Out of Focus

The MMXXI Birthday Post: Upon turning L

Why have Roman numerals endured, maintaining a hallowed (if not necessarily useful) place in Western culture?

Better: How many people read that sentence and either ignore it or answer, “No idea,” and don’t think twice about it; versus my predilection to flashback to a MCMXC’s Arsenio Hall-bit that infiltrated pop culture enough to inspire a C+C Music Factory hit single.

Like most of my curiosities, this question did not spontaneously emerge from a vacuum. Less commonly, I managed to stop my rabbit-hole deep-dive before my feet left the ground, though only after falling down the neighboring pit searching for why “L” equals “50.”

I won’t follow that tangent; suffice it to say, none of the numerals that seem to have developed intuitively due to Latin words like “centum” or “mille.”

Naturally, this curiosity resulted from the new ME year celebrated today by my personal Gregorian calendar: As of II:LVI am Pacific Daylight Time, I passed from XLIX to L.

How is this guy L years old‽
AND he hasn't stopped yawning‽

But back to the initial question, because the endurance of Roman numerals for over MM years, long beyond performing any practical, non-decorative function fascinates me. As I approached L, and as people have offered both well-wishes and congratulations, I began considering my own presence, perseverance, and fortitude (whatever they may be), and the representative nature of this blog’s staying power as opposed to simply fading away along with its activity level and relevancy.

I’ve always enjoyed Roman numerals. They’re little more than pretty to look at, but I suppose they provide a weightiness; a kind of numerical bolding, even? I remember II decades ago thinking one of the more monumental changeovers at the turn of the millennium and century was watching MCMXCIX in favor for the larger but more compact MM.

Super Bowls; copyright dates for films, TV, and books; clock faces; building cornerstones and historical plaques: What else regularly utilizes Roman numerals? And still, I’m pretty sure I learned the III most basic—I, V, X—along with, if not before, our standard (Arabic) number system.

For nearly a decade, these birthday posts were the only consistent element of this space, and I used them primarily to note the many interesting people who share(d) my birthday. That annual tradition became irregular and infrequent during the MMX's, even more so since I have II or III birthday posts that I drafted but never published.

My adherence to the birthday post has been its own thing-to-make-me-say-hmmmm. As I noted previously, I have not always enjoyed celebrating my birthday; sometimes, I don’t even want to acknowledge it. I get too self-conscious. I question the motivations of people who disappear from my life before reaching out on that single day with a brief kind (and generic?) word. I contemplate my relationships with those who forget (or don’t care enough to remember?) that it’s my birthday.

So why have I always called greater attention to it in this space? Once again, the contradictory nature of my every feeling reigns supreme. In other words:

I don’t want to be the center of attention; how dare you ignore me!

I would be remiss if I didn’t wish a happy Lth to my birthDATE buddies—Luke Wilson and Alfonso Ribeiro—but otherwise, this year I choose to focus on the some of the various media that entered and/or achieved some cultural significance on-or-around Sept. XXI, MCMLXXI.

For instance, we recently got a new car which came with a IV-month trial subscription to SiriusXM, and on our first long weekend drive, I discovered that the “LXXs on VII” channel reruns American Top XL with Casey Kasem, generally picking that Saturday’s or Sunday’s date from a corresponding year between MCMLXX-MCMLXXIX.

So when I started looking at what command the cultural conversations at the moment I began my true domination of my parents’ lives, I wondered what held the top spot on the Billboard Hot C was when I was born.

Chaplin: The Musical All Falls Down Right from the Start

I will stipulate that compressing the life of one of the most important and influential artists of the 20th Century is no easy task. Satisfying all audiences is impossible. The creators of a big, meant-for-Broadway musical must omit fun, interesting and clever bits of story and information, and too, they must simplify and consolidate large swaths of time. Important events must be prioritized, and ultimately potentially upsetting choices will be made. To do all this, they must utilize creative license as they cut and even fictionalize small bits of the examined life. And yet with all those understood caveats, I can’t imagine a worse, more mundane effort than the musical take on the life of Charlie Chaplin, closing on Broadway this Sunday.

