I see you, I see you, thank you very much," and then I do my best to pass on by.

Happy place.

Sometimes a song comes along at just the right moment, huh? This song came along yesterday.

"Beautiful Dream" - by Everclear

I had a dream I was living by the ocean
I had a dream I was living in the sun
I wake up sad because I'm living in darkness
I know I'm not alone
I know I'm not the only one

I had a dream that I had no depression
I had a dream I had a smile on my face
I wake up hungry so I feed my obsession
I know I gotta leave
I know I gotta run away

Far away
Where the faces all look happy and I know it's a dream
A beautiful dream
I want to lose myself in the sunshine where I can be free
Yeah I just wanna be free
Free in a beautiful dream
Yeah but it's a beautiful dream

I had a dream I was living by the ocean
I had a dream I was living for the day
I wake up sad in a perpetual emotion
I know I gotta leave here
I know I gotta run away

Far away
Where the faces all look happy and I know it's a dream
A beautiful dream
I want to lose myself in myself where I can be free
I just wanna be free
Free in a beautiful dream
Yeah a beautiful dream
Free inside a beautiful dream
Free in a beautiful dream

Synchronicity

Today, the NY Daily news launched a "Where Are They Now?" slideshow about the cast of The Godfather.

Lots of interesting things there, but I am most interested in slide 16.

Life is very strange.

(This is not news to me, by the way. I know who he is, and count his performance in Faces as an all-time favorite - it's just the timing that strikes me as strange. But then again, everything has been strange in the last two, three months.)

Thanks to Scott for the heads up.

A visitation

Since I first wrote about Skyward, many crazy things have happened, the main thing being Glenn from Texas emerging from the mist, telling me he taped not only Skyward but Skyward Christmas, and he could send them on to me if I liked.

We all know how that turned out.

There has been recent chatter on IMDB message boards about Skyward, as well as on my posts - with people leaving comments and emailing me directly, asking if I could send them a copy. One woman said she had been an extra in Skyward Christmas when she was in high school and could I send a copy?

Clearly there is a demand, powers-that-be, for this movie to be released. Are you listening?? I know for a FACT that you are.

Glenn had said to me that a while back an associate producer of Skyward had also contacted Glenn (they had had contact before) and asked for a copy of the movie, if possible, since he didn't own one. So - even people who worked on the film haven't even seen the damn thing. Glenn made copies for the associate producer, sent it on.

Glenn made copies for me, sent them on.

Glenn has a life, he has a career, a family - but suddenly it's like he's in some Skyward-DVD-production sweatshop, with me barking over my shoulder, "BURN 15 MORE DISCS AND MAKE IT SNAPPY."

Anyway, I got yet another request for Skyward last night - also from someone involved in the original picture, who hasn't seen it probably since its first release. I am a Luddite, in terms of technical stuff, so I emailed Glenn, asking ... uhm ... could he please make two more copies of the movies and send them on? I BEGGED him to let me pay him for at least shipping and handling!

This morning, here is the email I received from Glenn in response. He launches right into it, no preamble:

Last night while lying in bed I heard what I thought was a loud clap of thunder, and saw what I thought was a brilliant flash of lightning. Strangely, as the thunder faded the light didn't dissipate, it just kept growing in intensity to the point where the whole room was bathed in a beautiful white light. Being startled, I sat up and immediately began wondering why this bright light wasn't hurting my eyes!

Suddenly, while bathed in this illumination, a warm feeling came over me and there was a very strong 'love' presence permeating the room. I looked over at my wife and she was sound asleep; at that point, I began to wonder if I had died and was headed toward heaven! I wasn't scared in the least, it was as if this feeling was very familiar, something that I had maybe once experienced in a former time. It felt comfortable and nurturing.

Just as I started to relax in this feeling, there was a loud sound like a blast from a trumpet! All of a sudden I saw an image of a man coming toward me from where the light was emanating. As 'the man' moved toward me the feeling of love just intensified tremendously! I couldn't believe it!

Now standing there right in front of me was someone who looked like my childhood perception of Jesus - long hair, beard, flowing robes, and the most precious loving smile on his face.

At this point I mustered the courage to speak. With a shaking voice, I asked Jesus, "Am I dead?"

His smile intensified in a knowing way, then he replied, "No, my child."

I then felt very biblical and holy being in his presence, so I asked, "Well, then, what would my Lord have of me?" I was so nervous! Why would the king of the universe be visiting ME, of all people?

At this point, I will never forget the words he spoke unto me. "Glenn" he said, "I was wondering if you could get me a copy of Skyward?"

Oh! Is this what this is all about? Gee whiz! Now knowing that I had barter power with God, I asked, "Well, I'll have to think about it. What's in it for me?"

At that point he immediately disappeared and the room grew cold and black. Searing flames burst up from my bed and began scorching the flesh from my body........then......BAM!......I woke up! Wow, this was all just a dream - THANK GOODNESS!

At this point I immediately realized something important. Jesus once said, "Whatever you do unto the least of these, you do unto me." The fact that I can give you Skyward is just like me giving Jesus Skyward! And since I certainly wouldn't ask Jesus to pay me for the privilege of helping him, then I cannot take money from you for in essence doing the same thing!

Besides, it is probably best that no money changes hands. My biggest fear is that one day you and your friends will all be having a wonderful Skyward reunion party, and I will be sitting in jail for copyright infringement!

One of the funniest emails ever. I was laughing so loud on the bus that I scared a small cowering man sitting next to me.

Diary Tuesday, Ben Marley edition

Okay, so I had a feeling that this existed somewhere. It just took a little bit of digging to find it.

My real journal, the more in-depth kind, that I have exposed to humorous and humiliating effect in my Diary Friday feature didn't start until I was in 9th grade. Before then, I did keep a journal - but (and I knew exactly what I was looking for, when I took to the boxes in my storage closet in my apartment) it was a tiny day-book, with a day for each date. By the time I was 14, no way could I cram in my thoughts on one stupid page - like: get out of my way, rules, if I want to write for 30 pages I will! But when I was 11, 12, I was still bound by convention.

So what I was looking for was a small orange book, and the entries are intermittent, as well as RIDICULOUS. Some just express generalized anxiety about quizzes and things - others describe how awesome the latest Seventeen magazine was. Others make me want to cry, reading them now, because they express blunt statements of self-loathing so sharp that you want to reach through the pages and tell that young girl to be a little bit more gentle with herself. It's baby fat, honey, it'll dissolve. Some entries make me sound actively bipolar. One day: I LOVE LIFE. Next day: I HATE LIFE. And I was always obedient to the requirements of the diary itself, keeping my entries short and sweet, to fit on the day in question. Balderdash.

So last night, I dug around a bit, and pulled out the diary from junior high.

I wondered.

I had a feeling what I was looking for in said diary would be there ... I almost remembered writing it... but I wondered if I was making it up? Like I just wanted it to be there?

But nope. At the end of November, right after I turned 12 years old, I suddenly burst forth in a frenzy in my little diary.

Here is the entry in question, and I will discuss my observations afterwards:

November

Diary, are you ready? This seems like I am being disloyal to Han, but I can't help it!! I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THAT BOY IN SKYWARD.

AHHHHHHHHHHH! I can't stop thinking about him!!! He's so cute!!!!!!!

I'll write more later!!!

What erudition.

What wit.

It goes to show you where I'm at these days that I clapped my hands in glee when I found the entry, scaring poor Hope. I KNEW I had written about it. It was a truly bizarre moment - a time-travel moment - the younger self reaching out to the older self ... the older self having, obviously, expressed what the younger self cannot ... I don't know. I rarely feel connected to my 12-year-old self. She seems like a gloomy illiterate foreigner to me. But in that moment, we were one.

That girl was me. And I remembered her.

It seriously just made me laugh!! Evidence! Like a hieroglyphic on a cave.

Observations:

1. "Diary are you ready?"

I was always WARNING my journal of what I was about to reveal. Already I had a judgmental voice in my head, the voice of people who told me I was "too much", so I always felt like I needed people (or, er, an inanimate object like my diary) to "sit down" for my "big news".

2. "disloyal to Han"

Han? Who is that? Did I have a boyfriend I am not recalling? No. "Han" refers to "Han Solo". I was afraid that my exploding crush on Ben Marley would somehow be "disloyal to Han". Not Harrison Ford, mind you, but Han. First name basis. Disloyal? Like Han Solo (A FICTIONAL CHARACTER) in a galaxy far far away is going to sense a "disturbance in the Force" the day after I watch Skyward. "Hmmm," he grumbles, "I think she's 'off me' now and onto someone else ... That Sheila. What a cheater."

3. The "AHHHHHHHH" spans 7 lines in the tiny book.

So there are a couple of lines that are only: "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"

4. The promise "I'll write more later!!!" was an empty one.

I never got back to it "later". Not another word about Skyward or that "cute boy" appear in the rest of the journal, or the following journal. I got it out of my system quickly, apparently.

But then I think: No. I most certainly DID "write more later", didn't I. It just took me almost 30 years to get to it.

Whatever else, I do keep my promises.

The fawn and Alice

"So they walked on together through the wood, Alice with her arms clasped lovingly round the soft neck of Fawn."

-- Alice Through the Looking Glass

This is my guiding image for today. For reasons that shall perhaps one day become clear.

shhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

For safekeeping:

Roger Chaffee was one of the original Apollo astronauts, but he was brought in later, not part of that first macho group, so many of the comments about him later from his colleagues were along the lines of, "Well, I didn't know him all that well, but he seemed like a nice guy ..." He had had no time in space when he was chosen for the first Apollo mission, and that brought a lot of grumbling -mainly from the PR machine surrounding the space program. Astronauts were not just pilots and engineers and geologists in training - but they were also celebrities, expected to make public appearances, and make NASA look good. There is one amusing (and yet awkward) scene in From the Earth to the Moon when Roger Chaffee is sent out to what looks like an Elks Club meeting, and he is their keynote speaker, and everyone present is like, "Who the hell is THAT? Has he ever been in space?" But Chaffee rolls with that punch, doesn't seem to take it personally, and does his best to promote NASA and the Apollo missions - he has the sense that what he is involved in is bigger than himself. Later, after Chaffee was killed, Frank Borman testified before Congress in the hearings investigating what went wrong. And Borman, like most of the other astronauts, prefaces his remarks with, "Roger Chaffee was new ... I didn't know him all that well ..." But the one anecdote he shares is eloquent, not just about Chaffee the man, but about the type of man involved in the space program. There was a meet-and-greet at an air force base, with the top brass and the press and all the bigwigs - but there were also a bunch of mechanics sitting in the back, the men responsible for actually building the machines that were going to to go to the moon. And Roger Chaffee went up to this group to thank them personally, to take time to chat with them, man to man, mechanic to mechanic, about what they all were working on. Borman says, "And Chaffee made them feel like they were the most important part of the space program."

The episode involving the fire on Apollo One that killed Gus Grissom, Ed White and Roger Chaffee is one of the most wrenching of the entire mini-series. The first half involves the fire itself, and if you just imagine what those men went through, it is horrifying. To not be able to get out. And to die ... not up in the void of space, which might be awful but would at least have some heroism attached to it, not to mention being slightly expected and planned for ... but on the damn launch-pad, surrounded by the crew on the ground ... It was a horrible thing. Horrible for the men in that command module, of course (the episode posits what happened, and the feeling of claustrophobia is so intense you want to race through the flames yourself to rip the hatch open) - but also horrible for their families, not to mention the space program itself. It nearly derailed the whole thing.

The second half of the episode deals with the fallout, the sheer tragedy of it, and Congressional hearings, and the palpable feeling you get that these men are ALL making it up as they go along. In my opinion, this is David Andrews' finest hour in the entire mini-series, and he has many superb moments - but he is called in to testify before Congress, provide context, and he is beyond good. I watched it hunched over, holding my breath.

Over the last two months, since I first saw Skyward again (part one and two), I have obviously been re-acquainting myself with Ben Marley, an actor I adored as a youth, and whom I never thought of since. Until two months ago.

These have been dark dark times for me, and very often I do not know which end is up. My reading is nonexistent, I can no longer write (at least not the writing that I need to do), and I have no sense of time. I drift. I am thankful, in a way, that I am a very rigid personality, because there is something in me, something internal, that keeps me on track. I have no one else to help me, I have no backup. But I make my appointments, I meet my deadlines, and I trudge forward. With zero joy. But I trudge forward. There is much to be thankful for. My sister is having a baby in two months. Cashel climbed a rock wall a couple times and is going to Astro Camp this summer and is very excited. He is also working hard at his cello practice. He is having breakthroughs left and right in how he deals with the world. My other sister has just come out with her second album, which makes me want to cry every time I hear it, and is flourishing with her wonderful new boyfriend, whom I now think of as a member of our family. Lovely man. My brother is writing and composing and trying to stay healthy, not to mention stay on top of being a father and a good partner to Melody. And my mother. What can I say. She looks around at the world and does her best to see the good in it. Always. I don't know anyone like her.

I have a lot happening right now, obviously. What I share on the blog is what I choose to share (something that is lost on many, who think that my blog is my whole life.) Most of my life is off the blog. It has always been that way.

But into this disorientation (which is good and right - nothing wrong with it at all) - has come (out of the blue - thank you, Glenn in Texas) Skyward, which, yes, has been scorned by a couple of people who don't get it. I don't write for those who don't get it and I don't defend myself. I see no need, and I dislike my writing when it gets defensive. What has happened to me, through Skyward, is that I have remembered - and cherished - who I was on this planet before things started shifting, before time changed, elongated, shrunk. It was a moment in my life when I was still a little girl, but starting to cherish hopes that I kept secret from my parents. I was young enough to have no concept beyond my own innocence. All I had were inchoate dreams and yearnings. I have often asserted that this is the best part of us. And when we lose that part, or snicker at it, or talk down to it- we lose our humanity. The price is too high to pay.

This is how I operate. This is how I have always operated. I suppose it is the fantasist in me, the person who dislikes reality and would like to join a dreamspace pronto - and for good ... so yes, there is a part of all of this that acts as an Ejector Seat for me. But, as always, there is more to it than that. What a passion like this does is that it helps me - in the darkest bleakest of moments - to stay in touch with that that is still juicy, still alive, still hopeful ... the part of me that helps me keep going.

I have written before that, over the history of my life, I have had these "obsessions" repeatedly. They burn out like a fever. But they usually appear when I need them the most. 2002. Ewan McGregor, Moulin Rouge. It has to do with what Dr. Wilbur, in Sybil, says to Sybil when she plays her tapes of the altnernate personalities - playing Mozart, etc. "That's Vanessa ..." she says ... "and she has all your music for safekeeping." In 2002, I could not focus on my own life, because I was too far gone, I could not say to myself, as my own parent or doctor, "Oh ... I will need this for safekeeping ... DON'T LOSE THIS" because my mindset was too bad. If you have never been there, you could not understand. I could not turn my attention at all to what I had lost or what I wanted to keep, because, frankly, I was manic and suicidal for four months. It is a feeling I never ... ever ... wish to experience again. It was a maelstrom in the mind. All I could do was maintain my index card project and watch Moulin Rouge. Over ... and over ... and over ... and over ...

It is only now that I am out of that dreadful time that I can see that my subconscious, my soul, was putting things away "for safekeeping". That without Moulin Rouge, I would have been lost for good. Now, yes, there were practical things that happened that helped me eventually too - doctors and drugs and care from the medical profession ... but I had already started on that path. My soul reached out into the darkness and grasped onto Moulin Rouge and clung to it like a life raft.

To this day, I have a hard time seeing that movie.

It served its purpose.

After the big brou-haha with Oliver this past week, balking at my posts on the "poster boy", I got a comment that only served to show me that some people will never get the point of what I am doing here. (Or what, in general, a blog is. But that's another issue.) This gentleman, obviously thinking he was being supportive, wrote, "Please more posts like this - less 'gravitas' and more Square Pegs please!" He then left a little smiley emoticon. This person, just like Oliver, has missed the point, and his comment is just as ridiculous as the one left by the person who is affronted by my LACK of "seriousness".

Gravitas has its place here, just as does frivolity. I actually don't find "frivolity" to be a silly concept at all, or "light" - I find it to be one of our precious gifts as humans. An ability to be frivolous means we are still alive, and oh God, what dreadful bores are those humans with no sense or appreciation of frivolity. When I write a post such as this one, the person I have in mind as my Ideal Reader (because that's the only person I write to) ... reads, and takes it in, and not just thinks about what I have said, but thinks about their own lives ... their own journeys ... the things they want to hide away for safekeeping, and how they manage to do that. By cooking, or sewing, or pushing their kid on the swingset.

I am going where I, personally, need to go right now, and I am trying ... desperately ... through my writing ... to put things away for safekeeping. I can't lose anymore. I can't afford it.

As always, it is not an accident. It is not an accident that Glenn from Texas would have Googled Suzy Gilstrap of all things, in mid-December, just in time to see my post on that fine lady. It is not an accident that he taped those two silly television movies, and still has copies ... and was willing to send them on to me. It is not an accident that this obsession (I prefer to call it a "project") has come into my life at this particular time. I can feel that things are being stored away ... safely ... so that I can find them again if I should want them.

None of this has been an accident.

Ben Marley as Roger Chaffee, "From the Earth to the Moon"

What a nice face he has.

"From the Earth to the Moon": HBO mini-series

In 1998, HBO launched its massive Tom Hanks creation, From the Earth to the Moon, a 12-part miniseries detailing the entire space program in America, from its early days to the last moon-landing. The mini-series was highly decorated at the time, and it is not hard to see why. A massively ambitious project, it examines all the different aspects of the program - from the astronauts, to the "world outside", to the pressures from NASA, to the engineers who had to build these spacecraft, to the wives - and it does so, blessedly, with very little schmaltz. This is potentially tough material. It seems like a no-brainer, but the traps are everywhere. It could have been far too golden-hued or kitschy, or it could have left out the more petty parts (the clash of astronaut egos, the political pressures and ramifications, the very human emotions of greed and ambition) in favor of a more promotional flag-waving endeavor. It brings up (at least in this American viewer) a sense of national pride ("Look at what our guys did!), which should be just treated as a given, and not worked for, because otherwise the entire thing becomes a propaganda exercise. From the Earth to the Moon does not fall into that trap. It knows it has a great story - not just in the space program as a whole, but each different mission - and its challenges, its triumphs, its stop-gap solutions. By the end, you really get the sense of just how ambitious (and crazy) this project really was. The mini-series is smart to focus on the details of the space program, and let the emotions come as they will - not work for them.

It's telling that my favorite episode of the 12 is the one called Spider, which details the journey of Grumman Aircraft's building of the Lunar Module, which took eight years, and much improvisation. It is a slam-dunk of an episode, and mainly involves guys in glasses and white shirts and ties hovering over small nuts and bolts, and staring at their little space-craft models with serious eyes. But by the end of the episode, when that Lunar Module is being taken off to actually, you know, be USED, to land on the moon ... and the wonderful Matt Craven, who plays the head engineer, watches it go off, you really get the impact, the hours of manpower and the hundreds (thousands) of men involved in making such an accomplishment possible. It is truly moving. And the emotion is earned, not assumed. The astronauts, naturally, got all the glory. Perhaps with the doomed Apollo 13 mission, the engineers and Mission Control guys took center stage - it was them who figured out how to get those boys home ... but I very much liked that From the Earth to the Moon focused one of its episodes on the true NERDS of the space program, the guys who struggled and suffered and brainstormed, over a number of years, to make this thing happen. They were building something that had no precedent. There was nothing to work from. Nothing to look to as a model. Every step of the way had to be thought out, tested.

Unforeseen consequences of tiny choices had enormous impact. The velcro, for example, used throughout the command module, to stick pens to, to stick their feet onto ... a practical solution to the floating void of space the astronauts would have to be working in. The velcro was a practical solution, which - during the Apollo 1 fire, which ended the three astronauts' lives - ended up having dire consequences, due to its flammability under a higher oxygen level. But there were so many things like that that could not be avoided, no matter the brainpower focusing on each problem ... and the mini-series does not shy away from that reality. These guys were test pilots. They were used to taking their lives into their hands. They knew the risks. But it still didn't mean that they were cavalier when men were lost. It is a difficult and complex thought, and From the Earth to the Moon is tangible with that reality.

The series is filled with great acting, and one of the best aspects of it (and it is that way by design) is that it is not a star vehicle. We don't follow one man through the program. People come in and out. There are a couple of regulars. Nick Searcy (what a face, what a wonderful actor) plays Deke Slayton, an astronaut not allowed to fly due to a heart problem. That must have been a bitter pill for him to swallow, but he took his expertise and know-how to become the over-seer for each mission, handling the flight commands. He appears in nearly every episode. Then there are astronauts who start to grow in importance, as their mission comes nearer - Tony Goldwyn (who is marvelous) plays Neil Armstrong, and we see him briefly at the beginning, in the first episode, and he then subsides ... until it is his turn. Other actors (Tim Daly, Dave Foley, Cary Elwes, Mark Harmon) play other astronauts, who have their moment in the sun. All of them, naturally, want to be the first guy out. These are competitive gentlemen, and the mini-series really captures that Right Stuff "yeah, baby" relationship between all these guys. But we also have Lane Smith, in a fictional character, based on Walter Cronkite, who details the space program for us, over a number of episodes, interviewing the astronauts, and giving us essential details of how the whole thing works. He's wonderful. There are people (like Kevin Pollak and the marvelous James Rebhorn - he's my kind of actor) who take center stage for one episode alone, and then disappear. Stephen Root, another actor whom you would instantly recognize and exclaim, "Oh, it's that guy!", is fantastic here in a number of episodes. God, is he fun to watch. He gets the humor, the toughness, the steely-eyed focus ... Wonderful. But the list goes on and on. Ann Magnuson has a small cameo as the sweet nurse who works with the astronauts before each mission, and there's one shot of her, in her office, during a launch, clutching a rosary, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer. Every time we have seen her up to that point, she is taking blood from an astronaut's arm, or bantering with them - every time we have seen her she has been in her official position. But the mini-series takes the time and has the imagination to show her, by herself, praying for those guys she has come to know. It's a lovely touch, but the mini-series is full of subtle moments like that. It flat out would not work without them. Something like this, so grand in scope, so huge in ambition, needs - and needs desperately - to be grounded in reality and detail. From the Earth to the Moon is.

Ron Howard and Brian Glazer were producers on the project, and, in a really nice dovetail, have gotten as many of the actors from Apollo 13 as they possibly could. Not to play the same parts - but it's nice to see that those who played astronauts in Apollo 13 play astronauts here as well. Ron Howard's brother, so memorable in Apollo 13, plays another Mission Control guy. Some of the Mission Control guys in Apollo 13, who are also astronauts looking forward to their own missions (I love the one guy who says, "When I go up there, I'm bringin' my entire collection of Johnny Cash") - play astronauts in From the Earth to the Moon. Familiar faces. If you're an Apollo 13 nut like I am, you will recognize everyone. "Oh! That's the guy who helped build the filter!" It's down to that level of detail. And so it creates a real feeling of community and continuity. Even though these people are actors, because they have already inhabited that world so accurately in Apollo 13 - they bring with them the memories of that film, helping add to the sense of authenticity in From the Earth to the Moon. Nice choice.

Each mission has its own character and challenges. Tom Hanks, a space nut since he was a little kid, says in one of the DVD extras, that while we all know the name of Neil Armstrong - how many people are aware of just what went on during the mission known as Gemini 8? But there would be no Neil Armstrong on the moon if it hadn't been for the steps taken in Gemini 8 (and all the others) ... and by watching each mission unfold, you really get the sense of the teamwork and ingenuity involved. It was a nearly impossible task. Not to mention the fact that all eyes were on NASA. The gauntlet had been thrown down: "by the end of the decade" ... so the deadlines are unreasonable, the media-spotlight intense ... not to mention the fact that there were other national things to worry about at the time, like assassinations and war and civil unrest. Did we really care about getting to the moon when things were so bad on earth? Because this is a mini-series, it doesn't have the problem of focusing on just one of these things, which would make it all rather top-heavy and ponderous. There is one episode called "1968", which focuses on the events of that terrible year (not just in America, but around the world), and the sort of otherworldly old-school atmosphere of NASA, still moving along, still moving ahead ... but with attention being pulled off their objective. The mini-series format helps us glance upon these important things, but not dwell ... not stay there ... factor it into the mix, and move on.

The overall effect is that of a collage.

I watched it when it first came out. It felt like the entire country watched it. It was, that rarity nowadays, a television event.

I am now, naturally, watching it again, on my own time ... mainly because Ben Marley, who played astronaut John Young in Apollo 13, is here again, playing Roger Chaffee, one of the astronauts who died in the fire on the launch-pad in Apollo 1. And so my motives are not pure (or ARE pure, however you look at it) ... but it's been a lot of fun to watch the entire thing again, over the last two weeks. It's a mind-boggling accomplishment, as a whole. And I haven't even mentioned the stellar special effects, an undertaking deserving of its own documentary in and of itself. In the DVD extras, there is a "featurette", detailing the creation of all of the images, and it was fascinating. One of the things I really liked about it was that it had a mix of digital effects and actual footage. For example, one of the biggest sets was ever built - a replica of the moon surface - which was almost two acres large. The shots of the crew, walking around on the moon, placing big plaster-of-paris rocks, and basically shoveling moon-dust around, wearing plaid shorts and sweatshirts and tool belts, is hilarious - a beautiful incongruous moment of movie-making. How to make the effect of sunlight and shadow on the moon? We learn about that in the documentary. How to make the astronauts appear weightless? We learn how they did that, too. A giant undertaking, and I thought the special effects here were superb.