I’ve missed several shows this season that I’ve been dying to see. Most notably, I’m saddened that I won’t have the chance to see what I understand is an astounding production of Clifford Odets’s Golden Boy that will close days before I return from an out-of-this-hemisphere vacation. But when I heard Chaplin: The Musical had announced its closing last month, I made sure I didn’t miss it.

I love movies. I love theater. I love silent movies, and I’ve thoroughly enjoyed Chaplin’s films for years. I don’t consider myself an expert on Chaplin’s life and career, but I know enough to be baffled by many of the choices -- both inclusions and omissions -- made by librettist and composer Christopher Curtis who co-wrote the book with three-time Tony winner Thomas Meehan (The Producers, Hairspray and Annie). Meehan’s impressive credits can’t obscure the colossal storytelling mess that has inhabited the stage at the Ethel Barrymore Theater the past few months.

Broadway has long been home to weak shows featuring amazing talent, and Chaplin’s primary (and sole) strength fits neatly into this scenario. Rob McClure’s works hard to save this show with his central, titular performance. He captures the essence and spirit of Charlie Chaplin as thoroughly as Robert Downey Jr. did in Richard Attenborough’s 1992 biopic, but McClure has the added quality of looking remarkably like the man who was Hollywood’s biggest star and arguably one of the three or four most important filmmakers of the silent era.

Try as he might, and as impressive as his combined interpretation and mimicry often are, the rest of Chaplin provides a formulaic, inconsistent and often false storyline that shoots for the salacious at every turn. The show’s book lacks any subtext placing every bone in the plot’s skeleton front and center, with anvil-dropping obviousness, just in case the audience misses the point.

Passing Strange Before It Passes Away

I had wanted to see Passing Strange since it's original Off-Broadway run at the Public Theater, but I was lazy and never got around to it. I had heard amazing things: the music was rock (not so show-tuney), exciting and catchy; the show narratively worked in a non-traditional way -- in a style I would, upon now having seen it, call a hybrid of the traditional musical and what John Cameron Mitchell did with the stage version of Hedwig and the Angry Inch, i.e., a rock concert that tells rather than shows; and that it was a fascinating and original coming-of-age story. The show had a virtually sold-out run at The Public and earned its transfer to the big (and pricey) leagues. Of course, all of these positive elements also meant that a successful Broadway run could be difficult, and it doesn't make it the most tourist-from-middle-America-who-wants-to-see-The Little Mermaid-Mamma Mia-or-Phantom of the Opera-friendly performance. I'm certain there are people who won't like it; can't get it; will find it too loud. But you know what? They're wrong. (Yeah, I said it.)

Wrong or not, though, they're influence is mighty, and the show never made enough money post-transfer to keep it alive long-term. More Tony wins would have helped, and as I have yet to see In the Heights, I'm hesitant to say the wrong show won. What little I know about In the Heights, however, makes me believe that -- Washington Heights Latino-centric aside -- it's a more accessible show. And as a final caveat, I have to say that Passing Strange spoke to me personally in a way few plays or musicals have ever done. While most certainly was not an African-American teenager growing-up in a middle-class household in South Central, nor did I escape to Europe to find myself and search for muses for my music, the general themes and story of Stew's show are ones I relate to heavily. The idea of being able to examine your post-adolescence and the time when you were free to do anything and make mistakes -- some stupid, some unexpectedly helpful -- is one which weighs on me too often these days. (There's one line in the show when Stew as narrator says, "What do you do when you wake up and your whole life has been based on the decision of a teenager – a stoned teenager?" And all you want to do is slap that teenager, that 20 or 25 year-old (stoned or not) into submission and say, "Look at what you're really doing. What is really important." But you can't. And reflecting is OK, but regretting not-so-much.

Passing Strange is one of the best coming-of-age stories I've ever seen or experienced in any medium. Again, maybe that's in large part because of how much I related to it, but no matter. Stew and his collaborators have imaginatively presented us with this story of a young man (only called "Youth") who felt so out of place and pressured by his family and community that he yearned to escape. When he's introduced to music and art and culture -- and pot -- by his choir teacher, he's determined to get away, to Amsterdam which said teacher has painted as the castle on top of the hill. But his teacher has always been too afraid to venture out of the community himself. Our hero won't make that same mistake, making his way to Amsterdam and happening upon a group of people who accept him without condition -- his new family, his new place, his new and comfortable identity (even if much, or all, of it is just another newer mask). The song "Keys" is one that has been heavily used to promote the show. Every interview I had heard with Stew played this song. It's the number they performed on the Tony telecast. And as energetic and fun as I had always found it, it never had the kind of impact produced by seeing it -- and maybe as importantly, experiencing it live in person in the theater -- in context and within the frame of the rest of the show.

For one thing, that's really only part of the number; it's been condensed. The lead-up and other internal parts are more extensive and emotional and moving and illuminating. It is the perfect combination of words and music and dancing and acting expressing the fulfillment of all the longing this character has felt his entire life. And yet, one of the things that makes this show so brilliant and so satisfying is how it shows that even once he attains his "paradise," he can't be happy there. His music is suffering. He needs angst. He leaves for Berlin. The whole time, he's trying to figure out how to be himself, and yet in Berlin, he finds that he's only successful when he becomes what everyone else wants him to be: the "Ghetto Warrior." He sings in one of my favorite lines from the show, "I want my pain to fuck my ego and call the bastard art." (I relate!) He is a black man finding himself trying to pass as ... black ... all the while running away from, as his mother repeats to him throughout the show, "his people."

It's been reported all over the place that Spike Lee plans to shoot two performances this Saturday (as well as two full run-throughs without an audience present) in order to create a filmed version of the theatrical performance. I absolutely applaud Lee for making a record of this phenomenal theatrical performance, and I encourage people to see the end result. But I also know that the full impact of Passing Strange (at least in this theatrical form) will not be felt on screen. The energy of the performance is infectious and can only be felt in the theater. The asides and speeches Stew makes directly to the audience can't feel as intimate or friendly no matter how well he stares into the center of the camera lens. Theater and film are vastly different media, way more so than most people recognize, and no matter how great a job Lee potentially does, it is impossible for him to transfer and translate the in-theater experience.

That's why I encourage and implore people to go see this show. It closes on Sunday. I believe it has five performance left including tonight, with Lee taping both Saturday shows. Seeing it now won't help it stay open, but it will enrich your life in the way great theater should and can. There's plenty of crap on Broadway. There's plenty of crap Off-Broadway. There's plenty of crap Off-Off-Broadway. Passing Strange flies high above all of it. My attempt to find seats through TKTS yesterday didn't pan out, and I wound up buying a full-price ticket. Aside from how ridiculously expensive and generally not worth it Broadway tickets are, with all the regrets I may struggle with in my life, paying $115 to see Passing Strange will never be one of them.

Thanks Stew.

It's about time: The Rent is more than paid up

Don't cry for Rent on Broadway. It's about time. In reality, few shows -- if any -- can aesthetically sustain a five-year run, much less a 12-year one, and part of the reason why Broadway has not seen a greater collection of outstanding new work over the past decade-plus is because the economics have become such that only a brand-name show that sustains its ticket sales can survive, let alone thrive. There's little new excitement on Broadway, especially in terms of musicals, because little innovative creativity exists.

I've been on a bit of a theater binge recently, lessened in the New Year due to my work submission screening commitments, but in November and December I saw more theater than I had during the rest of 2007 and possibly all of 2006 combined. Some weeks, I was attending four or five shows, Broadway and Off-Broadway (sadly, I need to find more time for Off-Off), and while there is a lot of good theater out there ... great theater? Not so much. But what is truly noticeable is the difference between a new show and an old one; particularly an older show that has moved into the realms of stunt casting or third, fourth, fifth (or more) whole cast changes. No disrespect to the many talented Broadway performers who don't receive the honor, opportunity and/or luxury of being an original cast member, but shows can get tired, even when they're new to the audience.

I rarely see productions that have been playing for a while. Most original casts -- or at the very least, the leads -- are gone after the first year, and I try to see things when they're new and fresh; the "best" version with the "best" talent the creative team believed they could find, for better or worse. It can be worse sometimes ... some shows grow as the cast and production get tighter simply due to repetition.