There are other actors I haven't even mentioned, ones that I would love to write more about. David Andrews, who plays Frank Borman, he of the ice-blue eyes, bushy eyebrows, and basic awesomeness, is one of my favorite characters in the entire mini-series. He is a fantastic actor, never less than riveting, three-dimensional, powerful ... But he is just one of many.

I will, obviously, be writing more about this, but I wanted to just give my overall thoughts this morning.

For A., as promised

Here is the "missing footage" of Larry Simpson running his fingers through his hair in the "Square Pegs" episode 'It's Academical'.

"Square Pegs" - 'It's Academical' (or: the heartbreaking return of Larry Simpson, aka Ben Marley)

Here's part one!

PART TWO

We left off with our quiz-show team chosen three: Muffy, Larry Simpson, and Patty, and we can already see there are going to be competitive issues between Muffy and Patty for Larry's love and adoration.

It is already apparent that Larry is drawn to Patty, but it is also apparent that she becomes a blithering idiot in his presence ("girlf"), and may not be up to the task of competing for him. But you also know that Larry is a little bit afraid of Muffy (aren't we all), and Muffy is really no competition at all.

Who knows how it will work out!

Let's take a look!

Muffy, Larry and Patty sit squeezed together in a booth at the local hamburger joint. Lauren sits at the counter nearby, basically coaching Lauren through what to say, through vigorous hand gestures and pantomime. Larry busts Lauren on this a couple of times, glancing over and seeing her wild gesticulations, and he starts to crack up, before getting himself together. It's endearing.

Look at how they're all squeezed in there - obviously so they can all be in the same shot in close-up but I want to say, "Guys ... learn boundaries - no need to sit ON TOP of each other. Unless of course, you want to ... Just don't do it in an open grave, mkay?"

Naturally, Muffy is dominating here. She is turning all of her focus onto Larry, and she talks as though she is in a Barbara Cartland novel.

"We are from two totally different walks of life, Larry!" she exclaims passionately.

Larry says, trying to keep everything in a more practical vein, "But we're both high school students."

Muffy barrels on, sighing, "C'est la truth."

Poor Patty.

Poor Patty, how 'bout poor Larry! Larry squirms through all of this, but still - he has that tragically attractive quality of still trying to be nice, even though all he wants to do is say, "Muffy. Back off, lady."

He tries to divert the conversation to more of a group event. "How was your burger, Patty?" he asks.

Patty doesn't know what to say to that, because ... she doesn't have one thought in her brain in that minute, and has no idea how to conduct herself. She glances over at Lauren desperately, who mimes to her that she should say, "It was THE BEST burger I have EVER tasted." hahahaha Guys like girls who are enthusiastic, apparently. So Patty, desperately, does what Lauren tells her to do, and gushes, "It was THE BEST burger I have EVER tasted."

Larry is kind of taken aback by the overly passionate response. He's like, "Uhm ... wow ... I'm really happy for you ..." Then he glances at Lauren, sees the tailend of her giant pantomime, and then gets what's going on. He starts to laugh, trying to hide it. It's kind of unbearably sweet and I don't care who knows my feelings on that score.

I know I keep saying this, but look at Muffy in that last shot! It just cracks me up. She is so annoyed at the interruption and that she does not have Larry's undivided attention.

Muffy blows right over Patty's gushing over her hamburger and continues on her romantic pursuit, leaning in over Patty, and insisting, in a breathless voice, that working together - with their two giant brains - will be the greatest love story of all time. Larry is caught, trapped. All he wants to do is get the hell out of there.

Muffy has one of the funniest lines in the episode here. She confesses, emotionally, "Larry, you bring out a level of pep in me I never knew I had."

Finally, he extricates himself from Muffy's clutches, but not before she reaches out to wipe the corner of his damn mouth with her napkin. He basically ENDURES that, but he's twitching away from her at that point. He picks up the check and says, "I have to go - let me get this - " Muffy can't have this, she reaches out and snatches it from his hand, saying, "Heavens no - this will be a Pep Club expense ..." All generous and benevolent ... and he's visibly uncomfortable now, picking up his books - "Okay, okay," he says, getting up - "I'll see you guys later" and basically rushes off, free at last.

Muffy watches him go, desperately. Doesn't look at Patty but hands her the check, still staring off after Larry, saying, "Patty, I seem to be short on cash ... could you get this, please?" and she rushes off after him shrieking, "LARRY???!" Again with the comedic slam-dunk of Jami Gertz.

The second Muffy is gone, Lauren races over into the void, to commiserate with her friend about how things are going. Lauren gets an idea. "You can't be too smart, Patty. Boys don't like girls who are smart." Patty is baffled, "They don't?" Lauren then launches into a giant monologue about why this is so, and how there is historical precedent to prove her point. "Did you see A Star is Born on TV last night?" she says. "James Mason plays a movie star, but when his wife gets more successful then him, he becomes an alcoholic wreck."

Patty is a lamb lost in the woods, she obviously can't handle interactions with Larry on her own steam ("girlf"), so you can tell she is considering Lauren's advice.

And you just know that this will not go well.

But very few things DO go well when you are 14 and in love with a hot senior. With "vigorous chest hair" and forearms that make you want to kill yourself if you're not allowed to touch them on your own terms and for as long as you want, PRONTO.

Next scene shows a study session with Larry, Muffy and Patty in the library. Muffy has taken the reins of the entire thing. She has somehow gotten transcripts of all of the quiz shows in the past - "It is said," she declares, as though she is talking about some Egyptian creation myth, "that they don't repeat questions ... but they may be lying." She has written flash cards with all the questions on it, and she ostentatiously passes out copies to Larry and Patty. Larry, meanwhile, is treating this all kind of humorously, because there's really no polite way to fight Muffy's bossiness ... and Patty sits sweltering in silence, waiting for her big moment to "act dumb".

Please notice how Lauren is hunched in the background of the second shot. That makes me laugh!

Larry does his best to assert his own power here, and says, holding the flash cards, "Okay - why don't we try some American History questions?"

He looks at the flash card and reads, "List the five presidents, in order, after Hoover."

He ponders this as Patty tries to look stupid, even though she probably can figure out the answer. Patty hems and haws, saying, "God ... I feel so DUMB ... I should know this ... why don' I know this?? I'm so STUPID!"

Larry starts to give her weird looks. Huh? What the hell is going on?

Patty makes a wild guess at the answer, "Didn't some of them have beards?"

Larry is basically surrounded at the moment with women who are flat-out lunatics. He has nowhere to turn now.

Muffy barges into the void, exclaiming: "ROUGH TOTS EAT COOL JELLO."

Oh, Muffy. Please stop being so crazy.

Larry and Patty are stunned into silence by her gibberish. Larry says, "What?" Muffy explains, proudly, "Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson! Rough Tots Eat Cool Jello!" I mean, how do you respond when someone acts so crazy?

Patty forgets that she's supposed to be acting dumb, and says, bitchily, "Kennedy doesn't start with 'C'."

Muffy loses it. "Are you trying to imply something about my intelligence?"

Patty snaps, "That's infer."

Uh-oh. Patty is showing she's smart. She then crumbles back, saying to herself, "How did I know that?" She turns directly to Larry and says, "Normally, I don't know things like that."

Larry doesn't know who he is anymore. What the hell has happened to Patty?

Also, why is she abandoning him to her own brand of lunacy, leaving him alone and undefended against Muffy? It would be much better if it were two against one - the two smart NORMAL ones against the smart INSANE one.

Muffy is on a rampage. "You may get grades as good as mine, but I have an advantage because I will be faster on the buzzer. I grew up with a push-button phone."

Larry is no longer concentrating on the study session. He keeps looking over at Patty, confused. Muffy then sees a group of students working on a banner in the other corner of the library and she howls in anger, "Oh, they've spelled my name wrong on that banner!" and flounces off. (You can see the big banner in the background - with huge letters: M U F Y. hahahahahaha)

Now comes a killer scene, which is really rather unfair, because it raises expectations in the fluttery hearts of adolescent girls everywhere. He CARES about her. That's the message. Devastating!

The second Muffy leaves, Larry turns to Patty and says, "Are you feeling all right, Patty? You really blanked out on that Presidents question."

What I like about the script here is that Patty doesn't keep up the charade. It gives an opportunity for a moment of connection - which does happen from time to time in high school (I am thinking of one of the best books of high school life and emotion that I have ever read - Prep, by Curtis Settenfeld - my review here. Prep is an unbelievably accurate - wrenchingly so - evocation of the adolescent experience from the ground up. So much of it has to do with play-acting, pretending to be a certain kind of person - choosing a persona, or having one chosen for you, accurately or no ... and it's a wilderness of make-believe, but sometimes - rarely - a moment can crack through that facade, and you are TRULY seen. More often than not, such moments are devastating, rather than pleasing ... but boy, those are the moments you remember). So the script writers, instead of having Patty keep up the act (which just wouldn't have been as interesting, much more cliched) - they have her 'fess up.

It's like Larry Simpson, and his concern for her, disarms her completely. He can be trusted. You can tell him things. You can admit your silliness. He won't judge.

Patty looks at him, hesitating, and then comes clean. "Have you ever seen Star is Born?"

He replies, kind of joking, but sweet, "Are you drunk?"

Patty's braver now, she's back in the realm of truth, and she says, "A friend told me that you would like me better if I wasn't so smart."

Larry almost laughs at this and says, "I don't think you should listen to that friend anymore." (as Lauren hovers in the background, subliminal).

Patty is relieved. "Really?"

He's gentle, now, talking to her very seriously, like he's trying to give her advice about how to live. "Patty, why do you think I went out with a college girl? Because she's smart. I like smart girls."

Uh oh. See, when you make a connection like that (college girl = you, Patty) you build up someone's hopes! He doesn't just say, "I like smart girls" - he says: "I went out with someone BECAUSE she was smart" and in a crazy 14-year-old's brain, that will immediately equal, "I want to go out with YOU." Whether or not that is what you intended!

Also, you can tell that Larry is proud of the fact that he dated outside of his age-group. He's a little vain about it.

I like him better for this small flaw.

Patty says, "You do?"

Larry says, and it's strangely intimate the way he says it, like he's not talking in a generalized abstract way, but very specifically - about her - "Yeah. So you don't have to do all that with me. You're smart. I like that."

To quote my friend Mitchell, the Jew: "Sweet Jesus."

He makes sure she got the message, with a quiet insistent, "Okay?" She nods, happily. It's a heart-cracker. Then he says, gathering up his books, "Okay ... I'll see you later, okay?" And off he goes, the most romantic hero of our era.

The second he leaves, Lauren swoops over, wanting to hear everything. "Tell me everything that just happened."

Patty is sitting taller now, her shoulders straight, her face calm and peaceful. She says, "Larry doesn't like dumb girls. He likes smart girls."

Lauren takes this in, and, true to form, immediately adjusts. "Okay, then, you now need to be the smartest girl he has ever met. Start studying!"

She is oblivious to her contradictions. She goes whichever way she is needed. It's hysterical. Patty calls her on it. "You do realize that that is the exact opposite to the advice you gave me yesterday?"

Lauren shrugs. "If I can be flexible, so can you!"

Now we come to the big moment: the filming of 'It's Academical' in the school gym. Longfellow Tech (boooo) vs. Weemawee High. There are battling squads of rival cheerleaders, people with banners, TV crews setting up ... general pandemonium.

Vinnie, LaDonna and Jennifer stroll into the gym.

I just need to take a moment to say: Look at their clothes.

Shame. White-hot shame.

Vinnie is still trying to figure out a way that he can get seen on the dance show. He has heard that there is going to be a sequel to Saturday Night Fever and he wants to be in it. "It's going to be directed by Sylvester Stallone," he raves, "and you know he doesn't just go around doing sequels." Ha. Funny line. Jennifer is, as always contemptuous (her epitaph should say "Meh" - a phrase I despise on the face of it - it, to me, suggests everything that is wrong with social interactions in this internet age. Oh it must be so DIFFICULT for you to be so OVER everything, to be so BEYOND joy that all you can say to pretty much anything is "Meh". Boo. Boo on Meh.) Jennifer says, "Yeah, like I really want to, like, stand in line to see Sunday Night Fever." Poor Vinnie, dating such an unsupportive drip.

Meanwhile, Dan Vermilion is "backstage", putting his makeup on and straightening his beard, and he makes some bullshit comment to the assistant principal nearby about how, "yeah, we all do our own makeup ... DeNiro ... Hoffman ... Pacino ..." Hilarious!

Now we get our first glimpse of the rival team, and have to say it, they are an intimidating and snotty looking bunch. Their air of competition is far more frightening than Muffy's more anxious shriek-fest of "gimme gimme gimme". These are worthy foes. Don't underestimate them.

They make the Weemawee team look like little kids.

Nice to see that Larry has once again donned his washed-up-professor-of-18th-century-French-literature's blazer.

Very appropriate for the occasion, smartypants.

The show begins. Lauren is LIVING it from the audience, shooting her support and love up onto the stage out of her eyeballs in a blinding-white paralyzing glow.

The quiz show begins. At one point, it becomes apparent that something fishy is going on. Dan Vermilion doesn't even finish the question before the Longfellow Tech main beeyotch rings her buzzer and gives the right answer. They are obviously cheating! They knew the questions beforehand - it is so obvious! It gets so bad that Dan Vermilion says, at one point, "In 1678 --" BUZZ from Longfellow Tech. Vermilion says, "Yes?" and the main blonde beeyotch leans in and says, "The defenestration of Prague?" Which, I'm sorry, is just fucking funny. Vermilion shouts, "CORRECT!"

Not fair! Is that the only damn thing that happened in 1678?

Next question: "In 1253 --" BUZZ form Longfellow Tech. Vermilion says, "Yes?" Blonde leans into the mike: "Mongols sack Baghdad." "CORRECT."

The audience is starting to get unruly, the cheerleaders from Longfellow are leaping around, and there's an ugly mood to the proceedings. How will Weemawee compete with such egregious cheaters?

Sadly, though, we begin to see Larry's character flaw in a clearer light.

At one point, he leans over and whispers to the snotty blonde, "How do you know all the answers?"

She smirks. "It helps if you know the questions beforehand."

And instead of being turned off, you can see that this young man is, alas, turned on. All you need to do, apparently, to get in with Larry Simpson is be a haughty blonde saying, "The defenstration of Prague"! (note to self ...)

Uh-oh. Foreshadowing.

Meanwhile, the Weemawee team is having internal trouble. No matter who buzzes the buzzer (and it's usually Patty), Muffy cannot leave well enough alone - and she single-handedly ruins two answers in a row, due to butting in. One of the answers is to spell "Erebus". It's Patty's guess.

She says into the mike, "E - R - E ..."

And Muffy cannot wait, cannot sit back, and screams at the top of her lungs, "B - U - S!"

Dan Vermilion, so lax with the haughty cheaters from Longfellow, is a hardass with the Weemawee kids. "Hey - which one of you is answering?"

Muffy shrieks, "I am!"

Vermilion replies, "I'm sorry, then, your answer is incorrect. You just spelled 'BUS'."

hahahahahahaha

Another tragedy occurs when, as they had hoped, a question is repeated from a former show. The question is, "Please name all the US Presidents after Hoover." I am sure we can see which way this one is going. Muffy, ecstatic, manic, pounds her fist on the buzzer and hollers like an opera queen, "ROUGH TOTS EAT COOL JELLO!"

Vermilion replies, "Uh ... no ... that is not correct ... Longfellow?"

Naturally, haughty blonde coolly gives the answer like a Hitchcock heroine. "Roosevelt, Truman, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson."

Larry and Patty are not happy here. And rightly so. The game goes to Longfellow. All because of Muffy.

And that's that. The game breaks up, and Lauren races up to Patty to console her. Patty seems to be taking it okay, laughing with Lauren, saying, "Muffy! She just could not keep her hand off the buzzer!"

Lauren, still working it, says, "Now you and Larry have to go out and console each other."

"Really?"

"Yes! Defeat is so romantic!"

Of course it is, Lauren.

The crowd is mingling, and you can see Larry, in the background, see Patty, and come over to talk to her. He's pretty easygoing about the whole thing, too. I mean, you can't be too upset when you lost because your teammate is, frankly, a buzzer lunatic screaming "B-U-S" and "ROUGH TOTS EAT COOL JELLO" at the slightest provocation.

He says, laughing, "Well, at least it was fun, right?"

Patty gawks up at him, in love. "Yes, it was."

The moment trembles ... it is almost perfect ... if the stars align, and Mercury rises into Jupiter's orbit, and the sun moves behind a cloud ... something might happen next. Larry might ask her to go grab something to eat. Maybe take a walk and laugh about Muffy. Something ... They tremble on the abyss of possibility ...

I'm sorry, but he is just absolutely to die for here. I love men.

Lauren can feel the vibe between the two as well. She stands there, beaming upon it ... WILLING it to happen.

But then. Ruination.

The blonde from Longfellow sidles up to Larry, and says in an insinuating voice, "Larry, I would love to get your thoughts on the Treaty of Ghent."

Never have the words "Treaty of Ghent" sounded so salacious.

Larry gets the message. He says, taken aback, but drawn in at the same time, "Okay ... sure!"

She takes his arm in a proprietary manner and leads him away (again, shades of Eunice Burns. Is that Larry's fate? To be yoked to a dominating boss-lady? Perhaps! Although my very spirit balks at the thought! Maybe it's a phase!). He says, "Bye, Patty," in a kind heartbreaking tone ... and then off he goes, to (vigorous quote marks) "discuss the Treaty of Ghent". Yeah, in the back seat of his convertible. Or perhaps in an open grave.

Patty is deflated. Once again. Lauren, ever the optimist, gushes, "Look on the bright side! At least he's dating closer to his age group now!"

Cold comfort, indeed.

And now it is time to kiss Larry Simpson goodbye.

Wave goodbye, class! There he goes!

Dear Ben Marley:

... when you are in a movie called Bloody Birthday ...

... and you are playing a character named DUKE BENSON ...

... and you, in the first five minutes of the movie, are trying to cajole your high school girlfriend into having sex with you ...

... and you are doing all of this in a graveyard ...

... AT NIGHT ...

... it is probably best NOT to choose to jump into an open grave with said half-clad girlfriend, in order to get some privacy for your hot yet gently coerced teenage sex ...

... because ... I'm just saying ...

... when you are in a movie called Bloody Birthday, which begins with an ominous shot of a total eclipse, and the sound of three evil babies being born simultaneously ...

... it's probably best, Mr. Duke Benson, to not try to put your hand up your girlfriend's dress while lying in an open grave.

Because no good can come of that.

Just a little advice.

Love,

Sheila (who has obviously watched way more horror movies than this Duke Benson guy ever did, so she knows what to avoid, and makeout sessions in cemeteries involving open graves is #1 on the list).

Uh-oh.

Teenage sex never ends well in these movies. Word to the wise.

I myself did not have sex until I was out of my teens (geek), but even as an adolescent, I understood the rules of the game. Sex in open graves is a provocation to the forces of darkness stalking the planet. You are basically BEGGING to be murdered.

"Square Pegs" - 'It's Academical' (or: the heartbreaking return of Larry Simpson, aka Ben Marley)

PART ONE

This episode was near the end of the one fateful season of Square Pegs, and when I re-watched it last year, I had to laugh at how much I remembered. Even specific lines came back to me.

The other episode I remembered that well is the one called 'A Cafeteria Line', where gawky geeky Patty nabs the lead in the school play (opposite Vinnie), and there are all kinds of boundary issues (are their characters in love, or are they??), not to mention friendship issues (Patty starts to choose Vinnie over Lauren, and it doesn't go well) ... and then, at the end of the episode, Patty sings her big song ... and as a young teenager, I was strangely THRILLED about this - because my first Broadway show had been Annie, when I was 11 years old ... and who played Annie but Sarah Jessica Parker, who has a beautiful clear and strong voice ... so I was so psyched (as though I were her manager or something) that the powers-that-be at Square Pegs knew she could sing, and let her show her stuff on Square Pegs. Not to mention the fact that it was a song about wearing glasses - and I had worn glasses since I was 10, and hated them, so it all really spoke to me.

BUT. Back to 'It's Academical'. This heartbreaking episode witnesses the return of Larry Simpson, the hot senior from the pilot, played by Ben Marley. I like it when a show like this has a good memory and honors that memory, ie: having Ben Marley come back to play the same role. It doesn't always happen that way, and believe me, as a panting 14-year-old girl, I was relieved to see the same cutie-pie show up again. I gasped, as though I was Lauren on the track, when I first saw him in the episode. "It's him!!!"

You know. Boys like that were celebrities in school, and they wore their celebrity with ease. I am still vaguely in awe of people like that (call for Keith M.) Plenty of people let the power of their position go to their head, but those that didn't were rare and your interactions with them stayed with you for days. Square Pegs gets that.

In 'It's Academical', Weemawee High School has been chosen to compete in a local televised quiz show called 'It's Academical' (whose host is a funny bitter chain-smoking failed actor), and three students will be chosen out of the entire student body to represent Weemawee.

Who will be chosen?

Will romance bloom or falter?

Can anyone bear the suspense??

Let's get to it.

There's a pep rally at Weemawee (they seem to have a lot of those), and many announcements are made. What a bore. Isn't that what a loudspeaker going throughout the school is for? Muffy, naturally, is running the show, screaming, and honking a huge noise-maker to force everyone to quiet down. She seems to be having a prolonged manic episode. Principal Dingleman (you know, Dingleberry) is on vacation, so the assistant principal steps in to be "acting principal" for the week. He is an ex-hippy, and starts his speech to the class with some inappropriate anecdote about how the last time he was "in the principal's office" was in 1969 when "we had tied up the professor of the college ..." You can watch Muffy's face go slowly from manic support to horror and then anger, as she takes the mike back.

Jami Gertz is so over-the-top here, and I haven't exactly followed her career (Lisa? Want to fill us in?) but she's quite a comedienne. Her observations on ambition, nervousness and also her willingness to look like a complete ass are all right on the money. Great character. No wonder an entire generation who saw that show remembers the name "Muffy Tepperman".

She is all a-flutter as she takes back the mike and announces the big news that Weemawee has been chosen to compete on the local quiz show against a rival high school - Longfellow Tech. Muffy leads the gym in booing the rival. Based on grade point average, three students - "the smartest in the school" will be chosen to compete. And you can tell that Muffy assumes she will be one of them. As far as she is concerned, it is already a done deal.

Dan Vermilion (great name) is the host of the local TV show (as well as a bunch of other local shows) and is there to announce the big news. It's hysterical. He stands off to the side, in the gym, as Muffy babbles on, smoking and making bitter comments about how much he hates kids and let's get this thing over with. Finally, he runs up to the mike, soulless entity that he is, accepting the accolades of the demographic he despises. He is full of himself, once upon a time he had big dreams ... you know he probably played the lead in Camelot in college, and truly felt he was a rival to Richard Burton ... but now here he is, hosting local shows along the lines of "Community Auditions" (well known to anyone who lived in Rhode Island in the 70s. "Star of the DAY - who will it be? Your vote may hold the key! It's up to YOU - to tell us WHO - will be STAR of the day!") and hating his whole life. Very funny.

Look at Jami Gertz. hahahaha

As ridiculous as the character is, she is always alive, and responding, and doing absurd things in the background of every scene.

Vermilion's announcement sends the student body into a tizzy. Everyone wants to be on television. Lauren grabs Patty and tells her she HAS to be on the show. Not because it would be good for Patty to show her smarts, or to have something that will look good on a college application - but because fame, even local fame, is the quickest route to popularity. Patty is, of course, more reticent and shy. She knows she's smart, she has good grades, but she's not really a go-getter in that respect.

The goombah Vinnie has no interest on being on the quiz show (thank God, because he refers to the show as 'It's Academicalogical') but Dan Vermilion hosts another show - a dance show - and that's the one Vinnie wants to be on. He shouts from the crowd, and then - to Tracey Nelson's utter horror and LaDonna's mortification - he jumps up on his chair and starts gyrating, showing his stuff off, unprompted.

Standup comedian hopeful Marshall sees this as his big chance, too. The show is live, so why can't he somehow get on the show, have a couple of minutes to do a routine, a couple of knock-knock jokes, whatever. This is his moment. He cannot let it slip by. He knows his grades aren't good enough to get on the show, but that is irrelevant to Marshall. He will barge his way into the action somehow! Johnny Slash is very frightened by this prospect. As he is frightened of most everything.

The world is frightening to Johnny Slash. If only he could live in his music. It would be a totally different head. Totally.

Dan Vermilion will be back later in the week to announce the winners. See you all then, folks! Everyone files out of the gym, buzzing with anticipation.