In the fall, I went to see Hairspray on Broadway. I had never seen the show, and as mentioned here over the summer, I absolutely fell in love with the movie. The Broadway cast included Ashley Parker Angel (one of the members of the Making the Band group O-Town); Alexa Vega (best known for her role in the Spy Kids movies); and Jerry Mathers as The Beaver. Wait ... no ... Mathers played Wilbur Turnblad, Tracey's father. For those of you who saw the movie, Christopher Walken played the role. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear that The Beav can't really dance, and he sings just a tad bit worse than he dances. Shortly after the performance I attended, Lance Bass of 'N Sync joined the cast. He, Vega and Beav have since left, but George Wendt (NORM!) is now playing Edna Turnblad, the role made famous by Divine in the John Waters movie, Harvey Fierstein in the original Broadway cast, and John Travolta in this summer's movie musical.

No offense to Wendt (NORM!) ... maybe he's great. But when Broadway producers start bringing in stunt or name casting, it generally means ticket sales are already on the decline, and often that's because the show is too. Sometimes, said casting can revitalize and improve a show. By all accounts, Fantasia (winner of American Idol a few seasons back) did wonders for The Color Purple, not just in terms of ticket sales, but also bringing a fresh and invigorating interpretation to the role. However, examples like that tend to be exceptions rather than the rule.

Rent was hit and a phenomenon -- deservedly so or not -- when it was specifically because of when it was. It was a show of its time. It emerged when those remnants of the East Village still existed; when downtown theater types remembered the neighborhood, and the idea of "living with AIDS," as opposed to dying of it, was still a new reality; the epidemic was more under control but still very real. It was also a pretty dead time for Broadway, when Andrew Lloyd Weber could do virtually no wrong and anything smaller than Les Miserables didn't have a chance. It was an era when Titanic: The Musical and The Life were the closest things to innovation, and if you don't remember either of those shows, there's good reason -- neither were all that memorable.

Rent was exciting because it was familiar, and it was New York, and it was "rock" music, and its arrival was accompanied by the tragic story of its young creator. All these issues have very little to do with whether or not the show was any good. I know many people who will claim that it's quite awful. Others may call it the best musical of all time. Personally, I would argue that both sides are wrong. Rent is a highly flawed but entertaining and provocative show. It never was the be-all, end-all reinvention of musical theater as the media hyped and theater world seemed to anoint it at the time. But it has its moments. Especially at the time, it was interesting and exciting, and it received such exuberant praise because compared to all the other new stuff, it was superior.

I haven't seen the stage production of Rent since 1997 when I saw it for the second and last time. I can't speak to the quality of the current cast or band or production, and I'm sure every member of the show tries as hard as that tremendous group of talent that opened the show on April 29, 1996. But the greatness of all theater, Broadway or smaller, and the primary quality to me that separates it as a performance presentation from its sister medium of film is, unsurprisingly, that it's live. A show is not supposed to run forever. The show that opens in 1996 simply can't be the same show you see in 1999 or 2002 or 2008.

When a show is revived, it usually needs something new and different to make it feel alive again. I know a lot of people have praised the current revival of A Chorus Line, which is virtually a duplicate of the original production. As I mentioned previously, A Chorus Line is one of my absolute all-time favorite musicals -- and when it arrived in 1975, it arguably was a complete reinvention of musical theater. I saw the production soon after it opened and have to admit, I was underwhelmed primarily because I found the cast subpar and the production lacking vitality. Maybe it was an off-night. Maybe they've gotten better since. But theater is a living, breathing, organic experience, subject to the varieties and variations that are utterly unpredictable. And as such, much like it takes my eyes more time to focus in the morning at 36 years old than it did when I was 24, theater gets old.

Rent has aged. Gracefully or not, in dog years, it's almost 84. It's a little sad, but it's also for the best. And maybe there's some young blossoming musical theater writer -- they're out there -- who's ready to wow us with the new Rent (or, better yet, the next Avenue Q); who's ready to pick-up that mantle and help push out the Phantoms and Les Mises and even the relative newcomers like Mamma Mia!. It's just really about time.

R.I.P. Rent. I'm sure some sort of weird nostalgia will bring you back some day, but for now, your time has come ... and it isn't coming too soon.

MISCELLANEOUS MISCELLANY: WEEKEND NOTES BIG ON THEATRE

I'm having motivational issues, so instead of motivating myself, I think I'll try to motivate anyone who happens by here wondering, "Hmm, what's good in New York that I may not know about this weekend." I'm sure I'm the only person with a blog doing that, so it should come in quite handy.

• Closing this Sunday is The Black Eyed by Betty Shameih. I just caught the show on Tuesday, and although I found the show somewhat uneven with a bit too much preachy statement making here and there, there is more than enough in Shameih's writing and a couple of the performances to recommend catching it. The show looks at four Palestinian women who meet in Limbo, all looking for men in their personal histories who they believe might be behind a secret door with all the other "martyrs." One woman is Delilah (as in "Samson and ..."); also there is Tamam, who suffered brutality at the hands of Crusaders; and then two from the modern era: Aiesha, who grew-up in a Palestinian refugee camp and became a suicide bomber, and a woman known only as The Architect, a Palestinian-American killed on one of the 9/11 flights. Jeanine Serralles' performance as The Architect is reason enough to sit through The Black Eyed mostly brisk 85-odd minutes. Her character begins mostly in the background, but when she takes command of the stage near the end, she is absolutely tremendous, filled with nervous energy and using her movement and voice to absolutely captivate the audience. For me, this was important because while I also enjoyed Emily Swallow as Delilah, I found Lameece Issaq and especially Aysan Celik (as Tamam and Aiesha, respectively) mediocre at best. The play begins and roughly ends with the words "Unanswered questions. Unquestioned answers." Occasionally, Shameih hits us over the head with this theme, but her examinations of violence, faith, violence in the name of faith, female identity and power (or lack of), U.S. imperialism. the Palesitnian struggle combined with diverse opinions about the best way to solve it -- depicted most specifically between Aiesha and The Architect -- are generally fascinating and well-handled. Only when Shameih becomes a bit too polemical and do the lines sound like parts of a speech from a protest rally do things get tedious, but not so much to completely undermine the show. If you can get to New York Theater Workshop in the East Village and in to see it (my performance on Tuesday was sold out), it would be well worth your time.
  

• Frost/Nixon, a fascinating look at the behind-the-scenes goings-on of David Frost's famous interview with Richard Nixon in 1977, also closes on Sunday. Written by Peter Morgan (also screenwriter of The Queen and The Last King of Scotland), the show brought Frank Langella a very-well-deserved Tony Award for his moving, sympathetic and riveting portrayal of the only American president to ever resign from office. The play is fascinating not because of how it recreates segments of these very famous interviews, but rather due to its incisive examination of not only a tragic plummet from power into -- and then eventually, even sadder, out of -- self-delusion as well as, and even more impressively, a wonderful look at the power of television. In 1977, a full 17 years after the Kennedy/Nixon televised debate that had its own impact on that presidential election, the true reach and influence of television as a forum and its strength and differences from older media such as radio and newspapers was still not fully recognized. For a piece of theater to do such a great job showing it is marvelous. Four performances left: get there if you can. And if you can't, oh well ... Ron Howard will be directing Langella and Michael Sheen (starring in the show as Frost) in a feature version for next year. I'm not sure whether that's necessarily a good thing, though.

AN EARLY WEEKEND TO-DO SUGGESTION: GET THEE TO GREY GARDENS

My weekend seems to be overflowing with music rather than movies or theater: Friday night is Robbers on High Street at Bowery; Saturday is the Sonic Youth plays "Daydream Nation" show in Williamsburg; and Sunday, it's back to McCarren Pool for TV on the Radio. At least, that's the plan. Purchased tix for the first two, so those are the only guarantees.

But never mind my plans: I want to tell you what yours should be. This Sunday, Grey Gardens: The Musical will play its last performance on Broadway, and that's just a crying shame. If you're familiar with the classic 1975 Maysles Brothers documentary about Edie Bouvier Beale and her daughter "Little" Edie living in a majestic but decrepit Hamptons mansion, you will likely appreciate the care and imagination the entire creative team put into adapting a fascinating but narratively formless film into a wonderful two-act piece of musical theatre. If you've never seen the film, first of all ... you should. But secondly, you probably will love the show even more because you won't be comparing it at all.