Lauren, Patty, Marshall and Johnny go out for a burger at a local joint afterwards. Lauren is determined - "This has to happen, Patty!" - and Marshall is trying to figure out a way that he can get in on the action. He asks Johnny to "rehearse" with him, but it doesn't go well. He asks Johnny, "Okay, so you be Dan Vermilion ..." and Johnny replies, "Then who would HE be?" He is a very literal human being, and cannot make the leap of faith to pretend. Marshall says, "Ask me a question - any question!" Johnny says, "How are you?" Marshall says, "No, Johnny ... ask me a question from history." Johnny nods, like "Okay, I got it", and then asks, "How were you yesterday?"

Muffy barges over to the table and it immediately becomes apparent that she knows Patty is her main rival for this thing, so she starts to subtly (uhm, not really) throw her weight around, trying to intimidate and dominate. "It is obvious who will be chosen ..." Patty just isn't the competitive type. She doesn't claw back. Muffy towers above their table, long hair swinging back and forth, collar neatly turned down in a frighteningly correct fashion, and she is a sight to behold.

Meanwhile, at another table, Jennifer, Vinnie and LaDonna also talk about the quiz show. Vinnie is stuck on the dance show, and Jennifer says she would never want to be on the quiz show because "like, they ask you questions ... like, I've seen them, like, do it." LaDonna (whom I love more and more with each re-viewing) is determined that SHE will be on the show. She may not be a brainiac but "every week they ask SOME question about Otis Redding, and I am a graduate of the Soul-Train College of Musical Knowledge", and for that alone she should be on the show. I think she's got a point. Especially in light of what happens later.

No sign of Larry Simpson yet. Not even a mention. The suspense is killing me!

The school gathers again a couple of days later to hear the three chosen contestants. Seems like it would be much easier and more efficient to announce these things over the loudspeaker during Homeroom - that's the way we did things at OUR school - but at Weemawee, togetherness and artificial PEP trumps efficiency, apparently.

Dan Vermilion is there, once again, in white bucks, smoking a cigarette in the gym, being bitter and over-it, until it is time to run up onto the stage.

He makes a big deal out of announcing the winners.

"Our first contestant is .... MUFFY TEPPERMAN."

The applause is tepid, and actually makes you feel a little bit bad for Muffy, but then her over-reaction is so insane that you stop feeling bad for her. She acts as though she is the underdog winning the Academy Award. She races to the mike, screaming incoherently about how "shocked" she is, which is very funny because you know she's not shocked at all. Also, no need to give a thank-you speech, Muffy ... you haven't won the quiz show yet. But no matter. She screams and blusters and shrieks, as everyone stares on in disgust. Thank goodness her ego is so huge. She strolls through the contempt for her, head held high.

Dan Vermilion somehow gets the mike back from her, and goes to announce the second student. I just had to grab this screenshot, because in the moment of anticipation - please look at Jami Gertz's body language. Seriously, this is an actress who feels FREE. She holds nothing back. Look at her!

Now comes the big moment. Dan Vermilion calls out the second name: "Larry Simpson! Come on down!"

Finally! A glimpse!

Now, of course, Lauren and Patty freak out. He's a celebrity to them. Even the way they say his name ... they draw it out .. "Larry Simpson!" It's like "George Clooney" to them! Lauren is now out of her mind: Patty MUST be the third student chosen. Not only will she become popular, but she can also win over Larry Simpson's heart! They watch him walk down the aisle, agog - Lauren basically drooling over him, and Patty with something a bit more wistful. Patty says, "He probably doesn't even remember who I am" and Lauren gushes, "The last time you spoke, he kissed you and told you he was seeing someone else! Boys don't just forget moments like that!" I love how Lauren has an answer for everything, and that answer is always about empowering her friend, and building her up. That's so what I remember from high school, and even though it led us all down some pretty insane paths - that's what you do when you're friends, and you're 14 years old. You validate the other person's insanity. Lauren does this in spades. As far as she is concerned, Larry Simpson has been carrying a torch for Patty the entire school year. And by the end of listening to Lauren rant and rave, I start to believe it too. Even though I know it's insane!

Larry goes up and joins the others on the stage, running his hand through his hair as he did to devastating effect in the pilot. Lauren and Patty are out of their minds.

Then comes the big moment - when Dan Vermilion calls out the final name. It is, of course, Patty. Lauren flips - it is as though it is her victory as well - and Patty is shy and awkward, she doesn't want to walk up there in front of everyone - she gasps, "I hate aisles!"

But, bravely, off she goes.

Please look at Lauren here. It makes me want to hug all of my female friends.

Slowly, Patty walks up to the stage. Everyone is clapping, including Larry, who is obviously a nice person, not an "over it" kind of guy.

Look at Muffy's face, please.

And then, awful, Patty trips and falls onto the stage. Larry, naturally, is there immediately, helping her pick up her books and her ubiquitous lunchbox. He's sweet, looking right at her (in a way that would have slayed me as a teen and would still slay me now), and he somehow makes it all right that she just had this awkward moment. It's actually kind of funny, and he makes her smile about it.

Stop killing me, Ben Marley.

Thank you.

It's as though the whole world falls away. The sounds of the gym fade away, and they are the only two people on the planet. Again, Larry, be careful who you flirt with!! I myself am the same way. I'm a horrible flirt, because basically I mean business at all times. You flirt with me casually at your own risk. So, you gonna finish the job, or what? I'm not saying this is a good quality, and I often wish I COULD flirt and, more importantly, be flirted with, but I can't. If I like you, and you like me, and you engage with me in casual banter, then I assume you mean business, just like I do. I'm not talking about being "serious" or "love", I'm talking about something much more prosaic, like getting my phone number, or at least attacking me in the corner by the jukebox. Flirting qua flirting holds no interest for me at all. I'm HORRIBLE at it. I don't do small talk, and I would need to be paid in order to be coy. I don't play games. I said that to a guy once, actually - it was in Ireland, and the vibe had been floating between us all night, through talk and jokes, etc. I felt like if I gave him the opportunity to make his move, he would ... but flirting with no end in sight just isn't my bag. I liked him enough, even though I had just met him, and the energy was open enough (ah, the Irish male) that I said, "Don't flirt with me anymore unless you are prepared to finish what you started, mkay, sweetie?" I said it with humor, but, you know ... truth as well. And what happened? He pushed me up against the wall and attacked me. Life was beautiful. He had just been waiting for the right moment anyway to step into his rightful role as grabby aggressive he-man action figure, and I let him go for it. Ah, the crazy American girl. So I know of what I speak. I have gotten my heart broken because a guy flirted with me and had no intention of following through. Makes life tough in the singles scene, I'll tell you that. I pretty much just stay away now, because I obviously never learned the rules of the game, and it's way too late now.

Larry, in his quiet gentleness here with her, is opening a whole can of adolescent worms!

Next we see Patty and Lauren walking down the hall. Patty is nervous, and Lauren is ecstatic. Patty will now get to have one on one time with Larry, and isn't this miraculous??

Having a friend like Lauren is worth its weight in gold. Because she just goes with the flow. Whatever Patty is going through, she supports and builds her up. If Patty changes her mind about something, then somehow Lauren immediately finds a way to incorporate that, and change her sales pitch. She could sell snow to Eskimos.

Then comes a big moment. They see Larry at his locker in the empty hallway (with pictures of football players and tennis players taped up to the inside. Of course.) Lauren is ecstatic because there's no one around. Oh, the memories of being 14 and knowing you only had FIVE MINUTES to take your chance to talk to the GREEK GOD SENIOR you were currently in love with, because soon the bell would ring and the halls would be crowded and you would have lost your big moment ... to do ... what ... say "Hi?" and scurry on by? Well, frankly, yes.

Larry is oblivious to the teenage drama going on behind him, and finally Lauren gives Patty a shove in Larry's direction, and Patty (again) stumbles, and her lunch box goes flying across the hall, landing at Larry's feet.

Mortification central. But again, Larry, with the ease of the "higher life-form" (phrasing stolen from A., my partner in Ben Marley crime), makes it all seem all right, and actually comedic. He picks up the lunch box and jokes, "I think I recognize this!"

Teasing her about her fall earlier.

But Patty is in a whirlwind of hormones, and as we all know, when hormones are in a whirlwind, sometimes the subtleties of humor are lost on us. She grasps at straws, she stutters ... all as Lauren rolls her eyes in the background.

Larry, true to form, pretends that Patty is not in a tizzy about him. It is obvious she has a huge crush, and he's kind about it, not mentioning it or belittling her. He tries to keep the conversation going. Which actually just makes things worse ... because here he is, casually talking to her, as though they, you know, KNOW each other ... and that makes Patty's case of the nerves even more acute.

He says, with the air of one settling into the conversation (which is so important - then and now - if girls get the feeling that you are on your way somewhere, and you have one foot out the door ... well, you won't get much tail, that's all I'm saying. Or the tail you get will not be the tail you really want. Larry talks to her, leaning back up against the locker, his body language saying, "I got nowhere else to be!") - "So where have you been? I haven't seen you around lately?"

She stutters about being busy, and then, out of desperation, turns the conversation back on him - which leads to Ben Marley's most charming moment in the episode.

She has no idea what she is saying, there is no forethought, so she blurts out, "And how are you? How is your college girlf---" She stops herself, horrified. Was she just about to ask him about his "college girlfriend", the one who made their liaison not possible at the freshman dance? What is she, nuts?

But the funniest thing is that he says right back to her, "My college girlf?"

He doesn't scorn her for her ridiculous error, but he teases her ... which throws her into a tailspin.

"Girlf?" she gasps. "I didn't say 'girlf'!"

He starts to laugh, and it's to die for, because he tries to keep it together, and not laugh AT her, but he can't help it. I mean, GIRLF, for God's sake.

He says to her, persistent, adorable, "You said 'girlf'."

Poor Lauren watching all of this is in agony at how badly it is going.

Patty backtracks, "No, no, I didn't mean 'girlf' ..."

He, however, validates her interest, even through her denials, and says in a serious sexy way that would seriously be difficult to recover from if you were 14, "I think you were talking about my college girlfriend?" Patty is about to detach from the earth and fly up into the atmosphere, so he says, gently, "I'm not going out with her anymore. We broke up."

Oh dear. Why are you sharing this with her, Larry? Don't you know what it will do to her? Do you mean business or are you just flirting? INQUIRING MINDS NEED TO KNOW.

Uhm, Lauren? Control yourself, please.

Patty loses her head when she hears he is no longer "going out with the college girlf" and exclaims happily, "You're not??" before correcting herself with, "I mean - God, that's awful - I'm so sorry ..."

Again, he is laughing and kind at her gaffes here, and basically you just want to kill yourself watching it. With lust.

Cause that's his JOB. That was Ben Marley's primary job here as an actor - to make the young female audience want to commit hari-kiri from the sheer power of their lust - but without making a big show of his sexiness or his appeal - and he does it. He doesn't skulk or behave in an overtly sexy manner - but he's, instead, nice, kind and easy with himself. Killer combo. Hari-kiri.

They're having a nice conversation. But alas, all good things must come to an end.

Muffy is approaching. She barges right into their duo, and takes over. She is obviously smitten with Ben Marley too (and who can blame her), but her approach is much more direct. She is sweepingly dramatic and overwhelmingly bossy. She begins to make demands, acting as though Patty, the third member of their team, is not standing right there. It is breathlessly contemptuous. But I gotta say, I feel for Muffy. I really do. I had a moment like that at one of my high school reunions, when I was having a conversation with, basically, the Muffy Tepperman of our high school class, and I suddenly saw, in a flash, how hard high school had been for HER, too. She was a cheerleader, a singer, she was always featured in pep rallies ... but life wasn't easy for HER either. Muffy is in love with Larry. And again, who can blame her. Yes, she is obnoxious, but we are not always at our best when we are in love.

Larry becomes visibly uncomfortable the second Muffy enters the conversation. She is "too much" for him, she stands too close, she is too insistent, and she has DEMANDS written all over her. You watch him try to disengage, you see him try to still be nice, but also put her off. He coughs, fidgets, looks down the hall ... this is all very nicely played by Ben Marley, because he is doing multiple things here. You can tell that he was enjoying the conversation with Patty, too ... and Muffy ruined something that was nice and pure. He tries to keep the lines of communication open with Patty, and include her, although Muffy explicitly lets it be known that she does NOT want Patty involved ... but all the time, he's still doing his best to be nice to be Muffy.

It's terrible.

Look at Muffy's face in that last screengrab. I want to say to her, "Muffy, darling! Save SOMETHING for a rainy day, sweetheart - don't give it all away!"

But we all have our journeys,

Ben Marley obviously senses that gleaming-eyed maniacal look of need, and he tries to wiggle out of it, but Muffy - as we all know - doesn't take No for an answer. She wants to get together after school and start studying for the show.

Larry is too nice to be like, "No, beeyotch, I want nothing to do with you ..." He says, all adorable hesitation and awkwardness, "Sure ... fine ..." Then dragging his eyes over to Patty, he says, "You want to come, too?"

Subtext being played: Please? Please come? Don't leave me alone with this wackjob.

Patty says, breathless, "Okay!"

Muffy does not like this, her main goal is to shut Patty out, so she grabs poor Larry by the arm, and drags him off, lecturing him about where they need to start first in their studying, and how important it all is ... (shades of Eunice Burns here ...)

Larry, in a devastating moment, (again, if you think like a 14 year old) throws a desperate glance over his shoulder back at Patty, as he is dragged away.

He wants to be with her, not Muffy! Muffy is way too much pressure - Patty is sweet ... but he cannot resist the bossy tug of Muffy's arm - at least he cannot do so without being overtly mean to Muffy, and that is just not his style. So off he goes.

Patty is left alone and dejected in the hallway, and Lauren races over to scold her for waiting too long to "say something" (say what? declare her undying love?). Patty knows she doesn't have a leg to stand on, she had handled the interaction badly ("girlf??" You know she will wince when she thinks about that later) ... but at least she now has the after-school meeting with Larry and Muffy to look forward to.

In the words of another tragic heroine, tomorrow's another day.

PART TWO TO COME ....

Can we just take a moment to ponder ...

... the rip in the thigh of Ben Marley's jeans?

Member that look?

It's not the iconic timeless American-male look he was sporting in Skyward, and it's not as time-specific as the look he swaggered about in in The Fall Guy ... but still, a carefully-placed rip in the thigh of one's jeans is definitely located in a specific era.

I find it intriguing.

On multiple levels.

In one particular "Fall Guy" episode, Ben Marley ....

-- chain smokes (what? Ben Marley smoking?? It was hysterical. So enjoyable to watch! He pulls up to the curb, cigarette dangling. He strolls down the street, puffing away. He leans against the wall of his slick apartment, playing with his Zippo and lighting up. He smoked like he imagined himself Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca.)

-- has big hair, almost teased. Tall, that's what his hair is: tall. Such a mid-80s look, I winced for him. No more beautiful feathered hair from the late 70s and 80s ... now we're into the Rick Springfield / Tears for Fears / name your poison - tall-hair-for-men era.

Example:

-- wears a white blazer with the collar turned up (I laughed out loud seeing that), jeans, and white sneakers - the Miami Vice look.

-- plays a kind of soulless materialist character, manipulative and conniving. He's also not immediately evil - he does have a childhood bond with his friend, but eventually we realize what a bad dude he is. Ben Marley? A bad dude? What country, friends, is this?? He did a good job, though. Has some nice moments. A good guest spot. I just can't think (in my vast experience of watching all of his roles - in the less than one month that I have been obsessed with him) of one time that he has played "bad". He's got this inherent humor and kindness and likeability to him, even in parts where all that stuff has to be totally subliminal, like Apollo 13. You just like that guy, even though we, the audience, are given no explicit details as to WHY. That's that "thing" that Ben Marley has.

So to see him smoking, and lounging around in his bachelor pad, bragging about his possessions, and being a douchebag with no soul was a total treat.

He also had a bragging line like, "Yeah. I have my music on CDs now." And we're all supposed to be impressed and in awe of his financial prowess.

Brill.

You know you've got it bad for Ben Marley when you huddle over your computer at 5:30 in the morning, watching THE FALL GUY on Youtube.

Oh, dear

How did this happen?

It's a little bit embarrassing, and yet also totally awesome.

Look at the "related topics" tags. I am crying!! That just shows you what a joint effort can do!

Oh, and I noticed in the last couple of days a lot of people searching for "Ben Marley" on my site. I love that. To make it easier to find stuff, I moved his category up close to the top, over to the right. Easy access!

Real-life Skyward

My brother emailed me yesterday, and the subject line was "Uhm, skyward??"

I opened the email and saw the following:

Brendan wove in many jokes in that one-line email, including the joke about the douche who emailed me telling me it was "stupid" how I "anthropomorphized" my cat. I laughed out loud when I opened that email.

Go, pilots, of every stripe!!

The hope and promise of Skyward lives on!

I'm in a quandary

Where do I put my focus now?

We have:

1. Ben Marley in the Square Pegs episode "It's Academical"

2. Ben Marley as doomed astronaut Roger Chaffee in the 1998 HBO miniseries "From the Earth to the Moon", where you actually get to see Ben Marley in freakin' astronaut garb

3. Ben Marley as Johnny Cash's lanky sweet teenage son in the TV movie "The Pride of Jesse Hallam" (another huge TV movie event that I remember vividly from my adolescence - but again, I didn't put it together!! Jesse Hallam came out AFTER Skyward ... but I don't remember having an "a-ha" moment that the adorable son who ran track and loved his daddy so much that you were basically afraid for his heart to get broken when his daddy inevitably disappointed him ... was also hot Ben Marley in a cowboy hat carrying Suzy Gilstrap into the truck!) He seems significantly younger in "Jesse Hallam" than he seemed in Skyward, where he was on the verge of manhood. So either "Jesse Hallam" was filmed before "Skyward" and it just came out later - or Ben Marley, as an actor, was able to adjust his energy suitably to play a younger-seeming boy. I'm going with the latter. Good actors can change themselves that way.

I feel like I'm shorting out looking at these choices. The fuses are blowing, circuits mis-firing, because I don't know which way to turn.

I wish I could clone myself. "Okay, Second Sheila, could you cover the HBO miniseries? Thanks. Third Sheila, take on Jesse Hallam, and make sure to investigate the timeline, when it was filmed as compared to Skyward, etc. And I'll get back to Square Pegs. We all clear? Good. Deadline is tomorrow, have your posts to me by 5. Thanks."

Compilation of comments in re: Ben Marley

I have pulled out a lot of the comments from commenters on the posts I have written on Ben Marley, and as I kept going, the funnier and more awesome it got to read them all in one sitting. I am wiping tears of laughter off of my face. I feel so grateful, first of all, to those of you who have just leapt wholeheartedly on the bandwagon, sometimes far surpassing me in passion and insight. I can't tell you what it's meant to me in the last two months. People have lost their MINDS about Ben Marley, and putting all the comments in one place really hits that point home.

At first I labeled each quote below with the commenter who actually said it ... but then I realized that it's actually funnier reading if you don't know who said it, and you just let the love wash over you. At least that's how it's gone for me, as I read through these comments, with tears of laughter down my face.

These have been some of the funniest comments in the entire history of my blog. Not because it's a silly or a ridiculous topic - on the contrary. Ben Marley is a sweet, subtle, and under-rated actor, who had a huge impact on me as a lonely pre-adolescent, and it's been fun to basically sit around and appreciate him for a month and a half. Sometimes, when life is the roughest, when it's a struggle to even get through the day, it's good to just throw yourself into something (as my dear friend Ann Marie has put it: "propel yourself into the blazing star") - and not hold back, not worry about looking silly or "juvenile" or what other people think of you ... to not worry about anything, actually, except the reality of the present moment, which might include raving about an actor's feathered hair in the early 1980s and how hot he is and how if you had kissed a boy like that when you were 16, your whole life would be different.

I suppose it is silly. But boy, how much we lose in life when we decide to stop being silly.

In that vein, here are some of the comments. Love you all!!

None of these comments are by me. I wanted to focus on everyone out there who has "propelled themselves into the blazing star" with such commitment, making these dark months a little more bearable for me.

Some of these comments are by friends, family, people I've met, internet friends ... some are by people I have no connection with at all. Some are male, some are female. But look at the participation. It's a frenzy.

Enjoy.

"Ben's hair is just devastating. Devastating. I'm on the floor, writhing in a lifetime of longing for boys with hair JUST LIKE THAT. David Cassidy, it's all your fault."

"I am lost in Ben Marley's feathered bangs. LOST."

"This is Anson Williams's dream version of himself - chatty and sweet and HOT."

"im so in love with Ben Marley right now....it reminds me of my Scott Baio obsession of the late eighties."

"Thanks for the gift of... Ben Marley's thighs!"

"Potsie, damn, you did good. Ben, oh Ben, with your denim-clad thighs and your hairless cleavage and your mop of perfectly feathered brown hair and your sweetness, and dare I say it, with me in the chair and you walking up to me, uhm, with your groin at eye level - I AM Suzy Gilstrap, I am the little crippled girl who years to fly (and yearns to dig into his fly - blush). "You can't protect me forever, Daddy" - from flying and sex and incredibly hot guys and slow-dance wheelies and cantankerous ex-stunt pilots who flew in Thirty Seconds of Tokyo and endless bowls of chili. Here I go, skyward. Watch me fly."

"I had to stop reading the second part just at the point Ben Marley (OH DEAR LORD) lifts her into his truck, in order to race to the dentist. I spent the entire time in the chair thinking feverishly about his feathered hair and rolled-up sleeves."

"I am completely obsessed now: was he in Skyward Christmas? Did he wear the same blissful jeans? How could Slow-Dancing Gilstrap look so glum when his unrestrained chest was RIGHT IN HER FACE?"

"A few things...first of all, Ben marley is HOT. Of course he is ten times hotter because his character lives in the west, wears cowboy boots and drives a cool truck. Second of all, I'm dying to know what lip gloss lisa whelchel wore throughout the 80s. i've never seen anything so relentlessly shiny."

"Just think, the day before yesterday, I didn't know who he was. Now, his 1980 self is my life."

"In my mind, Ben Marley is forever living in 1980, wearing clothes so tight one expects him to bust out of them at any second, like an infinitely hotter Incredible Hulk. I am pleased to see him still in a v-neck though, playing to his strengths. Also, it's good there's a little bit of floppiness in his fringe, though not enough, obviously, having witnessed the (screencapped) glory of his former locks."

"I am so ridiculous. Oh Ben, I'll always love you!"

"I sound like a demented realtor doing a home inspection: "Nose: The same. Check. Eyes: Still entirely blissful. Check. Bicep: Still lean and muscular. Check. Skin: Apparent sun damage. Note: Did he not use sunscreen? Was the cowboy hat not enough protection? Too much staring skyward at Gilstrap? Investigate."

"I had an epiph as I read this -- Marley stood in for US, the audience -- that tight third participant, willing the craft down safely, quiet, integral"

"You know, I had coherent, meaningful thoughts on acting choices, ensemble casts etc. until you started posting the photographs. Now all I can do is quiver like a small terrier and paw at the screen. Oh, sweet Ben Marley, what have you reduced me to???"

"One aspect of this that is also heartwarming to me, and adds a layer of enjoyment to the film and his performance, is the personal side. He and Ron Howard worked on 'Skyward' when they were kids. Ron Howard then goes on to be one of the biggest directors in Hollywood. When 'Apollo 13' comes around, this guy who had been the FOCAL point of Howard's debut is now a role player. But one who is given a real stake in the story, a real chance to show his stuff."

"And let's not forget glimpses here and there of lithe, lilting, gentle Ben, a compact masculine bundle of excellent acting, never showy, never anything but in the moment, doing what needs to be done."

"I’d like to think Skyward is the reference point for Ron Howard’s entire career, and every film since then is revisiting themes he first covered there. 'Guys, from the moment of the shuttle explosion, I want all the control room actors to give off the same feeling as Ben Marley loading Suzy Gilstrap into his truck for the first time. Ben, talk us through it.' "

"I loved the way he radiated authority & power. There was no mistaking this was a very physical guy, not an inch of fat on him, very strong, very alpha. It was completely believable for him to be the one to walk straight into Gary’s room, take over, pack his things without hesitation or permission. Even when he opened the curtains to the simulator, he did it with huge amounts of suppressed energy. He was deliberate & definite, even when nodding his head. Moving the guard? The smoke ring? HEAVEN."

"I came home from work at about 1am yesterday and avidly read your blog on Apollo 13 like it was late breaking news. I had to stop to laugh at myself."

"I've become so invested in Ben Marley and The Sheila Variations Exposé thereof, that this feels like a simultaneously personal and universal victory, in the way the national team winning gold at the Olympics does. (I can't construct sentences I'm that excited). I feel like I should be waving a flag."

"I have so much contempt for "Skyward Christmas" right now, and I have NEVER SEEN IT!!! I want to bitch slap all of them- except Ben Marley of course. Actually, I think Ben needs to write an expose of his experience..."

"Thank God Ben was in there plugging away and being his jangly sexy self to relieve us of this maudlin, mawkish mess."

"Had the scriptwriters never met a teenage girl before? There is NO WAY that after a lifetime of being babied and feeling morose, upon landing herself a boyfriend of ASTOUNDING beauty and character – a boy whose every action is excruciatingly erotic – she would care more about Coop’s stupid problems and being wilful than spending every waking moment making the most of her teenage hormones. She would barely remember her own name, let alone her grandpa."

"Having Gilstrap basically behave as if Ben Marley is invisible or neutered is taking this to a place where suspending my disbelief cannot follow. She would be OUT OF HER MIND and continuously offering to fly him to any stupid bull he pleased."