Yes, the show has received most of its notice because of the central performances by Christine Ebersole and Mary Louise Wilson, both of whom won Tonys this summer, and both wins richly deserved. Ebersole, in particular, gives one of the most amazing performances I've ever seen on the stage, and the number she has regularly performed in public ("The Revolutionary Costume For Today." which she did on the Tonys and I've heard in other places) doesn't truly alone represent exactly how great she is. What is so marvelous about Ebersole is the dramatic transformation she goes through between acts. In case you don't know, the first act of the musical doesn't come from the film at all. It's an imagined day at Grey Gardens back when the Beales were still grand members of society, and "Little" Edie is portrayed as a co-ed all set to marry into the Kennedy family -- beating her cousin Jacqueline Bouvier to the punch. In this act, Ebersole plays "Big" Edie before the fall, as it were. In the second act, the curtain rises on the Grey Gardens we know from the film and Ebersole is now an adult "Little" Edie (while Wilson plays the aged "Big" Edie).

So really how good is Ebersole? Let's just say, it's almost hard to recognize and believe that she is playing both parts, even with the amazing physical resemblance. It's not just two different performances; it's like there are two different actresses, and each of them brilliant.

But the show itself is thoroughly enjoyable, interesting and well-produced beyond the performances. The sets are wonderful, and real footage from the film is imaginatively integrated through projections during act 2.

Grey Gardens has been available at the TKTS booth every time I've been by there over the past couple weeks. Since the producers made a quick turnaround from talking about the continuing run to deciding the show would close this weekend (without recouping its investment), chances are, tickets aren't hard to come by and will still be available for 50% the day of at TKTS. There are only four chances left (tonight, tomorrow, two shows on Saturday, and Sunday matinee), so if you have the chance and haven't yet been, go.

MONDAY MISCELLANEOUS MISCELLANY: SNAP JUDGMENTS

Even with I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry coming in first with over $30-Million once again proving that Adam Sandler really can open any movie simply by his presence, I didn't let this weekend get me down. In fact, it was one of productivity (albeit not enough) and punishment (although, not really). I deliberately chose to stay home virtually the entire time -- including skipping Saturday's Siren Festival at Coney Island. (Kalefa Sanneh's piece in today's NY Times sounds like I didn't miss much, but he also didn't mention the two bands I actually wanted to see the most -- Elvis Perkins in Dearland and The Detroit Cobras.

I did, however, get a bunch of little things done around the apartment -- especially a chunk of very necessary desk organization -- while simultaneously catching-up on a ton of TV from my ever-bursting DiVo. Now, what that means, is many little things bouncing around in my continuously-softening brain, so it's time to release at least some of them:

• Hairspray came in a more-than-respectable third in the box office this weekend with an estimated $27-Million-plus, giving it the highest opening for a movie musical. I'm glad that people are seeing it, and I'm guessing that they're enjoying it. That makes me happy. Just like the film.
  

• Speaking of Hairspray, producers Neil Meron and Craig Zadan and star Nikki Blonsky appeared on AMC's Sunday Morning Shootout (about which I ranted a bit last September). The show is still pretty awful simply because neither Peter is any good on camera, yet I watch it somewhat regularly just because occasionally the content is interesting. Anyway, Peter Bart (I think) asked them about the resurgence of movie musicals but also why most in recent memory haven't really done well even though they came from big Broadway successes -- e.g., The Producers, Rent and Phantom of the Opera. Diplomatically enough, neither Meron nor Zadan said the most basic reason all three flopped: because they were all terrible. They did make a really interesting point which goes to explain why Chicago was successful and Hairspray should be as well: they try to produce adaptations that are re-imaginations of the shows rather than recreations of the Broadway experience. Rightly so! They're different mediums and need to be approached that way.
  