"She looks like she's pleading with him there, or at least having a little meltdown. Can't blame her, even with those elbow patches. Wait, his shirt appears open to the navel! I completely understand now."

"I’m sure the actors in the foreground of Apollo 13 were doing excellent things, but I was so fixated on his reactions to the action, I don’t know for certain! I had to stop it a few times, because I kept missing visual information straining to find the polo shirt, like the sexiest Where’s Wally ever."

"My finest moment was when I was momentarily baffled by his voice; there was something off, I didn’t know what. Not until the tiny, sane bit of my brain that’s lashed itself to the mast in the midst of my Ben Marley perfect storm reminded me that the reason I didn’t recognise his voice was because I HAD ONLY SEEN HIM IN SCREENCAPS."

"My God, my heart is broken. No wonder people haven’t forgotten this show. It portrays the intense extremes and isn’t condescending. Reading this was genuinely painful. I could FEEL again that white-hot humiliation. I was wincing in recognition all the way through. His kindness, his gentleness, his eyes BROKE me – I would’ve been more in love with him than ever. In fact, I am right now. To cheer myself up, I’m going back to the shot of him walking to the dance. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN, thank you for it, Sheila. Hand in the hair, hand in the pocket – so perfect I squealed at the screen! Not to mention the gym shorts! The way he looks when he’s kneeling, holding the soccer ball! The sweat on his forehead! Is that hair on his chest when he’s in the yellow shirt? Oh damn you, Ben Marley, loving you is a rollercoaster!"

"Oh, GOD! Sweet, sweet Ben Marley. To be let down, gently, by him now is my goal in life."

"I've never been let down that gently. I think it would've changed my life too. The ease they exuded amazed me. Not to mention the hair on Ben Marley's chest. Just when I think he couldn't be more perfect!"

"I loved this post (and am now becoming one of the THOUSANDS of Ben Marley savants in this world) and this line in particular: Change of scene, change of cock."

"Admittedly, you could tell me you'd seen Ben Marley blowing his nose and I'd collapse like Lauren on the track. I suppose, if I'm to justify my existence outside of Bedlam, one could say that Ben Marley being wet, frantically doing anything and screaming makes the giant shark attack an inconsequential detail. Right? Right?"

"Ben Marley appears to have Shaun Cassidy’s hair. And the thighs of a bronzed statue."

"He’s a vigorous, healthy young animal, isn’t he? Boys like that amazed me in high school. All boundless energy, bright eyes and lean muscles, like young colts. I swear they were higher life forms. He just looks so capable, particularly his hands. He looks so natural on the catamaran. He’s certainly the first person I’d cling to were I attacked by a vengeful denizen of the deep. Those arms!"

"Look at him in the fuzzy jumper. Those cheekbones! Your episode description makes me nervous. I don't think I can take him letting me down again. I'm so vulnerable to him!"

"I'm drowning in that sweater."

Coming up: the next Ben Marley-focused episode of "Square Pegs"

You know, the episode called "It's Academical".

The last four days have been insane, what with the flu, meetings run via blackberry, writing projects piling up, and my overwhelming malaise. But I haven't forgotten Ben Marley! How could I?

I remembered THIS episode even more than the pilot (and Jami Gertz really outdoes herself in this one). Larry Simpson was even more devastating here ... but his character, in this one, disappointed me in the end. He came off his pedestal with a cathartic crash. It was a crushing blow to a 14 year old viewer like myself. But I suppose we all must learn some hard lessons. Perfection often masks some deep insecurity, and Larry, despite the gaze he turns on Patty (and the good lesson he once again provides her in this episode), is obviously walking around with some entrenched psychological issues. Like, you pick the Treaty of Ghent geek-slut over a cutie-patootie in glasses and a kilt? Fine, Larry. You'll have to live with that choice.

More to come, when I'm not overwhelmed by other projects.

For those who haven't been around, I did a couple of posts on Jaws 2, where Ben Marley plays Patrick, one of the teenage boys stranded on his sailboat, and who, in a couple of instances of foresight and strength, saves the day, despite his tender years. Here are the Jaws 2 posts!

Carl Gottlieb's good idea

The making of Jaws 2

Ah, the happy doomed teens of Jaws 2

Sneak peek of the scene in the library, when Ben Marley turns all of his charm, understanding and also, let's not forget, practical nature - (a killer combo) onto Patty.

I'm truly trying not to be angry that Sarah Jessica Parker, in her role as Exec. Producer of SATC did not ask Ben Marley to appear in at least one episode as one of the many men-slash-dildos who strolled through that show. What a missed opportunity, lady!

Ah, the happy doomed teens of "Jaws 2"

Their carefree summer fun, of bonfires and making out and sailboat races, is soon to be shattered by a monster of the deep.

In the film, the snotty marine biologist who examines the dead killer whale on the beach, says to Chief Brody, "Mr. Brody, sharks don't take things personally."

Well, this shark does.

It is not interested in filling its belly. It is interested in revenging its friends, and coming back to "get" you after you have set it on fire. It stalks, it lies in wait ... and even though in a matter of 24 hours it has eaten two scuba divers, a water skier, and two horny teens ... it is still not done, and feels that it would be appropriate to try to eat a helicopter, as well as two catamarans and three sailboats, not to mention the ten human beings populating these vehicles. This is not a hungry shark. It is an angry vindictive shark. With a long memory. It wants to right the wrongs done to it. You set me on fire beeyotch? You pour gasoline on my snout and then shoot me with a gun? I will make the entire COMMUNITY pay for your rudeness.

Chief Brody is right to be paranoid, I guess.

I like the kind of world-weary slightly skeezy sexual vibe brought to the Brody marriage - which was there in the original Jaws. They are tired of one another, yet sometimes when they get drunk they like to get naughty. The next morning they look at each other, almost embarrassed, like, Oh God ... we went THERE again ... You can imagine him slapping her ass and her laughing uproariously saying "Give it to me, Daddy", but inside loathing herself for succumbing ... but then the next morning it's like it never happened, and they are back where they started. She cooks bacon in a tired worn-down manner, he looks at her, with the memory of last night's dirtiness on his face. They forgive each other their trespasses, but their energy together is one of tired sexual depletion - which is such an odd choice in what is a summer blockbuster. You can imagine these two not only attending a key party, but throwing the key party, roping the entire town of Amity into sexual shenanigans that will ruin marriages.

So bizarre. Tell me you don't see that dynamic at work in their marriage! But I think it's part of why the original was successful. Because that marriage is pretty shaky, you can feel it. It's not completely broken, but there's something tired there, they're used up.

You can just tell that Jaws was made in the 70s, merely from the energy in the Brody marriage. Only in the 70s were characters in a movie such as this one allowed such adult sexual complexity - not to be explained or resolved, it just IS.

Brody's two sons now take center stage in Jaws 2, with his older son wanting to hang out with his friends, and pursue the pug-dog-faced girl of his current adolescent dreams. The younger son is the tag-along. Brody knows what his son is up to, he's not a hovering father, and it's obvious that Mike is currently about to lose his virginity, as well as have his first experience in overindulgence of alcohol, but whatever, the kid is 17, he's going to do what he's going to do. Brody is no saint. He doesn't care.

But when the vindictive shark who takes things VERY personally comes into the picture, Brody starts to assert his parental muscle.

You can lose your virginity every day of the week, son, more power to you, but I will not let you frolic in the same water as a stalking rolling-eyed monster. Get your damn boat out of the water and get a job!

This is tough to hear, especially when all of the teens in the town apparently live with very little parental supervision, hanging out on the docks all day, cruising on their sailboats, having various sexual experiences and romances, and trying to negotiate their way to adulthood. They're a mixed bag. We have the angry realistic pudgy kid, we have the lanky intellectual, we have the morose kid who knows no girl will ever be interested in him ... then we have the girls, who are more interchangeable, but who eventually emerge with some defining characteristics: the sexually precocious one, the sweet long-haired athletic one (that's Ben Marley's best girl, don't ya know), the wide-eyed romantic one (you just know she's doomed) in love for the first time, and etc.

I'm not trying to compare this to some brilliant teen expose. I'm just saying that without the specificity of the group of teens, the movie would sink into the morass of the shark's ragingly rational and conniving behavior. They seem like a real gang of kids, some more "experienced" than others, and with that strange mix of energies that you see in groups of 16 year old boys in particular: where some almost seem like men - and some still seem like they're pre-teens, anxious, with one foot still in boyhood. It's a huge gap. But they've grown up together, they've known each other forever, so the differences between them are not as noticeable to them as they are to us. But there's the one kid who is good with his boat, and makes cynical comments about the girls' bodies, and he might as well be 25 years old. I knew guys like that. They had a social ease, they were set apart from the pack. There were the guys who were just looking for a girlfriend, which - sure - might mean sex, but it was more important to have a girl to pal around with, especially in the summer. And then of course there were the guys like Patrick, played by Ben Marley, who is athletic, strong, the one you turn to in a pinch, and who has been dating the same girl forever (you know, for, like, five months), and almost seems like a responsible married man. I knew guys like that in high school, too.

So let's take a look, shall we?

I'm sick and worn out. Grabbing screenshots of Jaws 2, with three sneezes per screenshot from me, has been fun.

And yeah, most of these involve Ben Marley.

So?

The making of Jaws 2:

A couple behind-the-scenes photos with, naturally, one that involves Ben Marley.

I have been laid low by the flu. This week has been very rough for me, although strangely productive as well, with me literally blackberry-ing people I need to contact for this or that project from my sick bed, sending huge attachments via email and then having to delete them instantly because my blackberry can't store all of it. But I am really run down. I'm surprised I haven't gotten sick sooner.

So, from my flu-ridden state, I take comfort where I can find it.

I do enjoy these photos, there's something delightfully absurd about the whole thing (especially the guy with the clapper submerged in the ocean. Ah, making movies!)

Apparently the shoot went on for so much longer than they had originally anticipated that they were filming much of the final sequence (with the smashed sailboats and stranded teens, etc.) in late December. Yes, they were in Florida, but it got chilly as hell, and it was supposed to be the middle of summer, and all of the kids were hanging out on the sailboats all day, filming their scenes, shivering, teeth chattering, and they would suck on ice cubes before a shot so their breath didn't show. Glamour!

The making of "Jaws 2": "everybody said that was a good idea"

Carl Gottlieb, screenwriter for Jaws 2 (as well as Jaws), was brought in a little bit into the game to flesh out the characters. He was flown down to Florida, where the entire 120-person company was basically sitting in a hotel on the beach, waiting for a script to be ready so they could shoot. No one was working. Everyone was just hanging out. All of the teenagers (including Ben Marley, ahem) were spending their days learning to sail, as well as working with a Navy SEAL to get in shape. According to Keith Gordon (who played one of the kids), there was much grumbling, much boredom ("Oh shit, we have to practice sailing again? When do we get to, you know, make the movie??"), as well as multiple tormented adolescent romances going on. They all were dating each other, and then breaking up, and getting back together, and guys who were friends the day before getting into fights with each other over one of the girls, and etc. and etc., which is so hysterical to me, and sounds like a blast. Can't you imagine the dramas? What an experience. Most of them were pulled straight out of high school, and for many this was their first big credit. The first director was fired a couple weeks into the picture, everything put on hold. The filming of this movie took from start to finish over a year. So there was a lot of down-time.

Gottlieb was called in to fix the script, build it out and make it all come together. The new director (the amusing and intelligent Jeannot Szwarc) was focusing on the special effects and action sequences, Gottlieb had to flesh out the story, and the characters. He describes holing himself up in the hotel room, and writing ... but every time he would leave, every other person would say to him, "How's it going??" Not in a mean or impatient way but like: How's that script going? Can we start shooting soon? As a writer myself, I freak out thinking about such pressure! He finally stopped leaving his hotel room because he couldn't take it. And finally, he lit upon a theme, or an idea, that he could flesh out. He knew that the group of teens, who are basically the linchpin of the whole thing, had to be made clear - each one needed a characteristic an audience could recognize, etc., but then he came up with the idea that I personally think makes the whole movie:

I had this notion that this cruising culture that was very popular with cars at that time - I said, What if kids cruised on the water the way they cruised on the boulevard? They've got these elaborate boats that they fix up, they socialize, all the boy-girl stuff, the interplay between the kids can be in connection with this cruising culture. And everybody said that that was a good idea.

Yes, yes, yes. VERY good idea. When you see Jaws 2, with all the balderdash, one of the things I like about it is its evocation of that boat culture, mixed in with teenagers. I grew up in a tourist beach town, not unlike Amity - where there were the rich cats who would flock there every summer, and then there'd be us - the local kids - working at pizza joints and restaurants, serving the wealthy, and hanging out on the beach all day. After all, it was OUR town.

Jaws 2 does that very very well, and I love to hear Gottlieb's story about how he came to that idea, and how he thought; There. I can write that. I know how to write that.

The many scenes of flirting aimless teenagers hanging out on their little sailboats really reminds me of my own adolescence in a state where there the only thing to do, in the summer, or really in any season, is hang out near or on the ocean as much as possible.

And so the director went with that idea, and he films the sailboat races with kids laughing and screaming from boat to boat as though it is American Graffitti.

What I like about this anecdote (revealed in the very nice DVD extras) is that it shows the amount of thought and, dare I say, artistry - that goes into even something like Jaws 2. Like any other writer, Gottlieb was looking for his "way in" to the story - a hook. Not just for the audience, but himself.

Some screenshots of that "cruising boat culture" below, with, yeah, a glimpse of Ben Marley manning his boat.

The "cruising culture" of American Grafitti was transposed to the world of Jaws 2, and it works. Not only does it work, but it is something that feels real (like I said, I recognize that world from my adolescence) - and in a movie like Jaws 2, with a basically sentient shark who is out for revenge, as opposed to a nice meal, you need as much grounding as possible, as much connection to the real world.

Jaws 2: Ben Marley

Sneak peek.

Boy is a glorified extra (he should have played Mike, Chief Brody's son - he's a much better actor) but instantly recognizable, of course.

More to come.

The "Square Pegs" pilot: In hot pursuit of popularity and Larry Simpson (aka Ben Marley) - Part Two

We left off at the halfway mark, after Patty fills Lauren in on the most amazing experience of her life - "fainting on Larry Simpson". She can be forgiven for exaggerating. She is 14.

Patty and Lauren have been volunteered (by Muffy) to make decorations for the freshman dance. They sit after school and paint posters, and all Lauren can talk about is Larry Simpson and how he LIKES Patty and how they have to somehow work this, because there is no time like the present! AS they are talking, naturally - who walks into the room but Larry Simpson. In gym shorts, help me Jesus.

Lauren sees Larry and his friend come closer and, more aggressive than Patty, calls out to him. Instead of being a douche, and rolling his eyes and strolling by, he sees that Lauren is sitting with Patty, and says, "Hi!" in a nice heart-cracking way that I, personally, would totally have misinterpreted as a 14-year-old, thinking he obviously liked me if he said "Hi" in that manner. Actually, I might mis-interpret it now too! He and Patty have a bond now. He stops to chat, which is even worse (and by "worse" I mean "better"), because he obviously wants to be there. Lauren is both just googly-eyed up at him and his friend.

Larry says something to his friend like, "This is the girl I told you about ... Patty ..."

THE GIRL I TOLD YOU ABOUT?

DON'T PLAY WITH MY HEART, BEN MARLEY!!

He's humorous and nice and makes Patty repeat "that funny thing you said the other day ..." In that moment, he's building her up. He's making her repeat something that made him laugh, to his friend.

This is all just soul-crushing.

Patty is on the moon. She says "that funny thing" again, and Larry Simpson laughs again and says, appreciatively, almost intimately, "You have such an unusual mind."

Where is the fork? I need to plunge it into my solar plexus.

But then Lauren, whose social skills leave a bit to be desired, butts in. She can't help herself. As a grown woman I would call this moment a "cock block", and I believe that it is essential to have female friends who intuitively understand what a cock block is, and why you should not do it ... it's just a sense that should be developed by the time you're an adult. Seriously. Bump it up the priority list if you don't have it down-pat, because nobody likes a cock-blocker. Anyway, Lauren doesn't mean any harm (many cock blockers don't - that's the worst part - and Lauren's too young to really get it yet) - but Patty and Larry are having a nice (to quote Eddie Izzard) "splashy-splashy" moment, when Lauren blurts out, "Larry, are you going to the dance?" all breathless and agog.

It stops the action. It interrupts. It is not on topic. The cock is blocked.

That's a no-no, Lauren.

Oh, and just in case you think I'm being too hard on the poor hapless cock-blockers, on one or two awkward occasions I have actually cock-blocked myself, so I do understand the problem. But get it together, and GET OUT OF THE WAY. I have often thought that my friends Ann Marie and Mitchell should give seminars (together) on how NOT to cock-block. They could make a killing. They bring not only non-cock-blocking but encouragement of the friend's romantic action going on to a high art form. It's sometimes impossible NOT to get laid when you go out with those two. They set you up as the funniest coolest person in the world, and then disappear into the night, leaving you to navigate the situation yourself. Brilliant!

Anyway, there's an awkward shrieking-on of the brakes when Lauren blurts out her comment, and you can see everyone awkwardly dealing with it. Larry Simpson says, "Yeah, sure ..."

Lauren gushes, "We'll see you there!"

It's one of those weird high school moments where you can totally tell that one group is 14 years old and one group is 18 years old. From a long-distance view, all teenagers may seem the same, but don't you remember on the ground when you were 14 and those senior classmen seemed like ADULTS? Like, they had RAZORS in their bathrooms and stuff like that. You were just a KID who still had teddy bears.

Larry says, "Okay ..." Again, he's nice to Lauren. He's not a douche, even though he probably can see what she is up to. He doesn't say, "Yeah, you wish you'd see me there ..." He nods and says, "Okay." But, inevitably, his eyes drag back to Patty.

Let us revel in the moment.

For as long as possible.

I'm guessing Patty feels the same way I do.

Granted, it's not the iconic American-male-movie-star hotness-with-years-of-similar-images-behind-it of something like this:

But in Square Pegs, he's playing a different kind of character, a regular boy from the suburbs, good at school, nice, obviously plays soccer, and cute as hell.

He then says the fateful words, "See you there", and strolls off with his friend, leaving the girls in a state of complete emotional dishevelment (and poor Marshall, who has to look on at the drool-fest going on).

Look at them watch him go!

Of course Patty and Lauren are whipped up into a frenzy about the words "See you there" which seems to hold some kind of ... promise?

Oh, girls. Watch out.

Change of scene, change of cock. Marshall and Johnny Slash are in the listening library at the school (well - Johnny Slash is listening to Devo or something), and Lauren and Patty are strategizing about how to get to the dance, and how romantic it will be. They actually believe that Patty is going TO the dance with Larry. At some point, Marshall comes up, and with many a "but seriously folks" interjection, asks Lauren to the dance. She is openly dismayed. She is at the point where Patty's life is far more important to her than her own. But they end up agreeing to go to the dance with Marshall and Johnny (who has a car), as long as Marshall and Johnny agree to stand six paces behind them at all times, like Prince Philip. Hahahaha Poor Marshall and Johnny agree to that. Johnny appears to be terrified of girls, in general. He may have a cool exterior, but inside he is a trembly mess.

Now, finally, the dance. The sad foursome stand out on the steps of the school, and they are all basically waiting for Larry Simpson to show up. Horrible! God, it brings me back to how embarrassing I could be in high school, waiting around for some dude to walk by, so I could maybe have eye contact with him and then write 20 pages about it in my diary.

Johnny Slash has completely divorced himself from the situation (what a shock), and is deeply engrossed in the music coming out of his headphone. Lauren and Patty peer off eagerly into the night. Marshall is still hopeful that the wind will swing his way, so he murmurs to Johnny that eventually they'll probably get to dance with Lauren and Patty. Johnny freaks out. "Dance? With them? I don't dance. I'm New Wave. Totally different head. Totally." Marshall, again stuck in the days of Sid Caesar, tries to teach Johnny how to dance, and they do an awkward waltz up and down the steps, much to Lauren's mortification.

Where is Larry? Why is he not coming?

Then the most romantic heart-stopping shot in the whole pilot.

Not just because it's Ben Marley, and he's running his fingers through his hair, but because I remember what it was like to be 14, and LIVING for a certain dance, because maybe I would see that upper classman I was so smitten with, and I had no classes with him, no interactions ... but at a dance, I could actually be in his presence in a social situation and maybe ... just maybe ...?

Damn Square Pegs for giving me flashbacks like that. They really are rather unpleasant.

Lauren gives Patty advice on what to say - that his presence makes her stomach go into butterflies, that "we will remember this night for the rest of our lives", and other such balderdash, and then drags Johnny and Marshall off, leaving Patty alone on the steps.

Larry, unaware of the brou-haha that he has caused, casually strolls up the steps in his washed-up 18th-century-French-literature professor's blazer ... and he's not looking for anyone (because, you know, he knows he's NOT on a date) so he almost walks right by Patty, and she calls out to him, "Hi, Larry!"

Awkward!

He's a smart guy (that's set up in how he's talked about), so he has a moment where he realizes what's happened. That she's standing on the steps forlornly waiting for him. But because he's also nice, he doesn't cringe away from her, or play it cool, or any of those other things that would crush her even more. He's nice. He stops and they have a sweet interaction. She's not wearing her glasses, and he comments on it. She pretends like she only wears the glasses "for reading sometimes", and he says, "You look nice" - in a way that has to be seen to realize its effectiveness. (Again, imagine you are an un-kissed geeky 14-year-old ... very important.) She, freaked out, blurts back, "You look nice, too" and he starts laughing and makes some self-deprecating comment about his clothes, although he DOESN'T say, "Yeah, my dad is a professor of 18th-century-French-literature and I borrowed his blazer."

He then says, "Well, we might as well go in, right?" As though they are together, pitter pat, and in they go. You like him. You feel bad for Patty. Life will go on.

Inside the dance is going on. I can't get over the music or the outfits. It's awesome. The Waitresses haven't shown up yet for their gig (they're such rock stars), and Muffy is getting very angry about that. The same dude in the full American Indian regalia is STILL in the full American Indian regalia dancing around, and he is the background of almost every shot, and it's hilarious!

Larry doesn't just ditch Patty when they walk in. They stand there together. It's the most exciting thing ever. Larry has the vibe of one of those guys in high school (again, calling Keith M.) - who was at the top of the peak, yet somehow still had a foot out of high school, giving him a better perspective. He knew there were more important things. That how you treat each other is what really matters. That life would go on after high school. Unlike those who truly believed that this was the most crucial time of their lives. Maybe it's being a senior, but I think there's more to it. Like the way he looks around at the dance. He's not making fun of it, but there's a part of him that does look around and find it all rather funny. That is SUCH a relaxing energy when you are a square peg underclassman and everything is so important!

So then Jami Gertz has her big moment introducing The Waitresses, on they all come, and they start to play "I Know What Boys Like". The place freaks out and everyone starts dancing. Except for Patty and Larry who kind of look on, chatting about nothing. He's being kind and sweet, and asking her if she wants a soda. She is awkward and bumbly, and making no sense at all. Meanwhile, Lauren watches like a hawk from across the gym, peering through the crowd.

Ah, memories!

At one point Larry says, "I like this song" (you know, the man is desperate for conversation at this point - but he takes it easy, not giving her a hard time - he's doing all the work as she bumbles about) - and she gushes, "Me too!" even though she probably doesn't even know what the song is.

One of my favorite moments that Ben Marley has in the episode is while the two of them are talking (with the American Indian war-whooping in the background). He asks Patty if she would like a soda, and in the middle of his comment, you can see him see something across the room, and it cracks him up. He tries to hide it - hand up over mouth - but it's too late. He says, "Uh ... I think your friend is trying to get your attention."

Cut to Lauren standing on the bleechers, waving and gesticulating at her like a maniac. Like - she can't WAIT for the update - she must have it now!!! But I just like how he catches a glimpse of the wind-mill-esque motions across the gym, knows exactly what's going on (it's nice to see a boy not be contemptuous of girls and how they operate, and treat it all with a bit of friendliness), and he tries not to laugh, but you know, she looks ludicrous so he can't help it.

It's MORTIFYING. Sarah Jessica Parker is MORTIFIED that her friend is making such a scene. But what is she to do? Windmill-arm her back, "LEAVE US ALONE. STOP COCK-BLOCKING"?? She cringes!

Larry Simpson, good boy, jokes, "Do you think she wants a soda too?"

Patty doesn't even know what she is saying ... the moment, so precious, is already slipping away. God, don't we all remember what that is like? She says, "She doesn't even drink soda!" and he looks at her with a nice expression, like, Okay, okay, it's okay, Patty ... and he exits the scene, to go get them some sodas, but also to allow the frantic friend to rush over and get the update. He gets it.

You know, it's moments of kindness like that that can make the wilderness of high school not seem so hostile.

Lauren then races over demanding to know if he has kissed her yet. Patty is horrified. "We just GOT here!" But she needs her friend and says, "Okay, quickly - what am I supposed to say to him again?" And Lauren launches into the butterflies in stomach and "we will remember this night for the rest of our lives" monologue. Patty nods, trying to burn it into her brain. Okay, got it. Larry returns, without sodas, and Lauren dashes off to leave them alone. Subtle!

Larry does NOT have sodas when he returns, and by now it's a slow song. They stand there, side by side, not speaking for a while.

It's killer. It killed me as a 14 year old ... that moment BEFORE something really happens. (Please look for the Indian doing his thing in the background. It kills me.)

Then he says, as though the thought just occurred to him, "Hey, you want to dance?"

She gushes, "Sure!"

Best moment of her life.

Of mine as well.

Oh, it's so sweet how he puts his arms out, and she steps into them (all with tomahawk man gyrating in the background - hysterical) and they slow dance for a while. It's achingly awesome.

They dance. They don't speak. She is obviously madly in love with him, and he ... well, here's what I think. He meant what he said earlier in the episode. He loves her mind. He thinks she's a kick. He's a smart guy, and he likes her smarts. He finds her amusing. And maybe, somewhere, he thinks she's cute too. (The way he said "You look nice" tells me that). He's aware that she is crush-ing on him big time, and so instead of being a dick to her about it, he is kind. He basically ignores her awkwardness, letting her get herself together, without punishing her for it ... and is kind and sweet in the face of someone else's insane regard for him. So. Basically what I'm trying to say is he is playing all of that as he dances with her. He's not "just" dancing with her, or staring over her shoulder. He's thinking about something. Best kind of acting. It doesn't matter if you're in a Pepto Bismol commercial or a Woody Allen movie. Think about something when you're acting. Especially on film where it is always the thought that counts.

Hmmm.

All of this is reminding me of something else.

What could it be?

Oh, yeah.

Not quite as palpitatingly hot and tormented, but just as sweet.

Patty, however, cannot just be in the moment. Of course she can't. She's 14. She's out of her MIND. She doesn't know you need to hold onto moments primarily by letting them be. She tries to force her hand. Basically so that she won't have to break the news to Lauren that she didn't say the right words.

She breaks the slow dance (and this is a very nice scene coming up, very nicely written), and says, in an overly dramatic voice, "Larry, we will remember this life for the rest of our nights."

He stops and says, "What?"

Uh-oh. She got her one line wrong.

Instead of correcting herself, or digging herself in deeper, she steps back away from him a little bit and basically pleads (and it's a lovely moment, very cathartic and high school-ish), "Well, don't you have that feeling??"

Good for you, Patty. Speak your truth. YOUR truth, not Lauren's.

Now comes Larry's moment in the sun and I'm sure this is why he was brought back for a later episode. His sweetness here is hard to describe without making it sound ... schmaltzy ... sweet is not the word, anyway. I know I keep saying "kind", but that's the word-clue that keeps coming up for me. I am also remembering who I was when I first saw it, ostracized and pudgy, and feeling such a sense of self-loathing that I would NEVER approach a guy to ask him to dance, or whatever. I was disgusting to myself. It makes me want to cry, looking back on it. Over the next couple of years of high school, there were, indeed, boys who were kind to me in my distress over them. They handled me gently (or as gently as they could, being only 16 themselves), and I will always appreciate that. They all turned me down, I had no success in high school, and finally - my senior year in high school started dating a 22 year old guy - which seemed my only hope! That turned into a major tragedy too, but my milieu was obviously not high school. I just couldn't get a grip on ANYthing.

So Larry here, and how he sees how flustered and upset she is, and instead of backing off from it - decides to speak directly to it - really made an impression on me.

He sees her face, pauses, and then says, "Patty - when you were out front on the steps ... were you waiting for me?"

Horrifying. She exclaims in defense, "No!"

He doesn't say anything (again, a kind moment - he lets her defend herself without scoffing at her or saying, "You were too, Patty, come on"), and she then caves and says, "Yes." She's already near tears.

It's crushing.

Here comes the nicely written scene, which - naturally - I remembered almost word for word. The time is now, he has to be honest with this poor girl, so he starts to say,

"Look, I don't know how to say this, but ..." when she interrupts, she can't help it, saying, "I thought you liked me!"

He says (and I believe every word - that's the gift Ben Marley brought to this nothing little part. You have to believe him - otherwise he's just another high school douchebag and we've all seen them before), "I do like you. It's just that I'm seeing somebody else." Gentle, gentle ... he knows it will hurt her.

Again, if you roll your eyes at this stuff totally then you miss so much. How often in life do I wish I had been let down just a little bit easier. With some understanding on the part of the man that this is going to hurt, and I'm sorry ... It's nice, you know?

She's really in it now, not trying to protect herself or play it cool, and she says, "Who?"

He says (and he does that thing guys do that kills me - his eyes kind of roam over her hair, her face, back to her eyes - it's hot, frankly - and tender), "You don't know her. She's in college." Terrible line for Patty to hear! How can one compete with a girl in college? He's REALLY a man! She can't speak, lowers her head, and he lifts up her chin with his hand. Ouch. Says, "You're not gonna cry, are you?"

I DIED watching this as a teenager. DIED.

She replies, "Yes. I mean no."

He's gentle, he feels bad. He starts to say, "I never meant to make you think that -" and this is when Patty gets herself together, starts to channel Lauren (who obviously loves old movies) and starts to put poor Larry at ease. She stands taller and exclaims, "Larry, you needn't reproach yourself. I understand perfectly. I've had some experience with this sort of thing before, you know."

He doesn't laugh. He says, "Really?" She nods, reassuring him. She is a woman of the world. She can handle this! Again, he doesn't laugh at her. He says (and this is a heart-cracker of a line - totally sincere, but what a knife in the heart): "Because I think you're a terrific kid with a lot of potential."

Kid?? But how nice he is there. And that's not an easy line to pull off and make it sound like, yeah, Larry Simpson says shit like that, and THAT is why he is popular - but Ben Marley pulls it off. He means it. But "kid"? Throw me in the open grave right now.

I love this next line of Patty's, because she channels Now Voyager (hmm, a connecting link to Bette Davis!): "Don't give it another thought. Why ask for the moon when we have the stars?"

Now he feels it's safe to smile. She's being very dramatic, but not obnoxious, and he appreciates her. It's okay to appreciate her. Killer closeup of him staring at her, with a strange mixture of tenderness, humor, and "if you were four years older" regret - and he says, "You certainly have an unusual mind for a kid your age."

She is sad but brave, and says, "I think I'll go join my friend now." and turns to leave when he says (and it's startling), "Patricia ..."

Out of nowhere, he calls her "Patricia". Patricia? What a grown-up name, after he's been calling her a "kid" for five minutes.

Nice writing. Nice touch.

She stops, and he walks over to her and slowly bends down and kisses her on the cheek, lingering there for a bit, and when he pulls back from kissing her, this sort of calm happy light comes over her face - and as he walks off, you can see Lauren dash over to get all the details ("I wish he wore lipstick so we could see the exact place where his lips touched your flesh!") ... but what was nice about the moment was that he made turning her down into a work of art, where he actually left her in a better spot than where she was before. He was tender enough that she would never be humiliated in looking back on it, he was honest with her, and then, out of nowhere, he calls her "Patricia", intimating, "some day, kid, some day ..."

Afterwards, although Patty is crushed, and Lauren is now plotting their next move ... they decide to finally allow poor Marshall and Johnny (who have been trailing around behind them like Prince Philip all night) to dance with them, and the pilot closes with the four square pegs gyrating around to the Waitresses ... they will survive!

The "Square Pegs" pilot: In hot pursuit of popularity and Larry Simpson (aka Ben Marley)

Square Pegs opens with a collage-style credit-sequence, with flashing images of various high school scenes (unpopulated, in a kind of bleached-out color scheme): the biology lab, the library, the hallway, the bathroom ... all with the frenzied voiceover of the two girls as accompaniment.

Let's go through it, shall we?

Memory Lane, revisited. First, let us revel in, what is for me at this moment, the most important fact of all.

Mkay?

Crucial to my emotional well-being.

The pilot starts with a pep rally for the freshman class on their first day of school at Weemawee High. A high school kid dressed in full American Indian regalia runs around the auditorium brandishing a tomahawk, wearing a full feather headdress, and doing an Indian war whoop. Today he would be sent to mandatory sensitivity training. But in the world of Square Pegs, he is revered. Such is progress.

Patty and Lauren (Sarah Jessica Parker and Amy Linker) sit amongst the crowd, and look around, ogling at the other students and trying to figure out who is the "in" crowd. Actually, that is more Lauren's job, who is more ambitious than Patty. Patty has given her glasses to Lauren, so she can't see anything anyway.

Tracy Nelson and her boyfriend Vinnie make a big entrance, and walk down the aisle of the gym as though it is a red carpet. Member those couples in high school? They were celebrities!

Does she look just like her father or what?

The laugh track on the show is really subtle, barely there. It's kind of refreshing.

Lauren is plotting her way up the social ladder. You know it will be an uphill battle.

We meet Muffy Tepperman who shouts at the gathered students as though she's running an Aryan Youth camp. She is obsequious towards the principal (Mr. Dingleman), so obsequious that you wonder if Jim Lipton had something to do with her portrayal. Mr. Dingleman introduces LaDonna, who will give "her rendition of the Weemawee Alma Mater - in her own style." LaDonna sashays onto the stage, in full Cyndi Lauper slash Jane Fonda's workout tape regalia - all leggings and long sweatshirts, and she performs the alma mater as though she is DEBORAH Gibson. Muffy Tepperman looks on, horrified, as though LaDonna has decided to rap the Gettysburg Address. LaDonna doesn't care what Muffy thinks. She dances around, singing, the class claps, it is an impromptu concert. The Weemawee song involves the words "virgin spring" which I imagine causes much hilarity among the students. As LaDonna sings, the American Indian cliche dances around the gym. Off to sensitivity training for you, bub!

Let the school year begin!

Patty and Lauren make their way into the hellhole that is a high school cafeteria. Where to sit? Lauren, of course, knows they need to sit with the "in" crowd, so they plop themselves down at a table with Jennifer (Tracey Nelson) and LaDonna (Claudette Wells). Jennifer and LaDonna act as though little squirmy bugs have just joined their party. Ew. Jennifer is particularly relentless, honing in on Sarah Jessica Parker's lunch box. "Did your mommy pack that for you ... with, like ... baggies and everything?" So mean.

The good thing about Lauren and Patty, and why they were fun heroines, is that they weren't crushed down by this kind of behavior. They didn't slink away, victimized. Parker saves the day by making a big lofty speech about how they realize they are not wanted, using huge vocabulary words, and the two friends flounce off, somehow becoming the victors of the moment.

BUT.

BUT.

Let me backtrack a moment. Jennifer and LaDonna have a conversation before Patty and Lauren barge over to sit with them.

Jennifer is bemoaning the fact that Vinnie isn't all that deep (which is hilarious because Jennifer is the least deep fictional character ever created). She says to LaDonna (although she calls her "LD"), "You know who I, like, like?" LaDonna who is horrified and kind of judgey (because Jennifer already has a boyfriend) says "Who??" Jennifer glances longingly across the cafeteria and says, with import and meaning, "Larry Simpson."

We see who she is looking at.

Larry Simpson (aka Ben Marley) is being fed ... like a PASHA.

Isn't that how hot nice guys seemed in high school when you stared at them from the faraway vantage point of freshman geekery? They seemed like desirable PASHAS, surrounded by giggling gorgeous acolytes, and there was no way on earth that you could ever get "in there" ... Girls like that acted as a Praetorian guard of sorts! Territorial, protective, loving, vicious.

So anyway. Larry Simpson. In all his cute high school glory.

At this moment, Patty and Lauren race over and sit down with Jennifer and LD, Lauren saying, "Who's Larry Simpson??"

Scene goes along as follows, with brief moments when all the girls drool over said Larry across the room.

But of course Jennifer and LD do not allow Patty and Lauren to infiltrate their clique, and make snotty comments about braces and lunch boxes until the two losers are forced to flee.

They then sit down with these two characters.

Man, doesn't it bring you back? Unlike Jennifer and LD, Marshall and Johnny Slash are NOT horrified at Patty and Lauren. Just the opposite. Marshall sees an opportunity to try out his new comedy routines (his sense of comedy was arrested with Sid Caesar apparently), and also to hang out with the mysterious entity known as GIRLS. Johnny Slash is hidden behind shades and walkman, and when he realizes there are GIRLS at the table, he gets very nervous. Marshall calms him down. Johnny Slash has obviously been kept back many times, he appears to be about 25 years old ... and he is "New Wave" ... his whole life is "New Wave". He is a rigid fascist about music, style, and labels. Patty innocently asks him if he is "punk" and he gets all offended.

Lauren, of course, is kind of a snob, and realizes immediately that these two guys are on the same echelon ... and barely gives them the time of day. They need to move UP, not SIDEWAYS.

Marshall is so insistent with his ba-dum-ching comedy routines that Johnny Slash eventually picks him up and walks him away.

What ridiculous rapscallions. I love them both.

Patty and Lauren are now in a dilemma. They begin to flush Patty's food down the toilet at school so that she need not go through the humiliation of lunch boxes any more (but also not piss off her mother who packs the lunch with "like, baggies and everything ...") I think flushing it down the toilet is rather high maintenance and believe that just stuffing the sandwich and yogurt and whatever else into a trash can would also do the trick, but no ... flushing is what needs to happen.

The two girls huddle in the bathroom during lunch time, and they run into Jennifer and LD who say kind welcoming things to them like, "Gross me out the door ..."

Muffy Tipperman also barges in at one point, in monogrammed preppy garb, and basically ropes them into the decorating committee for the upcoming freshman dance - "because you don't have anything better to do ..." she states.

Lauren, however, has other plans. She has set her sights on Larry Simpson. If they can somehow get in with him, they will be golden. Patty is doubtful. How will they ever get close to Larry Simpson who is, first of all, Ben freakin' Marley, is, second of all, a senior, and lastly, a PASHA? Impossible!

But lo and behold, a miracle occurs.

Patty has been skipping lunch all week, due to the lunch box dilemma, and she walks up the stairwell, and suddenly gets weak in the knees, and has to sit down.

And who sits down next to her, joking, "Do you come here often?" but the pasha himself, Larry Simpson.

The worst part (and by "worst" I mean "best") of this portrayal is that not only is he cute and desired by everyone, but also a nice guy. (Calling Keith M., phone call for Keith M.!) Killer combo. He saw the freshman Patty collapse on the stairs and he sits down, and is nice to her. He wonders if he should go for the school nurse. She tries to reassure him she's okay. He jokes with her, and he's so sexy (in that kind carefree high school boy way that is so effective you basically want to commit hari-kiri immediately) and also nice that it takes her a second to realize what is happening. That Larry Simpson is talking and joking with her. She doesn't freak out immediately. She starts to talk about her lunch, and how she felt light-headed and just had to sit down. He's trying to lighten her up, joke with her, being charming. Says, "What do you think Marcus Welby would do in a situation like this?"

Talk about looking like your father.

At some point, Patty realizes what is happening, and interrupts her monologue about fainting on the stairwell, with saying, "You're Larry Simpson!" You know, guys like that were like stars in high school. I loved Tina Fey's observation about that in the DVD extras for Mean Girls, how there were certain people in high school who were like celebrities - and the student body knew everything about them ... what they wore, their relationship ups and downs, their fights, their dramas ... the consciousness of the class revolved around these lucky few. So Patty breathes, "You're Larry Simpson!" in the same tone that one would say, oh, "You're Ben Marley!" (for example).

Instead of being cocky about her awestruck face, he is kind. (I mentioned in this post on Skyward the similarity between what he was doing in Skyward with what he did in Square Pegs - minus the cowboy hat and sexy ADD jangling-leg swagger). He played nice guys. Popular, sure, guys who look like that usually end up popular ... but nice, too. So he's kind to Patty. Look out, though, when you are kind to geek wallflowers. It might come back and bite you in the ass.

Ah, teenage adoration. When you are young enough to think that the one you love is perfect, and THAT is why you love him.

Then comes the most exciting moment of all, seen from the perspective of a 14-year-old square peg. Larry Simpson says to her, "You hungry? Want to get something to eat?"

So he takes her out to lunch at the local joint, where pretty much only cool kids get to go (similar to the damn Peach Pit in Beverly Hills 90210) ... it's like getting a glimpse of Xanadu's mythical "pleasure dome" for Patty ... and to show that, the booth they are sitting in starts to whirl around, with romantic music, and he's feeding her, and they're laughing, and time not only stands still, but stretches out, elongates, is made golden, and creamy, and delicious ... In truth, they probably just had some fries and talked about school, but as anyone who was in love in 14 knows, it FEELS like the booth is spinning around in a golden drenched light!

Poor Patty! She's headed for a fall!

I don't know, I'm a grown woman now, and I still find him handsome and adorable. That's not the case with all of my crushes from my youth, where I look back on it and think, What the eff did I see in that guy?

Flies preserved in amber, these Square Pegs episodes. I remembered all of it. Not to mention Ben Marley's huge charm, which was just perfect for me as a young lonely teenager. I could look at him and say, "THAT'S what I want." Ridiculous, I realize, but fantasies like that help get you through rough spots. (Not just when you're 14, I might add.)

SO. OH MY GOD LARRY SIMPSON TOOK HER OUT TO LUNCH.

Yes, she has launched herself into a fantasy-world where there is no escape, except through heartache, but that's part of life too.

During gym class Lauren tries to get all caught up on this miraculous experience as they run around the track. As I mentioned, this is (for me) the main strength of the show: the friendship between the two girls. Lauren could have been jealous that it was PATTY and not HER who was "chosen" by Larry Simpson, but instead she is more excited than even Patty is, and literally collapses into a writhing heap onto the track, moaning, "This is so romantic!" Now that's a friendship moment I recognized from my own life.

Second half coming up ....

"Square Pegs": a personal reminiscence coming from a "totally different head"

Hard to believe that Square Pegs only ran for one season. It's one of those glitches in the programming instinct of the powers-that-be that happens from time to time (I am thinking now of one of the heirs of Square Pegs - My So-Called Life), and you look back on it, thinking, 'That show should have run at least for a couple of seasons." Square Pegs was a hit (well, as I remember it it was, I don't know what the ratings were - WE all were watching it down on the ground) and in the 20-odd years since then, people's affection for it has only grown. People still remember the names of the characters by heart. How often does that happen? Muffy Tepperman. Johnny Slash. You have to be a certain age, obviously, to get the references - but to think that a show that was on for only one season would hit, and on such a deep level, is rather extraordinary. It also had a "cool" factor going on, with guest spots by Devo, The Waitresses, Bill Murray.

Speaking on a personal level, that show hit at just the time when I was moving into the whirlwind of adolescence. What it showed was what I was experiencing. It was similar to the bomb going off in my group of friends when Breakfast Club came out. These things now can be seen as almost relics, almost cute, or coy - because they were so of their time and place, kind of like watching Beach Blanket Bingo or something. "Oh, look how funny they wore their hair back then! Listen to the music!" But on the ground, in the moment, we weren't "ironic" or into it because it made fun of us and where we were at and the music we listened to. It validated us.

Now there is all kinds of art, and I'm not putting Square Pegs on a level with, oh, Andrei Rublev ... but neither should it be. All art does not have the same goals. Rebel Without a Cause or Catcher in the Rye may seem silly when you have passed the stage in life when you need to hear what they have to say. That's fine. But teenagers, in all their messiness and awfulness, are - like all of us still, as adults - looking for a mirror. A mirror that was not given to them by their parents, but one that is out in the world. I had, up until that point, found my mirror in books. Harriet the Spy, Ballet Shoes, Wrinkle in Time, Huckleberry Finn. I was not a pop-culture kid. How could I be? To quote Mark, we "only had three channels". I had parents who loved folk music and The Beatles so that's what I listened to (and still do, although I mix it up with my own taste too). Top 40 didn't make a dent in my consciousness. I wanted to live in the world of Oliver Twist. I was 12, but I was still a little girl. When I started growing breasts in the 6th grade, I doggedly slept on my stomach to try to push them back in again. I wasn't ready. I loved baseball, I was on a Little League team (before they had girls teams), I loved living in my imagination, and making up dances after school with my friends. I was dragged kicking and screaming into adolescence.

But then, along came a mirror called Square Pegs. And it managed to act as a mirror without being ponderous or preachy or too melancholic. It's kind of a hoot, actually. This show was funny. But that deeper level was there, and that's why it is so remembered.

Those two lead girls, Patty (in glasses, played by a geeky Sarah Jessica Parker) and Lauren (the pudgy girl with braces, more effervescent and embarrassing, played by Amy Linker) were like me. I didn't care about being popular, I wasn't a social climber like Lauren - but I certainly didn't fit in, and I had glasses, braces, my clothes were wrong, and I looked around at other girls and they just seemed so put together, and what ... did I miss a memo? Patty and Lauren had missed the memo, too. And better than all of this: they made it FUNNY. The show made the trials and tribulations of geeks FUNNY. It was a precursor to Freaks and Geeks, to all of the wonderful shows about the weirdo yet charming outcasts of the world that now dominate the airwaves. So I kind of could embrace my weirdness. Not totally, because yuk, I wasn't into being weird, and un-dateable. But it, like so many other key things that came along at key times (uhm, Skyward), said to me in no uncertain terms: "Hang on. You're kind of fabulous. You're just a weirdo right now. Don't try to change. Your time will come."

I'M STILL WAITING, BY THE WAY.

So the message was a big fat LIE from where I'm sitting now, but I am trying to imagine myself back into my 14-year-old self who thought it was appropriate to dress up like this on dress-up days at school, mkay? To quote my friend Beth, "And then we wondered why we didn't have boyfriends."

The other great thing about Square Pegs which was a mirror for me was the importance of having a good core group of friends. Now, I already had that. I have always been blessed that way. My friends from high school are still my dear friends, everyday friends, they comment on my blog, we Facebook like crazy, we are still in each other's lives in an intimate way, even though we live in different spots now. One of the strengths of Square Pegs was that it wasn't just ONE geeky girl trying to become popular. It was a constant strategizing session between TWO girls, who were obviously best friends. Their friendship was one I recognized from my own life (and that rarely happens with female friendship on television - which often is depicted in a catty competitive or shallow way - none of which was going on with my group of friends - we were a huge bottomless pit of support and shrieking encouragement.) It had a good heart, Square Pegs. Sarah Jessica Parker and Amy Linker, as Patty and Lauren, created a believable friendship. You believed those girls had been having slumber parties since they were eight. You believed they had known each other forever. Girls can be very intense with each other, and the show got that, and didn't condescend to it. Watching it now can be kind of embarrassing, because you remember all the melodramas you involved yourself in in high school and you want to erase it from the public record (unless you're like me, and you put your high school journals on the internet) ... but thank God you had friends you could feverishly fill in about the big moment of chatting you had with some hottie at his locker, and how important it all was, and how since he said THIS that obviously means THIS and OH MY GOD HE LIKES YOU (etc. etc.) My friends and I have moved on to be capable adults, with relationships and kids and houses and all that, but I love that I am still friends with the people who literally caught me when I swooned at a dance after dancing with the guy I was in love with (who was in a toga, too, so OUR SKIN TOUCHED which was a big deal for a girl who wouldn't end up getting her first kiss until she was 18 freakin' years old), or who listened sympathetically when I SOBBED because he wasn't in school that day, and I was just so disappointed.

Condescend to your younger self at your own risk.

You lose so much when you forget who you were. When you roll your eyes at how "stupid" you were, or "foolish". Embrace it. It's part of you. Sometimes it's the best part. If nothing else, man, I knew how to love back then. I had ZERO success at it, but boy did I know how to love someone! That's nothing to scoff at.

Square Pegs was not released on DVD until May of last year. It was another one of those strange annoying glitches. I have my pet peeves. Why the hell is thirtysomething not on DVD? Is it a music rights issue (which holds so many of these shows back)? I don't care WHAT it is, that show needs to be released. I have a couple others. Secret Garden, starring Margaret O'Brien and a child Dean Stockwell. I cannot BELIEVE that this is not available on DVD. It's a travesty. It seriously MUST happen. Sounder! Are you telling me Sounder is not on DVD? I can't believe it. I have it on VHS, but come on now.

Square Pegs, along with all these others, had been a bee in my bonnet for years, since old TV shows started becoming available on DVD. "Yay! I can watch I Love Lucy - hooray! But what about Square Pegs?"

I am sure its release had something to do with the unstoppable juggernaut that was the Sex and the City movie, but I didn't care about any of that. I was just happy to have that show again in my sweaty little hands, so I could relive the horror of high school, but also laugh my ass off at all of those characters I remembered so well. It was strange how much came back to me. Lines of dialogue, scenes ... "Oh wait ... isn't there some scene in the bathroom with a plunger right around here?" I was always right. So strange and actually kind of freaky. I wish I could remember OTHER things, like all the Latin I took in high school ... but no, I have entire episodes of Square Pegs memorized, not to mention every camera angle in the legendary Skyward. I want my Latin back!

The funniest thing about all of this, at the moment, is that I watched the entire series last June, after I bought the DVD. Had a great time, yuk yuk. Then Suzy Gilstrap came along in November and hijacked my life. Ben Marley took on more importance, as I watched Skyward, and I remembered the impact he had on me as that awkward girl on the cusp of just accepting I was not only a girl but a weird girl ... and so I looked him up and, naturally, realized that I had seen him many many many many times before. Facts of Life. Check. Jaws 2. Check. Pride of Jesse Hallam. Check. Square Pegs. Check. That TV movie starring Mare Winningham as a girl who goes back to high school after being a teenage streetwalker? Check. And then of course Apollo 13. Check. (Thank you, Lisa, for the checklist.) Seen them all, all throughout my life. I just hadn't put it all together (the Ben Marley thread of connection, I mean). I hadn't followed him, in the way I followed Ralph Macchio or Harrison Ford. He remained an isolated cute guy, but gotta say: in Square Pegs he was devastating - and I remember him very well from back when I first saw it - just the kind of guy who would crack your heart in a million pieces in high school ... and just attainable enough that it makes the whole situation even worse. Once I figured out his continuum (as of two weeks ago, after seeing Skyward, when Keith and Dan and I IMDB'd him to DEATH), I remembered him vividly and put it all together. Of COURSE he was Larry Simpson in Square Pegs. I remember his face, I remember their moments - I would expect nothing less!

"Larry Simpson is like ... deep ... you know? Vinnie can fake ID any time ... but you can't ... fake ........... depth."

I have such affection for those characters, it's insane.

I love Tracy Nelson as Jennifer DeNuccio, the popular dead-eyed fashion-plate Valley Girl beeyotch. I love Vinnie, Jennifer's swaggering Welcome Back Kotter boyfriend, who is always chewing on a toothpick, played by Jon Caliri. I also loved Claudette Wells as LaDonna, the black girl (the only black girl in Weemawee? Seemed like it), who palled around with Jennifer, and basically started off the entire series by singing the alma mater at a school pep rally "in her own style", which was reminiscent of Madonna. So unfortunately the one black girl is also a song-and-dance queen. But she was very funny and intimidating as a character, and I loved that her best friend was the Valley Girl. It's a nice and un-obvious choice, but that's the way life is, so often.

I adore Jami Gertz as Muffy Tepperman, the bossy preppy pep-squad queen, who hadn't a shred of humor about herself or anything. She is so annoying and very very funny.

I love John Femia as Marshall Blechtman, another annoying character, who wants to be a stand-up comedian and he is terrible. I loved Johnny Slash, played with great weirdness by Merritt Butrick - and the music he loved was the music that I loved by that point, so I felt a kinship to him. Every time Marshall would take Johnny's ubiquitous headphones off, you could hear some other cool song playing - B-52s, for example - "Private Idaho", I think was one of them. He was me. I get it, Johnny Slash, I love that music too!

So there's our main cast (I'll be focusing on Ben Marley as Larry Simpson soon enough!). These people have, like so many other characters, stayed in my brain for all this time. You know, you say "Johnny Slash" to someone of a certain age, and they will nod, and reply, "Totally different head."

The show was on for one damn season.

Remarkable.

Meaningless goals update.

One degree!

Meanwhile, I did a little digging on IMDB and came up with release dates for three movies/events which helped me grow up, had a huge impact. It was a pretty intense year, I'll tell you that.

May 21, 1980: Empire Strikes Back opened (I wrote what a shift it was for me - just emotionally - seeing that movie here)

November 20, 1980: Skyward aired (more than you probably ever wanted to know about that here and here)

February 18, 1981: The Eight is Enough episode "Vows" aired (more on the impact that had here)

Good morning, good afternoon, good NIGHT.

This year-long assault on my senses was far too much for me in my already hormonal state - and I emerged from it basically a teenager. I had been a little girl before. Now I had a taste of the pheromones, and put a fork in me, I'm done.

Looking at that timeline, I don't know how I stood it.

Dear Ben Marley:

In the Square Pegs pilot, you play Larry Simpson, the hottest guy in school, and a SENIOR no less. You are the object of desire of pretty much everyone. You cross racial boundaries (even LaDonna with her swirly braids thinks you are fine - more on LaDonna later), and you become the symbol of being popular to our two hapless freshmen. If they can somehow get in with YOU, then they will be "in"!

My question for you is: when you go to the freshman dance, as hot as you are, why do you dress like an unmarried washed-up 18th-century-French-literature professor at a small women's college in Vermont?

"I decided to wear a jacket and a tie because I thought that's what directors from the '40s would wear and Bette Davis would like that ..."

Also:

"Skyward was really the piece of film that convinced studios I could direct features."

-- Ron Howard

I can certainly see why. In the same way that I can see why that one episode of Eight is Enough would convince the powers-that-be in Hollywood that Ralph Macchio could carry a film as a romantic lead. Which, seriously, is not obvious on the face of it. He's a scrawny little guy, and handsome, of course, but lots of people are handsome. He also wasn't the lead inEight is Enough. Unless it was "his" episode, he was a minor character, face in the crowd. So who would have thought: Huh. That kid's got something? Well, after that one episode I bet a couple of smart people in power did. Being given a LEAD in a film is no small feat, and perhaps looking at Macchio you would see your typical Teen Beat heartthrob, a dime a dozen. But he wasn't. He was more than that, and he showed it in that episode.

And so you have to know what you're looking for, to "see" a star. I was 12 years old when I saw that Eight is Enough episode, probably one or two weeks after damn Skyward came out (it was a busy year) and I felt it. I felt that thing, that magic.

So something like Skyward was Howard's test, his "debut" - although he had done a couple things before. It showed a deftness with story, a knack for creating watchable characters, an obvious ability to deal with huge powerhouses like Bette Davis (very important for directors), a technical know-how to make those flying scenes come off, and - most important - a sense of how to move a large audience.

The germ of Ralph Macchio's Karate Kid smash success is in that one episode of Eight is Enough. Not every little cutie-pie on a regular television series can carry a movie like he did ... but you can see it already there. Now why isn't Eight is Enough on DVD? I actually didn't like the show at all - but I just want to own the Ralph Macchio season so I can check out that one episode again, which I haven't seen since it first aired, but obviously (if you read my review of it) remember vividly.

Same thing with Ron Howard and Skyward.

I got these quotes from a television interview with Howard below (or part of it) - where he talks about his early years directing TV movies and how one thing led to another. Big conversation about Skyward. Fascinating details, especially about Bette Davis.

All Skyward posts here.

Ben Marley reminder

I'm not done with Ben Marley. Not by a long shot.

Next up? His performance as the hot senior Larry Simpson in two episodes of Square Pegs! I remember him vividly - but again, I didn't put it together at the time that he was the hottie who rocked my world in Skyward. I am wiser now.

All Ben Marley stuff here!

(I still am unable to read - I was doing okay with the Nureyev book but I had to put it down, and my own book is now flying out into the world, trying to find a home - so I am disoriented at the lack of anything to do. Worst possible timing. But in a way it's a blessing. I couldn't work more on the book now if I had to. This - Ben Marley - is akin to a security blanket. It's something I can focus on, and it pleases me to do so. Not that I need to make excuses, dernit, I'm just saying.)

A mother's relief

This is what happens when you don't talk to your mother for five days (unheard of, when recently I have been talking to her daily), and the only way she stays in contact with you is by reading your blog. Big things went down this week - and, as always, I wrote about none of them here on the blog. My blog is not a diary. I sent my mother a long email, detailing all of the new developments in this or that area. She called me about half an hour later, after getting the email.

We chatted. I filled her in. She filled me in. I talked more, telling her this and that and what's going down.

Then I said, "God, Mum, sorry, I'm talking your ear off."

She said, "It's actually nice to hear something from you other than your thoughts on Skyward Christmas."

hahahahahaha

Ahem.

Skyward Christmas: Some changes and observations

Skyward Christmas: My opening salvo

Skyward Christmas: Part deux

"Skyward Christmas": part deux

We left off with me comparing Ben Marley to James Dean. I stand by my statement.

Onward.

Julie and Billie sit eating the damn chili (I bet THIS Billie's chili isn't as tough on the stomach as Bette Davis's chili!) and Julie is suddenly introspective and worried. She asks Billie why Coop has never learned to fly. Oh for God's sake, who cares. Billie is taciturn and tight-lipped about it (the only time she is those two things in the entire movie) and says, basically, None of your business. She ends the scene with, "It's not my story to tell."

Oh, so there's a story there! I thought Howard Hesseman revealed his reasons quite well in Skyward, but Skyward Christmas is like a dog with a bone.

We now see there is a bee in Julie's dumb bonnet. She must make Coop fly!

Next comes Gilstrap's first mistake, in a movie where she makes MANY. She does something so stupid, so - well - MEAN - that I actually actively disliked her for the rest of the movie, and wished that Ben Marley would dump the broad and go have hot teenage sex in the back of his pickup truck with one of the cheerleaders in the school. Seriously, Marley, you don't need to deal with a girl who makes THIS kind of bad choice!

Gilstrap is getting ready to go up for a flight. Coop is puttering around, checking the flight before it takes off. Gilstrap says, "The rudder's stuck ... could you check the blah blah blah ..." Coop climbs into the plane to give a look, and in that moment, Gilstrap guns the engine and starts speeding down the runway. Yeah, Gilstrap. That is a great way to get someone overcome their fears. What a dangerous stupid thing to do. If he has a panic attack while you're up in the air, then what will you do? No excuse, Gilstrap. No excuse. Coop does begin to freak out, clawing at the glass roof - but Gilstrap keeps speeding down the runway. Coop is openly panicking - Gilstrap finally sees the error of her ways and is screaming at Coop that she will stop the plane - but it's too late. Coop is in a frenzy and leaps out of the plane, falling to the runway, in a crumpled heap.

Gilstrap, who - obviously - cannot leap out of the plane and rush to his side, freaks out, screaming his name at the top of her lungs.

Good. You should be horrified. That was a terrible thing to do to someone.

Idiot.

I never really recovered from that moment. I was annoyed from then on.

The next scene we see Billie and Gilstrap racing behind the ambulance, taking Coop to the hospital. Gilstrap is beside herself, apologizing repeatedly, and Billie is unmoved. Just imagine this scene in the hands of Bette Davis, and you can really see what we're missing here. It becomes maudlin and cliche (which it already is, due to the silly script) - as opposed to a glimpse of something real and raw going on (which you got in Skyward). This scene feels like it goes on FOREVER because they both are just (with the help of the director) milking every moment until there is no more life in the thing whatsoever. Billie finally says to her, "I'm not the one who has to do the forgiving. That's Coop's choice."

Damn Coop and his choices.

The next scene is a quiet scene at the Gilstrap family home. Julie is obviously in trouble for the shit she just pulled. Good. Coop, obviously, is alive, but he's still in the hospital. Oh, and there were some other scenes in there involving the grandpa, but they were so awful that I blocked them out. Suffice it to say, grandpa is stranded in St. Louis and being a big baby about it - and Julie has hatched a plan to fly back there and pick him up for Christmas, as a surprise to her parents. Her sister is in on the plan. Grandpa is all proud and stuff, in the lobby of his rooming-house, telling everyone how his granddaughter is going to fly to pick him up. Yay for you, Grandpa.

Anyway, Julie's slick TV-actor dad (no longer the mumbly tormented Clu Gulagher) says that he's going to ground her. No more flying. Julie is heartbroken. What about Grandpa? But her parents stay firm. Good. Anyone who is that irresponsible as a pilot doesn't deserve a license.

Then comes the long drawn out scene in the hospital where Julie asks Coop for forgiveness. This is when this new Coop's true Forrest Gump stunted man-boy personality comes to the fore. He is holding a grudge. He sulks, basically. I think RAGE would be more appropriate Coop. After all, you were the one in Skyward who called Julie on her shit, wheelchair or no ... she deserves to be bitch-slapped from here to Kingdom Come! But instead Coop sits in bed, working on some airplane part ("the nurse'll be mad cause I get grease on her clean sheets" ...) and refuses to look at Julie, in her high-necked Big Love blouse, even though she is pleading and apologizing.

The whole thing is tiresome. I was already sick of both of them.

But then, halleluia, next scene involves Ben Marley. He drives her home from the hospital. Julie sits there with tears rolling down her face. He's got his hat on, which I found completely distracting, and could barely listen to what he was saying. But it was a simple scene, him trying to find out if Coop is all right, him trying to comfort her - not with words, really - just putting his arm around her, stuff like that ... all of which was, again, delightfully iconic and Hud-ish, due to his hat and his general demeanor. He's a good boyfriend, basically. I still think he needs to kick her to the curb and hook up with some irresponsible hottie because he's YOUNG, does he need this crap? Who needs Coop and his damn sulks?

But he's trying to do the right thing here. He doesn't try to cheer her up, not yet, he just tries to listen. Like I tried to listen, while watching the damn thing, distracted by the hat and the face.

"Wait - what did he just say?"
"I have no idea. LOOK AT HIM."

Next scene is indicative of the problem in the script, as well as Gilstrap's performance. I'm not really faulting her. She was not an experienced actress, and she was basically thrown to the wolves here, having to carry a series - and she wasn't up for it. In the other film, as I mentioned, her co-stars had weight and reality, Bette Davis, Marion Ross - and that helped Gilstrap. But here she starts to sink, going towards blatant sentimentality, with no subtlety. And in this context, "sentimentality" starts to look like "self-pity" - and all of the characters (except Ben Marley's) fall for it. Everyone is feeling sorry for themselves, holding grudges, and being difficult and passive-aggressive. That's the energy we're presented with here. Makes me want to leap into a waiting aircraft and fly away to ride a stupid bull, I'll tell you that!

So the next scene, Scott is taking Julie out for ice cream and trying to cheer her up. He swoops over to the table with two sundaes (again, with the symphony of movement he puts into his character's body language), saying something like, "Two Billings specials!" Julie is morose. What a shock. He sits across from her, and he's all about his ice cream, and trying to feed her a scoop of it. She shakes her head no. You don't deserve such a boyfriend, Gilstrap. Anyway, she is given lines like, "I just wish Grandpa could be with us for Christmas" and "The only time I am really me is when I fly" and "I'm just so sad about Coop" ... and she plays them right on the nose, not underplaying, or undercutting, or anything a more experienced actress would do with such obviously maudlin material. She goes right along with the line. But Ben Marley doesn't. That's why he's good. He listens, but he also manages to suggest that he is a bit distracted by his ice cream, he's not just eyeballing her, and listening with dead seriousness - he's still jiggly, and nervy, and also (perhaps?) a bit tired of the self-pity. He's all about solutions.

At one point he says, in regards to stupid Grandpa who won't get on a bus, and who now WON'T be picked up by Gilstrap since she's grounded: "Look." Putting his spoon down definitively. You know he's serious when he stops paying attention to his ice cream. He says, "I'll go pick him up. I'll give him the ride of his life - he won't never forget it." Kind of laughing to lighten the mood, and showing that kind of macho arrogant flyboy attitude that he would use to great success in Apollo 13. But Julie, still morose, shakes her head and says, "He won't go with anyone else but me!" Grandpa is a serious pain in the ass. Good lord. What a baby. So there's Ben Marley, basically acting by himself here ... making a scene happen ... meaning: using humor, charm, and then seriously listening when that is called for ... it's a mixed bag, not just one note. She ends the scene with saying, "What am I gonna do, Scott?" Pleading with him.

He looks up at her and says, "I don't know, Julie."

It's a nice moment, played simply and truthfully, with a big ol' closeup of his cute face. He, at least, knows how to play a closeup.

You know, closeups are all about character, thought, and what's going on in the eyes. Not plot. Let it go. The plot will take care of itself. Don't act, for God's sake, in your closeup! It's got to be honest and connected to the moment. That's what he does there.

Next we see Coop, who is back at work. He's got a bandage on his face, I believe, and he putters about in the hangar with a grim sulky look on his face. I don't blame him for being mad, it's the SULKING I can't abide. A good old-fashioned self-righteous anger would be way more appropriate.

But yay, more Ben Marley! Marley walks out to the hangar, in his white apron, carrying a tray of food for Coop. He's trying to be jokey and friendly - actually, no, he IS jokey and friendly, it's his easygoing personality - but there's all this other stuff beneath it, the ongoing fight between Coop and Julie, etc. His friendliness is covering that up.

He says, not looking at Coop, "How you feeling?"

Coop rattles off all of his injuries and then says, "What do you think?"

Marley doesn't take it personally. He's working up to something. Something on his mind.

Uhm, swoon? Let's see a couple more.

Dude is effing gorgeous, and that's my final answer.

Anyway, he tries to patch things up between Julie and Coop. Julie is grounded, not allowed out at the airport - and Ben wants to make sure that Coop knows "she said Merry Christmas". He is the messenger. Coop is still sulky, and holding onto a grudge, and ... in a moment that ends up being a clunky ba-dum-ching in the script - says, "She's not gonna pull any more surprises on me, is she?"

And then suddenly, as if on cue (as if??) we hear the engine of an airplane gunning ... and Coop jumps to attention. "Is someone stealing my airplane?" They look out at the runway, and there is Julie, with her goggles on, taking off in the plane. Unannounced, unplanned, she is basically stealing the damn thing to go pick up her Grandpa. Not to mention the fact that she is also grounded. She is breaking 10 rules at one time. But there's not time to worry about all of that. Coop and Scott run out of the tarmac, after the plane, calling at her to stop. It's actually a nice shot of our adorable short-order cook charging off after the plane.

But Julie is beyond the pale now. She ignores the shrieks and takes off into the air. Turns out that her best friend Kendra helped her into the plane ... "But I didn't know she was grounded! She said she was going to get her grandpa!"

Billie has come running out of the restaurant, and she is hysterical. Billie? Hysterical?

Coop, with that same sulk on his face, says something about how he had put a bad generator into the plane, to test it. Billie freaks out. "YOU PUT A BAD GENERATOR INTO THAT PLANE?" He says, aw shucks, "Well how else am I gonna work on it?" Julie knows none of this, so she has now taken off into the air with a bad generator.

The worried group on the ground stares up into the sky. The music is ominous. Billie says, with an air of disgust, "Let's hope she has the sense to put the radio on" (I doubt it, Billie) and goes back into the restaurant, leaving Scott worried and alone. And gorgeous.

We see Julie flying through the air. She's got her map out, planning her route.

Back down on the ground, hysteria is building in the restaurant. Billie and Coop huddle by the radio, and Billie screams into it, trying to contact Julie. Scott and Kendra look on. I liked Marley's vibe here, which again seemed natural and truthful, as opposed to actor-y. He's nervous, restless, he squints at the sound of the crackle on the radio, like he's trying to see her through the static, he keeps looking around, like - let's get the hell out of here and go get her. But it's not overdone, it's subtle and just right. You know, it's enjoyable to watch him. You stop worrying. With everyone else, you're afraid that the sentiment and melodrama will sink them, and so you wince, watching them act. But with him, you can just relax. Yes, you can also enjoy his beauty, which I do - but I maintained enough of a clear head to see what he was actually doing in these scenes, and it's good. Not too much.

Julie flies along happy as a clam. Billie screams into the radio like a shrieking Greek goddess. Julie is flying over swamps and lowlands, peeking down to make sure she's on the right course. Dum-dee-dum, just flyin' along in my stolen airplane ...

I think along in here we also get scenes with Grandpa, packing his bags, and heading to the meeting place in the middle of a field. His friend comes to wait with him and his friend is scornful like, "I highly doubt she'll make it ..." and Grandpa is all puffed up with pride and says, "She'll be here. My granddaughter is a pilot! She's coming to pick me up!" You know, upping the emotional stakes for everyone involved. Will Julie arrive? Will Christmas happen? Will Ben ride his stupid bull? These are the cliffhangers involved.

Then we are also in the restaurant, with the worried group huddled over the radio, and Coop is all twisted up like a pretzel, because of the generator that might go bad any minute, and Kendra is sad-faced because it's all her fault in the first place (no, it's not, Kendra. It's Gilstrap's fault and hers alone), and Scott is a tightly-coiled jiggling-legged ball of energy. What he wants to do is run, leap into his truck, and go after her.

The chronology gets a little cloudy here but at some point, of course, the generator fails and smoke begins to pour out of the engine of the plane. This is when Julie finally responds to the urgent radio calls, but by this point she is too far away to come through clearly. Of course the words that DO make it through are alarming: "smoke", etc. She sounds panicked. The panic on the ground grows. Billie is screaming at her to give the coordinates ... but the static is too loud. Julie is struggling with the airplane now, coughing because of the smoke, and she screams, "I'm going to crash!" or some such comforting remark.

They then lose contact with Julie altogether. We see Julie aim for a big field and she lands, but by then the airplane is out of control and she can't stop in time before she crashes into a tree. The plane is not on fire but there is a lot of smoke and Julie, using her upper body strength that she has been building, by using her manual wheelchair, hauls herself out of the plane and there's a terrible shot of her falling to the ground. It looks like it's really her, although it's probably not. It's a dead-weight kind of fall because of her legs and it's awful to watch. She tries to crawl away from the airplane and then collapses onto the ground.

Terrible, yes, but I'm sorry, that's what happens when you take off in someone else's plane without checking first. I'm glad you're okay, Julie, but honestly, you need to develop some common sense!

Once they lose contact with Julie, a still silence takes over the restaurant and everyone stands there, quiet and horrified. Billie then says, in a quiet voice (finally! she's quiet!): "Scott, you'd better go call her parents."

Scott bolts to the door. Finally he has something concrete to do!

Somewhere along in here, we get a shot of Grandpa, finally giving up waiting, and he's all wallowing in self-pity, that he has been forgotten ... AGAIN. I know we're meant to feel urgent, and like we want to leap through the screen and tell Grandpa that no, Julie TRIED to get there ... but instead I was just annoyed. Can't he just assume that everyone in the world is doing the best they can? Does he have to put the most cynical spin onto everything? But no, he is determined to feel bad and lonely. He scowls at the ground. He is inconsolable.

Meanwhile, back at the airport, Julie's glamorous new parents come rushing in, with sister in tow. Where is the adopted son? At home with a babysitter? It's so odd that they would add that kid and give him nothing to do.

The parents are hysterical (more of the same), demanding that they "get Julie down" - uhm, how do you propose they go about that? Scott and Kendra stand nearby, almost like guilty accomplices, even though this is all Julie's fault. The parents are out of their minds. "WHERE IS SHE? GET HER DOWN."

I know I grabbed screenshots of minute changes of expression on his face, but whatever, it's occupying my spare time, and I find it amusing and fun. I need all the help I can get. Again, he has a nice energy through all of this, underplaying the hysterical energy of everyone else.

We were talking about it later and Dan said something about, "So this was the pilot for a new series - but what would the series be? Every week she gets grounded and every week she goes on some dangerous mission?"

My contribution to the discussion was, "I wish the entire television series had been focused on the erotic possibilities in the relationship with Scott."

Dan agreed. "That's a television show I would have watched."

Billie explains to Julie's parents what has happened, and also that they don't know where exactly she is, but they believe she is somewhere near the Oklahoma border. The plan then becomes: the Ward parents will stay at the restaurant and man the radio, and Coop (on his motorcycle) and Billie and Scott (in his truck) will go out and look for Julie.

The parents, lonely and afraid, watch everyone run out the door ... and the Christmas wreath hangs on the door, as if in mockery of their family holiday.

Julie is injured and lying by the plane.

Then we see Coop flying down some country road on a motorcycle.

Then we see Billie and Scott, careening down some country road in his truck. They don't speak. Billie is all worried and emotional, and Marley is now in the position of having to underplay things, and keep things simple and clean. He's taken up with driving, he's focused on the task at hand, but at one point, he says, with no flourish or embellishment, eyes still on the road, "You ever get scared, Billie?"

Billie says, "Not if I can help it."

He says, still watching the road, "What about now?"

She thinks a minute and then says in a campy TV kind of way, "She's a good pilot. I am sure she touched down okay."

Scott doesn't look at her. He's driving, watching the road, deep in thought. Says, "Wish I was as sure as you."

Sometimes you need to know when not to do too much, and he plays that little scene just right.

Then I think Coop somehow locates her. How on earth he would find her I will never know. But he sees the plane off the road in a field, and, like an idiot, tries to charge across the field on his motorcycle - and of course he crashes. There are lingering shots of his dismayed face as he inspects his bike and its broken chain, telegraphing to us that it will provide no escape from the field. Meanwhile Julie lies in a crumpled heap just over there. Forget your damn bike and go help her, Coop!

Also, I was just so confused. The way it is filmed makes it seem like Coop turned off the road and started across the field. The road is right there. She's not in the middle of the Sahara. Even without a bike, couldn't Coop stand out on the road and either flag someone down, or start the hell walking to the closest town so he could send for help? I didn't understand the logistics or the geography of why they felt so TRAPPED. They're not at the summit of Everest with no possibility of rescue! But whatever, I realize I am over-thinking it. I don't mean to be a bitch. But I was confused, and kept saying to Dan and Keith, "But the road is right over there!"

I don't mind schmaltz. I even adore a little bit of cheese. But persistent illogicality in service of a bossy plot drives me crazy.

At some point too we see Grandpa's landlady come hand him a message "from your granddaughter". He lights up and says, "Julie?" She says, "Your other granddaughter." The message says that Julie had to crash the plane and is nowhere to be found, but people are looking for her. Grandpa is horrified. His response is full of self-hatred (of course - because ALL of his responses have to do with himSELF) - he says, bitterly, "And I couldn't take the bus." And then trudges up the stairs, furious at himself.

Billie and Scott have been pulling over at every gas station to call back to the restaurant to see if Julie or Coop has been heard from. Still no word.

Coop has raced across the field to pick up Julie, who is moaning and holding her stomach. He puts her on the wing of the plane, where she rests her head, and they are tearful and happy to be together and alive. They are friends again. She is apologetic, he is immediately looking to fix the plane ... and that will take some doing. Somehow he hooks up his bike's generator to the plane, or something like that ... and through various mechanical works of wizardry gets the radio to work. By now it is nightfall. Coop makes a fire. And then calls back on the radio to the restaurant. Julie's parents race to the microphone.

They have many questions, none of which Coop can answer. He tells them to call the Oklahoma state police, and the closest town, and blah blah ... and then puts Julie on the microphone to talk to her parents. It is as though it is a last goodbye. As though Julie is trapped in the wilderness in a blizzard 300 miles from civilization. It is vaguely ridiculous. She's not going to DIE, she'll be out of there by morning. But anyway, Julie and her parents have a tearful conversation, saying "I love you" and "I'm sorry" and all that. Relief. Yet they are not out of the woods yet.

And what about Grandpa???

Next scene is Billie and Scott stopped at another payphone. Billie is at the phone, and Scott sits in the truck, swathed in shadow, cowboy hat brim down. Kinda hot. What a shock. Billie slowly and tremulously comes to the door of the truck, and she stands in the doorway, trembling with emotion. It's way too much. Take it down just one notch, then maybe you would have had me. He glances up at her. She says, barely able to hold back the sobs, "Coop found her ... she's alive ... SHE'S ALIVE." Ben Marley is just one of those actors who knows how to keep things simple. It's nice to see. He takes in what she's saying, he doesn't burst into tears, he doesn't overact ... he just looks suddenly, relieved and relaxed, and reaches over and grabs Billie to hug her. An organic moment of emotion, not pushed. Well done. Not easy when your scene partner is literally trembling with too much of basically everything.

Now we come to Coop's big scene. Geoffrey Lewis plays it fine, it's just way too imposed on the action - a manufactured Freudian reason for his fear of flying. It's a big confession. He plays it to the hilt. He even wells up with tears at one point. But swallows it down, crushes down the emotion in the flickering firelight, as Julie stares on with compassion and love. The music is insistent. It's a big fat monologue. "Here's why I'm afraid to fly." And out pours this horror story from his past.

I liked it better when I didn't know that story.

Billie and Scott, now that they know she has been found, go back to the restaurant - and the entire group stands vigil around the microphone. It's dawn now.

I enjoy his thighs, which I believe I mentioned in my original Skyward post.

I can't remember why the Oklahoma police cannot get to the crash site ("but the road is right there!!" I kept saying) - but it becomes clear that Julie will have to fly them out of the field. Coop has fixed the propeller using his McGyver methodology. It works. Yes, she has internal bleeding, and yes, she is a minor, and yes, she can't walk ... but she must fly that plane! And even MORE important: Coop must be passenger. He must get over his fear. Now. But maybe because he finally told the story the ghost will be laid to rest. Do you think??

Let's go back to the restaurant and take a look at Scott waiting.

Isn't it to die for?

Oh, and just want to mention one thing that I already mentioned. Mrs. Ward and Billie are too similar, in terms of type. We kept getting confused, even though we know Mrs. Roeper was Billie. Separately, they are fine, but put them side by side, and confusion begins to grow. Especially since they basically were both playing the same worried scream-y mother-type.

See what I mean?

Who the heck is who?

Let's get back to more pleasant matters.

There. That's better.

Julie and Coop go through the pre-flight check, and finally ... tense with nervousness and the memories that haunt him from the past ... he climbs into the cockpit. Julie then starts up the propeller, and now it is time for takeoff. There isn't much room. Will they make it? Julie and Coop are flying across the field, and Coop looks scared to death, as well as vaguely stiff-upper-lip sulky ... like ... I'm scared, yup, but I will be strong. Then, at last, the plane is airborne.

And now comes a moment that I cannot believe wasn't cut. Who's in charge here? I want to speak to them! As the plane lifts from the ground, there is a shot of Coop, and suddenly, he not only looks relieved, but enlightened and full of grace and ease, and he is staring at something in the distance ... and he says, with a soft smile, "Hi, Dad."

I'm not even kidding.

Honest to God, you don't need it. All you would need is his look of relief and we would "get it", I swear to God - we'll get it - Just please don't have him stare off at a fixed spot and say, "Hi, Dad" just as the plane lifts off the ground. Please don't do that!!!

Poor Geoffrey Lewis. But he goes through it, says his lines, what're you gonna do? There are worse ways to make a living.

BUT STILL.

"Hi, Dad"???

Then we see the plane swooping and soaring, and Coop and Julie are laughing, and you know he's put to rest that old fear, and now he can be a pilot, and life will be beautiful and Billie will be proud.

But I ask you: what about Grandpa??

Our next (and final) scene is Christmas dinner at the Ward household. Scott is there. (Does he have a family? What is his deal?)

I think the set designer needs to CHILL with the Christmas decorations. I'm getting a headache just looking at that background.

The family is happy and thankful to be together. Julie is grounded for real, but you can tell the air is more cleared up between them, she knows she deserves it, blah blah blah, she learned her lesson. They say grace. A knock comes at the door.

Who could it be??

Billie enters, they all call out a greeting and then she says, "And I have a surprise guest!" She turns to look at the open door, and naturally Grandpa comes through.

The family flips out, crying, laughing, hugging ...

and can you guess what Grandpa is holding in his grizzled old hand?

The homemade Christmas tree angel, of course, constructed of broken light bulbs. Julie's mother clutches it (be careful! don't cut yourself!), and breaks down into grateful tears of happiness.

Julie smiles happily, looking on.

And here is the final shot of Skyward Christmas, which perhaps could have had more emotional "oomph" for me if I hadn't been so distracted by Scott's fly.

My apologies.

A girl can't look skyward ALL the time.

"Skyward Christmas": my opening salvo

Dan said, right before the movie started, "What do you want to bet it starts with the Gilstrap family trimming the tree?"

The story began at the airport, and we all had a moment, like, "Oh, well, Dan, you can't win 'em all ..." But then came the second scene, and there was the Gilstrap family trimming the tree, and Dan shouted, "I TOLD YOU. Didn't I TELL you?" Yes, yes, you told us.

"Skyward Christmas" was like that. It fulfilled your expectations, but unlike other movies that fulfill your expectations and are therefore satisfying, "Skyward Christmas" was embarrassing. You kept hoping they would just, you know, stop embarrassing you, but they could not leave well enough alone. She has one line, where she is crying in the truck over damn Coop's Oedipal issues, and her boyfriend (you know, Ben Marley) is trying to talk her through it, and the scene ends with her remembering the horror she just experienced, and saying bitterly, "Some Christmas present."

It's strange to be in the presence of something so wrong. It's not that any of the individual elements were bad. They weren't. Mrs. Roeper is a good actress. No shame there. Geoffrey Lewis is a reliable journeyman-actor. He's fine. Bibi Besch is a highly-experienced television actress, used to showing up and doing her part. She's okay. But the filming of it was abominably sentimental, and the script was clunky, bossy, and dripping with sentiment. At least Skyward had the tart presence of Bette Davis, to really bring a sense of reality to the situation - a wheelchair-bound girl who wants to fly ... and without that grounding presence Skyward Christmas is, frankly, lost. Also, the gravitas (if you want to call it that) of experienced actors like Marion Ross and Lisa Whelchel is now gone, and the entire thing rests on Suzy Gilstrap's shoulders, and she can't handle it. (I cannot believe I just associated "gravitas" with Lisa Whelchel. But I'm dead serious.)

Anson Williams and Ron Howard still co-produced the thing, but direction and script were in other hands entirely. I'm not saying that Anson Williams is on par with Ernest Lehmann, or something, but his elements, in Skyward, although obvious and rather clunky, worked. He had an understanding of balance, of how one scene needed to balance another, how it would be more interesting to have her sister be supportive rather than bitchy, and her potential boyfriend be a loser-in-hiding, rather than a true high school hero. In Skyward Christmas, that subtlety (and I am using the term loosely in this case) is lost, and we are just left with the swooning soundtrack and the terrible script.

There was one scene, a very simple one, actually, with the family trimming the tree, and maybe it was because we were all exclaiming about Dan's prophetic comments, but we missed a tiny bit of the scene, and it was written in such a strange way that we literally could not figure out what was going on. It was a group befuddlement. The mother was staring at a photo album and saying, longingly, "This will be our first Christmas without him." We all shouted, "WHO?" The whole family kept talking about "him", but it was filmed in such a drippy no-life kind of way that we weren't even sure what to focus on ... we also were baffled by the fact that an 8-year-old younger brother had been inserted into the story ... "who the hell is that?" we asked each other ... And seriously, this isn't like a David Lynch script, where you really need to pay attention or you will miss the subtleties ... This was a stupid script and we were totally lost. "What the hell are they talking about?" we asked each other. The father would enter the scene and say, "He is free to join us any time ..." We all shouted, "WHO?" It was hysterical. We're smart people but we could not understand Skyward Christmas.

Of course, it turns out, that they were all babbling about Grandpa, who had been left behind in St. Louis, and had not forgiven the family for moving. Grandpa, seriously, let your daughter live her own life.

Bibi Besch sits holding the "Christmas album" (the movie made me into a real Scrooge, I rolled my eyes at every Christmas reference) and she has a long monologue about Grandpa (her father), and how he made an angel to go on the top of the tree, and she thought longingly about that angel. Then comes an inadvertently funny line: "He made it out of smashed up light bulbs ..." She says this in a sweet and nostalgic voice, but the image of an angel made up of jagged broken glass would not leave my mind. We were all guffawing. Jesus, Grandpa, you make Christmas ornaments out of jagged smashed-up light bulbs? No wonder the family fled to Texas. You're frightening.

Suzy Gilstrap tries to comfort her mother. But this family insists on staying in the mood they are in. They will not BE comforted. They enjoy feeling sorry for themselves, and they enjoy being victimized by their own emotions.

I'll walk you through the progression of the movie.

This will be a very Ben Marley-heavy post ... because honestly, he is the only thing that saves this mess. He's sweet, real, and believable. Thank God.

Our story opens with Suzy Gilstrap flying through the air. She is engaged in a radio conversation with the airport on the ground (you know, Billie's airport). You can see that she is now confident and at home in the air (which means trouble, eventually. Girl is WAY over-confident), because she's saying stuff like, "10-4 good buddy, Foxhole-Niner-Gilstrap is due east-northwest, come in, good buddy" - or whatever ... babbling on in the code of the air.

I was more interested in the fact that Ben Marley is behind the counter in Billie's restaurant, wearing a white apron, and listening to the radio conversation going on, looking concerned and interested. I had no idea who anyone else was, since ... well ... they all look alike ... Mrs. Roeper looks like Bibi Besch and Coop looks vaguely like the man playing Gilstrap's father ... and it was all a mish-mash of TV-ready faces sitting there. But no matter. I was just looking at Marley anyway.

It becomes clear that this flight is a big deal. I don't know why. I mean, I eventually learned why, but in the opening sequence of the film I was more confused by the new cast, and couldn't focus on anything else. Anyway, this is a big flight for Julie, so her parents sit in Billie's restaurant, all tensed up and worried and proud (yuk), and we see Billie (Mrs. Roeper) also up in the air (with Julie? It's not clear), beaming with glimmery-eyed pride at what her pupil is doing. We see Coop, all crinkly-eyed and emotional, listening to the radio conversation ... and it's supposed to be a tense suspenseful moment. Everyone being gobsmacked by Julie's fearless control of her aircraft.

Whatever.

Then she comes in to land, speaking in her gibberish confident code. There is a flurry of activity on the ground, as the entire restaurant runs outside to watch her landing. Ben Marley even gets to shout, "YEEEEEEEEE HAW", but he can be forgiven. I mean, look at the boy.

Everyone is cheering like maniacs as the plane comes in to land.

They just won't stop cheering.

I wish they'd shut up.

Finally, the plane pulls up - and yes, Mrs. Roeper is in the back seat - and they open the cockpit, and she calls out, "Julie, I now pronounce you a private pilot". Or something along those lines. The cheering lunatics just keep cheering. Julie is happy, validated. Coop (go away, Coop) goes and tenderly lifts her out of the plane (her family is still screaming) and Ben Marley runs to get her wheelchair, wheeling it up in the middle of the jabbering crowd.

Champagne is popped and glasses poured all around. These people need to get a life. Also, Julie is a minor and as far as I can tell, so is Scott. Why are they drinking champagne? Her parents stand nearby, glamorous and unreal-looking, all worried and proud at the same time. The entire damn restaurant appears to be standing on the tarmac, celebrating Julie's graduation. Don't these people have work to do?

Ben Marley tenderly gives his girlfriend a cup of champagne.

He has a line that goes something like, "To Julie ... the kindest ... most beautiful ... sweetest pilot in Texas ... I love you."

That gives you an idea of the kind of script we're dealing with here. BUT. BUT. I will say that Ben Marley seems to have an instinct for this kind of thing, and he breezes through the line, without too much fanfare (he doesn't dwell on it, which would be the worst possible choice), and even makes "sweetest pilot in Texas" into a sort of funny line. He drawls it, like he knows he's being cheesy, so he's self-deprecating about it, and he's kind of embarrassed as well. So. Thank you, Ben Marley, for saving us from schmaltz. Not entirely, of course, because there's only so much you can do in such a moment - but you did your best, and it comes off as a sweet kind of funny line, instead of a tarpit of saccharine from which we will never emerge.

Julie, holding a glass of champagne, makes an interminable speech where she, to quote Maureen Stapleton's Oscar speech, thanks "everyone I have ever met in my whole life". She thanks her parents ... she thanks her sister ... she thanks Coop, who takes the praise with an "Aw shucks" manner that is rather nauseating to witness ... She thanks her best friend Kendra (I don't care about Kendra) ... Billie (aka Mrs. Roeper) is near tears watching all of this. Another bad choice. Everyone is near tears throughout the entire picture. STOP CRYING.

Julie thanks Scott and makes some promise about flying him to such-and-such ... "so you can ride that stupid bull ..." and everyone laughs, and Ben Marley is embarrassed, but grinning, too. And now I can't get the picture of Ben Marley riding that stupid bull out of my mind, and I wish that THAT had been the plot of Skyward Christmas, as opposed to trying to make a passive-aggressive old grandpa feel welcome in his own family. I want to see Julie fly Ben to some rodeo where he can ride a stupid bull. Why can't I see that??

Then we have the really confusing "Grandpappy made me an ornament out of smashed-up light bulbs and it sparkled like the star of Bethlehem" scene ... which was gratifying only because they were, indeed, trimming the tree. But we were too confused by the presence of the little brother (did the family adopt? Where the hell did HE come from?) to really pay attention to the important plot-points. Much to our chagrin later in the film.

I'm not clear on what happens next, but I do know that there is a long shot of the street outside the school, and we can see Julie wheeling along with Scott (in his cowboy hat) sauntering along next to her. We can hear them talking. About Christmas. (rolling of the eyes from this here Scrooge). Scott is launching himself alongside Gilstrap in a way that manages to be humorous and iconic at the same time. I'm not even kidding. It reminds me of James Dean, the sort of weird nervous-ball-of-energy body language, not to mention the skinniness of him in the cowboy hat and jeans. He's an ADD-type of guy, easily bored, and rather amused at his own personality. He's bantering with her, "Whatdja get me for Christmas, huh?" as he leaps off a curb. Stuff like that. She banters back, "What makes you think I got you anything?" He takes off his hat, flips it around, puts it on her head for a second, flips it back into his own hand, and plops it down on his head, all as he says, "Cause I'm irresistible. You know that."

Truer words were never spoken.

It's a nice scene. I like how he throws himself around, swaggering, and grinning, and tipping his hat to a truck going by, and teasing her, and launching himself from curb to curb. He probably was not directed to do all of this behavioral stuff ... that's usually the actor's talent that brings that out. It would have been just as easy to walk along beside her, chatting. But what is the interest in that? Also, it fits from what we know about his character from Skyward. He has excess energy, he talks a lot, running on his own motor, there's an unselfconsciousness about him somehow, and he is charming and gangly.

So spaketh Sheila.

More to come ...

Sneak preview of one of his darker more concerned moments:

Oh, Gilstrap, what have you gone and done ....

I am determined

I am also crazy.

Meaningless goals. Keeping me afloat.

"Skyward Christmas": some changes and observations

-- Suddenly Julie and Lisa have a younger brother who is 8 years old. It is never explained. He is not important to the script at all. We found it baffling. Why add him? He doesn't even have lines. Weird.

-- Billie Dupree is no longer played by Bette Davis. She is now played by the vaguely glamorous (in a TV kind of way) and maternal Audra Lindlay (you know - Mrs. Roeper). Keith said, "Mrs. Roeper is playing Billie?" She's fine, but it's hard to get the memory of Bette Davis out of your head. It is a completely different character now. Billie Dupree is now very emotional, and maternal towards Julie, and all warm and cuddly. You just can't imagine Bette Davis getting hysterical in the way that Audra Lindlay does. Bette is much more of a cool character. After all, you'd have to be if you were a stunt pilot in the 30s and nearly got yourself killed in the flying sequences in 30 Seconds Over Tokyo.

-- Coop (I still don't care about Coop) is no longer played by Howard Hesseman. He is now played by the craggy-faced Geoffrey Lewis (father of Juliet Lewis - they look almost exactly alike). He does a fine job, I guess - I'm just rather annoyed by the character. He's passive-aggressive, and here in Skyward Christmas, he's almost like a stunted man-boy. Howard Hesseman at least played him as a capable grownup, even with his issues (that I don't care about). But Geoffrey Lewis almost plays him like Forrest Gump. A blunt childish man-boy. The character is already annoying, so I found this interpretation even more so. And this script takes him into Freudian territory, with a long sob story involving a father and an exploded airplane ... to explain why Coop "won't fly". Rather dumb. I just don't care. Sorry, Coop! But at least THIS Coop doesn't wear vests open, displaying his greasy chest.

-- Mrs; Ward is no longer played by the blowsy harried (and effective) Marion Ross. She is now played by the glamorous platinum-blonde Bibi Besch (long long career that woman had - she was on every television show known to man). But it's a problem here because she's too actress-y-looking. Only actresses have hair like that. And - she kind of looks like Audra Lindlay. We would get confused at points. "Wait - is that her mother? Or Billie?" It didn't help that Mrs. Roeper was playing Billie in a much more maternal way than Bette Davis did ... so the two women seemed to have identical characters and energies ... not a good choice. It turned Skyward Christmas into a concerned maternal shriek-fest, the action dominated by two overly emotional mother figures, screaming into the radio microphone, "JULIE! JULIE!". Nobody was there (well, Ben Marley was) to play under the scene, to keep cool, to play against the overwhelming sentimentality of the thing.

-- Lisa Whelchel is gone, sadly, and in her place is Kelly Ann Conn, who looks like a young Uma Thurman. She does an okay job, and at least she was trying to create the same character we had gotten to know in Skyward - unlike Mrs. Roeper, who made Billie Dupree a whole other kind of person. Kelly Ann Conn is supportive, kind, and always on the phone with her boyfriend. She's also the one who sticks up for Julie when Julie either gets in trouble or her parents want to hold her back.

-- Julie now has a best friend named Kendra. I don't care about Kendra.

-- Julie herself has blossomed. She and Scott are still a couple, but there's an aspect to her character in Skyward Christmas that is really unattractive. Give Gilstrap an inch and she'll take a mile. She behaves badly. She is WILLFUL, and so many of the bad things that happen you're like, "Well, Gilstrap, what did you expect? Sorry you crashed your plane, but I don't feel sorry for you - you had no business stealing that plane anyway."

-- Scott (aka Ben Marley) now works as a short-order cook out at Billie Dupree's restaurant at the airport. He spends most of the movie in a white apron, and is just as adorable as ever - but he doesn't have that much to do here. Naturally, for me, the whole thing comes alive when he's onscreen. I mean, not REALLY, because the script is so terrible, with lines like, "He told me the angel sparkled like the star of Bethlehem" ... and Christmas references thrown in, willy-nilly. But I still find him appealing, and one of the best things is that he wears the cowboy hat through the majority of the picture, so it starts to feel like I'm watching Hud or something.

-- The good thing, though, is that Ben Marley is playing the same character as he did in Skyward. Yes, he's now an established boyfriend - as opposed to a potential boyfriend ... so that's a change, but his energy is the same: chatty, kind of practical, a little bit egotistical, but in a jokey way - all the same guy. Same character. Thank GOD. Billie Dupree was so changed, with her glossy lipstick and heavy mascara, screaming hysterically into the phone for the police to go find Julie ... that I was relieved to see that at least SOME things on this planet remain the same, and a hot teenage boy in a cowboy hat still behaves in the same manner, launching himself in and out of his truck, grinning with a sweet openness, and basically being a dreamboat.

-- There is now a side plot about a grandfather, which is the linchpin of the entire thing - and it was so bad. The grandfather was mad that the family moved to Texas, he felt like they had moved just to get away from him. (Oh, get over yourself, grandpa.) The whole Ward family sits around missing grandpa and feeling bad that he won't be there for Christmas ... and the script is very bossy: Grandpa won't get on a bus because he has a bad back. He also won't buy a train ticket for some bullheaded reason. Julie is now a private pilot, and wants to go fly to pick him up and bring him home for Christmas ... and through various tragedies, she doesn't arrive at the meeting place. Grandpa wallows in self-pity, like: "Here I am ... being blown off by my family ... AGAIN." Grandpa, seriously, stop being so passive-aggressive. Everyone is trying to make the situation work. You're a grown man. Stop feeling sorry for yourself. At one point, he trudges back up the stairs of his rooming-house, all full of self-pity - and I said to Keith and Dan, "This is a VERY passive-aggressive family. They're driving me crazy."

MRS. ROEPER as BILLIE DUPREE

SUZY GILSTRAP as JULIE ... basically stealing an airplane to go pick up her passive-aggressive Grandpa

JULIE'S NEW PARENTS

JACK ELAM as JULIE'S PASSIVE-AGGRESSIVE GRANDFATHER

KELLY ANN CONN as the new LISA WHELCHEL

GEOFFREY LEWIS as COOP, THE MAN-BOY WITH OEDIPAL ISSUES

BEN MARLEY as the hottest short-order cook in Texas

Notice the random Christmas wreath, a subliminal reminder of how high the stakes are for this passive-aggressive bunch of whiners! At least Ben Marley keeps his cool! Everyone else is just freaking out at all times, screaming into CB radios, with tears glimmering in their heavily-mascara-ed eyes. And Coop is now a whimpering man-boy. Marley is our testosterone representative, and believe me, Skyward Christmas needs it!

I can't believe I just wrote this post. I am shaking with laughter.

Beheaded before Skyward

I went over to Jen's last night (we lived together for nine years, there's a special bond there), and I had my South Beach snack and she made a veggie burger and we talked our heads off for many many hours. We talked about my life, her life, men, books, my book - oh, and this was funny - she had this random book on her coffee table and we could not stop laughing about it. It was called DIVORCED, BEHEADED, SURVIVED and it was a "feminist reinterpretation" of the wives of Henry VIII. But we could not take it seriously, and kept shouting, randomly, "What do you want from me? I was DIVORCED, I was BEHEADED, and I SURVIVED." I was like, "How on earth does one SURVIVE after one has been beheaded?" Jen would burst in from another room and declaim, "DIVORCED! BEHEADED! SURVIVED!"

I filled her in on the whole Skyward drama, and we both started laughing so hard that it was like I had been punched in the stomach. It was one of THOSE laughs. Tears were streaming down my face, Jen was cackling - we were looking through my screen shots, and HOWLING.

In the middle of all of this, my blackberry buzzed with an email. Throughout the night, our respective blackberries kept buzzing, so we would keep chatting, but check emails as well. Obnoxious to some, normal to us. I glanced down at the email I just received - it was from my cousin Mike - who has now, in a matter of 48 hours - gotten me one-degree away from Ben Marley. I was three degrees of separation on Monday, now I am one degree on Thursday. This is what happens when you "know" people. You ask one question: "Do you know Ben Marley?" and suddenly emails are flying back and forth, the posts I've written are being passed on to the man in question, and things begin to happen. I adore it. Stranger things have happened. Dean Stockwell hugged me last year (story at 11). I WILLED that to happen. And Stevie helped make it possible. I am now "friends" with Hedye Tehrani, one of my favorite actresses, on Facebook. She just "friended" me! What strange country, friends, is this? But since Jen and I had just been HOWLING about Skyward, crying off our mascara, it was even funnier. "Holy shit, Jen, listen to this ..." I read the email out. We were dying!

Jen's new man came over, and found us in this rather hilarious mascara-streaked state. He was nice and relaxed about it, nice guy. Jen said at one point, casually, to him, "Have you, by any chance, seen Skyward?"

We started guffawing. He had NOT seen Skyward, but he had seen all of the ABC Afterschool Specials, and we had a good reminiscing chat about all of them. They're all on DVD now, and I really need to reacquaint myself with them. Especially Lance Kerwin.

I realize that Lance Kerwin is now doing a U-turn for Jesus full time (look him up, you'll see what I mean - it seems like he is doing well, and that makes me strangely happy) -but I will always love him for his quivering sensitivity and victimized status in those ABC Afterschool Specials. The bowl cut and the sweet demeanor was not quite the over-the-moon effect of Ben Marley in his cowboy hat - but I saw the ABC Afterschool Specials when I was 10 and 11 and just a CHILD. By the time I was 12, I was ready for the glimpse of MAN-hood provided by Ben Marley in Skyward. It was like my response to Han Solo in Empire Strikes Back, seen at around the same time as Skyward. They came out the same year. A mere year before, I had been all pre-teen aching for the bowlcut sensitive underdog, and suddenly, a year later - through Ben Marley and Harrison Ford - I knew what the future was. Swaggering MEN. Not BOYS.

I didn't get to bed until three in the morning last night, which is so unlike me, but the whole night had been spent curled up on Jen's awesome vintage couch, having deep and emotional conversations, interspersed with guffaws of laughter about Skyward and my cousin Mike's emails.

It felt like at any moment there would be a knock at the door, and it would be Ben Marley standing there, saying, "Hi ... I hear you've been writing about me?"

I got an email from Mike at one point saying:

a) do you know who his father is?
b) GO TO BED

hahahahahaha

Of course I know who his father is. Look who I have had on my wall for almost 20 years.

But yes. I obeyed Mike. Time for bed. Do not resist the command of an O'Malley man. They have your best interests at heart.

An awesome thing about my DVD of "Skyward Christmas":

It's better than most of the acting (except for Ben Marley) and certainly better than the script.

It is that there are 1980s-era commercials included. Keith, Dan and I were GOBSMACKED watching this. It is amazing to see how our entire culture, it feels like, has changed. It was like ruminating over ancient hieroglyphics or something - and this is from my lifetime! Pretty scary.

Here is an advertisement for an upcoming night of television on the same network.

Glorious. I so want to go back in time and see all of these shows.

Barbara Mandrell ...

then:

Doug Henning's world of magic ...

then:

an expose about Rock Hudson's "close call" with heart surgery

Sneak peek of "Skyward Christmas"

It's really the most important aspect of the film, criminally under-used.

Categories

Doing a little restructuring here, to make it easier for people to find content. At some point I need to invest in a reorganization again, it's been years since my last one, but I just can't do it right now. I need someone ELSE to do it, and it's going to be a big job - I know what I want and I am sure it is possible, but I need to sit down with some nerd and have them figure it out.

In the meantime, I've created some new categories - again, to make it easier to find stuff.

Here they are:

Friends - all content having to do with my awesome most awesome friends ... I wanted to pull that content out, and be able to highlight it easier - than having it looped under another category

Family - I had been looping the "family" content (as well as the "friends" content) all under the "My Life" category - but it was just getting out of hand. Too much stuff in there, a big content dump, impossible to locate really anything. I decided to break it up. I am happy with the result. It was even difficult for me to find content - not so much now.

Oh, and naturally, because it just seems to be going that way on my site:

Ben Marley now has his own category. I began to laugh AS I created it.

To quote his character in Apollo 13, "Yeah, baby."

Yes, I have categories for the Founding Fathers and Stalin. You know, I'm a serious person with serious interests. And so Ben Marley joins the ranks ... with Alexander Hamilton and James Joyce, and I honestly see no problem.

Meaningless goals update.

Google results. As of this morning, for the first time, page one.

Ben Marley in "Apollo 13"

In Apollo 13, Ben Marley plays John Young, an astronaut on the alternate team for the Apollo 13 mission, with Kevin Bacon (before Bacon gets bumped up to the main team when it is feared that Sinise will get the measles).

Now the funniest thing is: and I probably won't be believed, but whatever: I had no idea that this guy was Ben Marley, who was such a dreamboat to me as a 12 year old girl when he appeared in Skyward - but he (and his part) made an impression on me in Apollo 13. He is memorable. The movie isn't a star vehicle, although there are stars in it, obviously. It's an ensemble, one of the most special things about it. Ed Harris is important, but so is the little guy played by Ron Howard's brother. Tom Hanks is important, but so are all the Mission Control guys with their slide rules. It's a group effort to get those guys home, and it takes all hands on deck - the heroes and the geeks. The geeks ARE the heroes. What other movie has people doing arithmetic sums as a nail-biting sequence? So there's that aspect to the movie, where even the big stars kind of blend into the ensemble (my favorite kind of movie, by the way).

I'm not a big Ron Howard fan, and Beautiful Mind made me angry. It would take a hell of a lot for me to get over it and say I was a Ron Howard fan (Skyward notwithstanding) ... but Apollo 13 is a true high-point, I think, and one of my favorite all-time movies.

I remember seeing it in the theatre in Chicago with Jim, and there's the first scene - with everyone gathered at the Lovell house to watch the moon-landing. And there was that one long panning shot of everyone gathered in the living room (and yes, Ben Marley is there!), watching Neil Armstrong step onto the moon. It's not the footage on the television that is the moving part about that scene - it is the faces of everyone watching. Goosebumps. I heard Jim start to cry next to me. The scene then ended and Jim glanced at me and whispered, "This is going to be a long movie." We howled. 30 seconds in and we're weeping.

But BACK TO BEN MARLEY.

I've seen the movie so many times now that I admit I have it memorized and all of the bit parts are just as engrained in my memory as Ed Harris' best lines. Everyone NAILS their roles. There are no unimportant parts.

And Ben Marley has two moments that are among my favorite in the movie - again, having no idea even who he WAS when I first saw it.

The first moment I love is after the scene where Sinise, Hanks and Paxton are all in the simulator. This is before they've gone into space, obviously. Their team has been bumped up and they are racing to finish preparing before launch. It's a tense scene with Sinise as the pilot, trying to line up the whosiwhatsit with the thingamajig. He makes it without burning them all up - but as they come out, and as the alternate team (with Marley and Bacon) come up the steps for their training session, Sinise stops everything and says, "My rate of entry was still a little too steep ... I really think we need to try it again." The alternate team stops in their tracks, and kind of glance back at the head honcho, like ... okay, what do we do now? Someone says, "We really don't have time ... launch is tomorrow ..." Sinise is unmoved and says, "I don't feel good about it. I think we need to try it again." There's a pause and then Hanks, the commander, says, "Well, let's get it RIGHT" - and the top team goes to go back into the simulator, and the alternates (you know, Ben Marley, Kevin Bacon, et al), all suited up with nowhere to go, head back down the steps. There is a breezy macho Right Stuff exchange between the two teams - the alternates are all kind of laughing, like, "Fine, fine, we'll go back to second place" - and in the middle of that exchange, one of the astronauts says, laughing and nodding in a macho blase way, "Yeah, baby."

That man is Ben Marley. The scene fades out on his line.

It stuck with me.

Now I am not sure if astronauts in 1970 said "Yeah, baby", I am not sure if that was in the vernacular at that time, so the moment always struck me as a little anachronistic, but also charming and evocative of the entire relationship here between the two teams. It adds reality to what is not expressed in the script. That NEEDS to be in place, we need to "get" how the two teams operate, and how the system works ... and to me, that good-natured yet still kind of competitive, "Yeah baby" does it. I imagine that's why Howard kept it in. It is clearly improvised. Anachronistic or no, it acts as a shorthand, letting us, the audience know, how the whole thing works.

So that moment is one I love in this movie full of great moments.

Oh, and let me backtrack a bit.

When I watched Skyward with Keith and Dan, we all were swooning over Ben Marley's hot ass and other very important aspects of that film. Keith went to the computer afterwards and IMDB'd Ben Marley. Keith said, "Oh! He was in Apollo 13!"

Having seen that movie so many times, I stopped in my tracks, racking my brains to figure out which one he was - one of the mission control guys? There's that hot redhead who has one of my favorite lines in the film, which got one of the biggest laughs in the entire picture, "Okay, Jim. Copy that." He was hot enough that it made me wonder if THAT was Ben Marley - but then - suddenly - I knew exactly who Ben Marley was - and that HE was the one who has the "Yeah, baby" moment that I love so much. I could see his face. Mentally, I compared it with the hottie in Skyward. Of course. Same guy. And then his whole part came rushing back to me: dude is all through Apollo 13, he's in almost every scene.

Well, naturally, I raced home from seeing Skyward and Skyward Christmas (which I'll get to) and watched Apollo 13, ONLY looking for Ben Marley. It is quite a bizarre experience and I highly recommend it. There are huge crowd scenes in Mission Control, where normally I would be looking at Ed Harris or Gary Sinise, and this time I was scanning frantically for Ben Marley. What is he doing?? And whatever he was doing was always organic and right for the scene. This is true of the entire ensemble of that picture. Very few of them have closeups ... but without them? The movie flat out would not work.

The other moment of Ben Marley's that I love - that I loved before I knew it was Ben Marley, I really feel the need to make that clear - is after the explosion. Everyone at Mission Control is freaking out - and groups start to splinter off, to 'work the problem'. There's a scene in a classroom, where everyone is talking and freaking out and Ed Harris walks in and everyone kind of settles down. They begin to discuss what to do, with Ed Harris leading the conversation. Everyone has their say. I liked that aspect of the Mission Control scenes, and Gene Kranz himself has said that the movie really captured that aspect of what it was like. Yes, these guys are all (mainly) military men, used to a chain of command - but what Apollo 13 shows is that everyone has their say, authority was not just blindly followed - some ideas were taken on, others rejected - but you really get the sense that although Ed Harris is clearly in charge, this is not a top-down "do what I say" organization. He makes some comment about what they need to do, and a harassed guy explodes, "That is NOT the argument - we do a direct abort and bring them home NOW." He is not punished for insubordination or anything like that. The entire thing is a discussion, an urgent brainstorming session.

Actually, there are two moments looped into one here - and I just love how Ben Marley plays it. Ed Harris takes charge of the room, after the big discussion, and then says, in general - to everyone - "Get everyone in here who knows anything about that ship" -and suddenly, Marley, who has been leaning over and murmuring something to someone else, straightens up - and walks out of the room. It's like he's doing 3 things at once. He's involved in the problem, he's concerned, and what he is playing in the moment of leaning over to a colleague is probably saying, "We gotta get Ken Mattingly in that simulator" and in the same moment, Harris says, "Get everyone in here you know ..." A moment of synchronicity, of shared action, unspoken - that's one of the best things about this movie. A more emotional movie you would be hard-pressed to find, but it doesn't dwell on emotion, it is all about the DOING. Marley is leaning over, talking to his colleague, and is ALSO listening to Ed Harris. You know how you can hear two things at the same time in really stressful high-stakes moments - and so, at some unseen cue, he straightens up and walks out of the room. Having seen the movie a million times, it is so clear - he's off to get Ken Mattingly.

I just love that moment.

As I mentioned in my post on Skyward with the dance scene, Howard adds in a couple of shots in that scene that up the ante (people looking on, Lisa Whelchel looking on, Ben Marley's boot acting as a propeller) ... these things make the scene, which is already good, even better. Howard is at his best in those moments, I think. He does not let his sentimentality get the better of him (which is not the case in other moments in his films, when he cannot leave well enough alone).

The men in Apollo 13 are not introspective men. These are men of action. These are men of initiative. They are paid and rewarded for being able to figure shit out on their own, and the brief shot of the guy getting up and leaving the room - without asking permission, without running it by Ed Harris - just leaving - tells us all we need to know. It's why he's an astronaut good enough to be an alternate. You don't get to that level without showing you can do shit on your own and make on-the-spot choices.

I don't know how many times I've seen the movie, but I always look forward to that moment - him bolting from the room.

This loops in to the next moment of his that I love.

Gary Sinise, as Ken Mattingly, has been wallowing in a tarpit of self-pity, drinking beer and watching television with the phone off the hook, because he's so bummed he was bumped from the mission. So obviously Ben Marley has been trying to contact him via phone for 45 minutes, an hour - before finally Marley can't wait, drives to the motel (it looks like) where Mattingly is staying and has the landlord let him into the room. Sinise is passed out in the bed when Marley comes busting in, turning on the lights.

Sinise is groggy, looks up blurrily at Ben Marley and Marley says (my next favorite part of his in the movie), "Good. You're not dead."

It's a very funny moment, because it's not played sentimentally, or with any emotion. Marley is more pissed than anything. He has needed to find Mattingly, he has been ringing the room nonstop, but the phone is off the hook. Mattingly has made all of this WAY more difficult than it needs to be, and Marley has had to waste the time to DRIVE to the motel in this high-pressure situation and get someone to let him in.

"Good. You're not dead," he says flatly to Sinise, and then barges through the room, turning on all the lights, going into the bathroom to get Sinise's stuff ready for him, clothes, razor, whatever he needs.

Sinise is coming out of sleep, and groggy, he has no idea what has happened ... and so it is up to Ben Marley to fill Sinise in, but also to re-cap for us, the audience, what is going on. He's got a big monologue. Some of it is said as we see him rustling through the bathroom - but most of it is heard in voiceover, with a big ol' closeup on Sinise's face, as he begins to realize what has happened.

Ben Marley as John Young, the astronaut:

"We gotta get you into the simulator. We've got a ship to land. There's been an explosion. Oxygen tanks are gone, two fuel cells gone, command module's shut down. The crew's fine so far. Trying to keep them alive in the lem. We're going to have to shut that down too. We got a lot of people working the numbers on this one, Ken. Nobody's too sure how much power we're gonna have when we hit re-entry. The command module's gonna be frozen up pretty good by then."

Again, this is not a flashy part. There are no flashy parts in a movie such as this one. You just show up, embody your character, and do your best to fit in to the whole. You can't outshine the others, because that would tip the balance of the film, but when it is your moment to, you know, shine - that's what you do. Nail it. That's why you're cast. Like the pudgy little guy who has one big scene, building the filter for the CO2 cartridges, making a square peg fit into a round hole. That guy maybe has three lines, but my God, who doesn't remember him? His look of dismay when Paxton tears the bag, and then he says, harassed, "They should have one more up there ..." He's MARVELOUS - but does anyone know his name? It doesn't matter. Whoever he is, he shows up, does his part, and is an integral part of the whole.

Ben Marley, with his scene here in the motel room with Sinise, is an integral part of the whole. He re-caps the crisis for us, but he does it in a way that does not feel like boring exposition. He has made it seem organic.

Then comes the whole Loren Dean section of the film. He doesn't make his entrance until more than halfway through. He is the one who suggests to Ed Harris that the issue is really POWER, not time or the engine or oxygen, only power. Everything hinges on the power in that lem, and it needs to be maximized for re-entry. This is why Gary Sinise needs to get into the simulator and work the sequencing, to try to save as much power as they can.

It's almost like there are two movies here: Pre-Loren Dean, During-Loren Dean. Once he takes over, his plot-line becomes the secondary path of the film, NOT the ones with the dudes in Mission Control. In the second half of the film, we have the three guys up in the lem, and Loren Dean, Gary Sinise and Ben Marley trying to figure out the power issue in the simulator.

Ben Marley fans (all of you new fans out there) won't want to miss it!

Gary Sinise and Ben Marley enter the simulator area, and Loren Dean breathes a sigh of relief that Sinise is finally there. "We gotta get you in there," he says to Sinise. Marley is the third person in the scene. He is not peripheral. He is essential. Part of the team. As Sinise goes to get into the simulator, it's like Roy Scheider saying, "Show time!" in All That Jazz. Loren Dean has already rushed off to the office, and Ben Marley calls out to the crowd of technicians:

"Let's get this show on the road. Put 'im in space, fellas."

Yes, SIR.

Frankly, you can put ME in space any time you like.

I remember Skyward. I was THERE, my friend.

Then comes the tense ongoing sequence of trying to get the order right of powering down so that they don't over-amp-age, watt-age, whatever. Gary Sinise is in the simulator, Loren Dean and Ben Marley are in the office, with little headsets on, and with each mistake, things get tenser. Time is running out. There isn't time to dick around - they MUST figure it out. Now Loren Dean is obviously running these scenes, but Ben Marley's quiet presence, beside him, full of thought and urgency and support, is essential to the sequence working, for an audience. If it had just been Loren Dean and Sinise in the simulator- it wouldn't have worked as well. Ron Howard has an uncanny sense of things like that. It has to be THREE in those scenes, not just TWO. Because THREE brings in the waiting outer world, THREE adds to the sense of urgency. If it was just two, then the audience might be lulled into the sense that working out the power sequence is just an intellectual exercise. But no, having the third there - Marley - another astronaut - reminds us of the stakes. Loren Dean is the brainiac. He lives in isolation, going over his numbers by himself. Sinise is the rejected astronaut, not at all involved (except peripherally) in the mission. But having Marley in those scenes, hovering, concerned, quiet - brings all of those waiting guys in Mission Control, brings Ed Harris into those scenes.

Essential.

A couple moments I noticed in my last viewing that I adore beyond measure:

They finally get the sequencing right. It's incredibly tense. Loren Dean and Marley glance at each other, almost afraid to move, then Dean says, "I think we got it ..." and CUT.

Next we see a car screaming up to the Mission Control building door, and out of the car jump Loren Dean, Gary Sinise and Ben Marley. Gary Sinise is busy putting on his jacket, he's got on Ray Banz, he's basically hot as shit ... he's clutching papers in his hand, with the sequence on it ... Ben Marley jumps out of the car and the three men dash to the door. A security guard kind of steps forward, about to ask them, "Who are you guys?" and Marley - firmly, yet somehow gently - moves the man out of the way - so they can blow by. GREAT MOMENT. I had never noticed it before, but this last time of course I had to watch it five times. Loren Dean and Sinise are charging forward - the security guard makes a move - and suddenly Marley is there, moving the dude physically out of the way. HAWT! The camera follows the three men as they barrel into the building, with people hustling to get out of the way, knowing that these three are IT ... get out of the damn way, these are the men we have been waiting for ...

The three men burst into the Mission Control main room, and you can hear someone say, "Ken's here ..." and Sinise is there, in all his star power as an actor, moving into the room, grabbing a headset - but Loren Dean and Ben Marley are right at his side. The team who have, after all this time, "figured it out".

The rest of the film has Gary Sinise gently talking the exhausted and sick crew up in space through the sequence. Throughout, you can see Ben Marley in the background, deep in thought - almost willing himself up into the wounded ship, to try to MAKE these guys get home safe. Isn't that just what you would do if you were him? Wouldn't you just want to be up there with them? That's what he's playing, all by himself, in the background. The other guys in the scene are the engineers and technicians ... but he is actually an astronaut, and he has the quiet crazy energy of a guy who knows what it's like, and is trying to keep CALM, like he would do if he were in the pilot seat.

Seriously, Ben Marley fans - you want to have some fun? Watch the final 25 minutes of Apollo 13 and just focus on Ben Marley, and what he is doing during those huge crowd scenes. You want to see why I love actors so much? Watch HIM during Apollo 13, not the stars. Movies like Apollo 13 would not be possible without actors like him in the smaller parts. Everything he does adds to the general vibe Howard needs in every moment, everything he does is part of the STORY. It has no SELF in it. Of course there are stars, and they deserve their big fat closeups, they're stars after all - but none of it would be possible without everyone AROUND them, doing their jobs, with no glory, and setting up the star to be, well, a star. It's why I count Thomas Mitchell as one of my favorite actors of all time. Or Claude Rains. These people were not leading men, they did not carry pictures - but imagine Notorious without the Claude Rains character. Imagine It's a Wonderful Life or Only Angels Have Wings without Thomas Mitchell. NOT. POSSIBLE. It is those actors, the second-tier actors, who REALLY make the movies we love possible. Stars are awesome, I love me some stars, but they do not act in a vacuum. They need their support players to be as committed, as IN the world they are trying to create, as they are.

That's what's going on with Ben Marley in those last scenes. And not just him - but all the Mission Control guys. Yes, when Ed Harris breaks down at the very end, it's an amazing moment - one of my favorites in a career of great moments. But without all those little guys - Ron Howard's brother, the pudgy dude who made the filter, and Ben Marley - he would be acting in a vacuum.

So kudos, Mr. Marley. I know actors like you are never congratulated for the work you do in movies like Apollo 13. You are not nominated for Oscars. You are not remembered by name. But believe me, you are noticed. You are valued. None of it would be possible if people like you were not AS committed to your job as the stars of the film.

Great job.

CREDITS

"What network do we want?" calls out Ben Marley to the group in the first scene

Ben Marley is leaning over the television, his body in the foreground.

Hmmm. That shot reminds me a little bit of something ... I can't quite place it ... where have I seen it before .... let me think ...

A reference thrown to the Skyward fans? A closeup blurry shot of Ben Marley's body? A message from Ron Howard to us, his fans from 1980? Why not?

What I call the "Yeah Baby" moment

"Yeah, baby ..."

Mission Control Pow-wow

Ben Marley here is sprung tight as a coil, ready to leap into action .. he needs to do SOMEthing ...

Leaning over to chat ... when Ed Harris says his line about "Get everyone you know in here ..."

Ben Marley is OUTTA there, like a bullet from a gun. Great moment.

Bursting into Ken Mattingley's motel room

"Good. You're not dead."

Re-cap delivered by Ben Marley. Hot, on every level.

A flurry of motion. Gary Sinise and Ben Marley burst into the simulator area, to be met by Loren Dean ... conversation, quick and macho

Gary Sinise has been in the simulator for hours. Time is running out. Ben Marley opens the curtain and peeks in. "You need a break, Ken?" (I love the wrinkles in his forehead. Hot.)

Tension growing. A fight between Loren Dean and Gary Sinise, with Ben Marley looking on ... quiet, coiled, attentive.

At one point, Loren Dean covers his mike and says to Ben Marley, "I don't know where we're gonna find it" ... A private moment of tension between them on their side of things

Closer ... closer ... to a solution ... things get very still in the office ... the men afraid to move, afraid their success in the moment will unravel at closer examination ...

They've got it. The three men run towards the Mission Control building, and Ben Marley gently but firmly bodily moves a security guard out of the way. It's so alpha. I love it.

Connecting with the astronauts, in the Mission Control main room

Let me just say this: Look at Ben Marley here. The focus of the scene here is, rightly, on Gary Sinise. It is HIS scene. So look at where Ben Marley is looking. That is smart, selfless acting, in touch with STORY as opposed to SELF

If you look at everyone in this shot, everyone is IN IT ... not one false note. This is acting 101, I realize ... this is what you EXPECT of your cast, but it so often doesn't happen that I want to point it out. Look at the involvement of everyone, and Ben Marley quietly just ENDURING the tension of the moment.

The wide shot

Waiting ... waiting ...

The astronauts have re-entered the earth's atmosphere. A sigh of relief. Ben Marley can't quite "let go" yet ... he's still "in it" ... which makes sense ...

This is Gary Sinise's big closeup, but look at Ben Marley in the background. It's stuff like that that makes this a good movie.

Celebration

Excuse me, but you also get to see Ben Marley blow a smoke ring after taking a big puff on a huge macho cigar. I have died and gone to heaven.

ONE LAST THING I NOTICED:

This is the kind of thing you would only notice if you were tracking one minor character through a major movie. In the final scene of celebration, as everyone is freaking out, and Ed Harris slowly sits down, choked up ... there are a couple of shots of Gary Sinise, closeups, saying into the mike, "Welcome home", etc. - and behind him, you can see all the Mission Control guys shaking hands, breaking out cigars. Now there is one big closeup of Sinise - the focus is only on Sinise, although there are all of these other guys (including Ben Marley) in the shot. I noticed Ben Marley in the background hold out his hand to one of the other guys to shake it -but the actor didn't notice it, was already shaking hands with someone else. An awkward moment, right? But Marley rightly understood that nobody on earth (except for Sheila O'Malley years later) would be looking at HIM in that moment, so he almost acts AS IF his hand had been shaken, and goes back to puffing on his cigar, proud and puffed up, undeterred by the slightly awkward moment that just went down. He acts AS IF it had never happened ... Now, if he had been the star of the film, that moment would have had to be done over. If it had been Gary Sinise having an awkward moment in the crucial moment of celebration, Howard would have called for another take. But Ben Marley understands that in that moment the focus is not on him - NOBODY is looking at him ... it is enough that the impression is given that hands are being shaken ... so he doesn't stop, he moves on ... realizing that the focus is not on him, and it is more important that the STAR is set up properly, rather than him having a gratifying moment with another actor. It's not easy to ignore an awkward moment like that. A lesser actor would have called attention, subtly or not so subtly, to the weird moment he had just had - and Howard would have been required to call for another take, because the action in the background had pulled focus from the main scene. Marley, in the graceful way he handles another actor basically blowing him off, never pulls focus, allowing the moment, Gary Sinise's moment, to happen.

And that, my friends, is why I love actors, and why I think (at its best) it is a noble profession. My deepest admiration, Ben Marley, for how you fit yourself into the story, and did what the story required you to do: create your own character and motivation ("Yeah, baby") - but more important than that: your JOB is to set up Gary Sinise for his big moments at the end. That is your job.

I remember Tommy Lee Jones came and spoke at my school, and someone asked a question about The Fugitive, and his acting job in that, what he "worked on". Jones said, and I love this, "I felt like my main job in that picture was just to pay attention to Harrison Ford."

That's what Ben Marley does in that moment in Apollo 13.

Just pay attention to the star, and model yourself on a basketball player ... where the assist is sometimes more important than the play itself.

Ben Marley in Apollo 13

A little glimpse ... before we begin:

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