• Speaking further about Sunday Morning Shootout, the show started with a discussion between the two Peters and Anne Thompson of Variety about bloggers, the internet and how both are affecting entertainment journalism overall. Bart managed to criticize most bloggers before pulling back and also stating that lots of us do produce good work and even professional style entertainment journalism. They're main gripe was how so much "news" is floated before any of it is ever confirmed. I don't have a problem with Bart criticizing online journalists and bloggers, pulling to some degree the same argument lots of "professional" media like to claim to maintain a feeling or air of superiority, but Peter, if you're going to do that, please stop having your own publication send out "Breaking News" alerts that are simply notices that you've posted a new column with nothing but your same old opinions? Thanks.
  

• I love Chelsea Handler. I don't really need to say much more than that (but I will at some other point (including when I finally talk about On the Lot). Her new late-night talk show -- kind of an entertainment/pop culture-oriented Real Time with Bill Maher -- is, so far, fantastic.
  

• I also can't turn away from VH-1's Rock of Love, although I'm sure it's more dangerous to one's lifespan than smoking. Who thought a show could have even more skanky ho's than Flavor of Love. Good on you, Casting department. Finding the next cast for Charm School should be a breeze now.
  

• On the other hand, Scott Baio is 45 ... and Single is a total snoozefest. There's too much obvious situational set-up; Baio isn't utterly psychotic like Danny Bonaduce; and his little group of friends are (inexplicably) trying to hard to look like a bunch of 40s Friars Club/Catskills-in-the-Summer/Borscht Belt comedians. Enough with the cigars. Especially on the gold course. And the inflection. Oy.
  

• I'm finally all caught-up with Rescue Me. I'm really disappointed in myself that I didn't latch-on to this show sooner. It's really terrific.
  

• Also terrific: the new series Burn Notice on USA. First of all, any show with Bruce Campbell in the cast automatically deserves attention, and he's great as usual. Add the still gorgeous Gabrielle Anwar as a trigger-happy ex-spy ex-girlfriend and Sharon Gless as a pushy, cranky mother, and you've got a great supporting cast at work. (In one episode, Campbell introduces himself and Anwar to two young wanna-be-con men as "Cagney & Lacey"! Tongue firmly in cheek.) And Jeffrey Donovan very capably carries the rest of the show on his shoulders. But what is really great is this series doing very well what television is supposed to do: namely, create a season-long intrigue that is moving forward a little bit every episode while also producing a singular story with a complete beginning, middle and end within each episode. It's a formula that is increasingly lost even in some of the best shows on TV.

THE RENEWED POPULARITY OF A CAMP CLASSIC

Apparently, I wasn't the only person with this idea. If you glance over to the left, you'll see that currently I'm "Netflixing" the third season of Rescue Me (I have three discs at home) along with the documentary The U.S. vs. John Lennon. But this doc (which I've wanted to see for quite a while) was not the next item in my queue, a film which had been available "Now" for quite some time, but suddenly last week earned the notation "Short Wait."

That's right: Xanadu -- the film that many people believe killed the movie musical as a genre for the following two decades -- is receiving a resurgence in interest due to the new Broadway musical adaptation which opened last week to pretty good reviews. I haven't seen Xanadu since I was a nine-year-old with a post-Grease crush on Olivia Newton-John, so I figured I'd watch the movie for kicks before heading to the theater. The wonderful playwright Douglas Carter Beane handled the adaptation of the book for the stage, and from what I've read, he's reconstructed the entire thing from the ground up. But I'm still curious to see that source material in all its 1980 glory.

Apparently, a lot of other people are too. Well, I guess maybe not "a lot." I have no idea how many copies Netflix has; maybe there are just like 10 of us in New York who are interested/curious and that's enough to make a run on their stock. Either way, if you're out there: please return Xanadu. My next selection will probably be sent from Netflix tomorrow! Thanks.

CONGRATS AVENUE Q

I've never made it a secret that I am utterly and completely in love with Avenue Q. I was thrilled, surprised and elated when it was presented with the Tony for Best Musical and disappointed when I learned that it would only play Las Vegas (in addition to New York) instead of going on a National tour so the entire country could witness its brilliance. I was ecstatic when one of the show's creators Jeff Marx contacted me out of the blue giving me an opening to request an interview with him and writing partner Bobby Lopez, which ran on Gothamist in December 2004.

Thankfully, Avenue Q even became an unqualified commercial success, and now, it's a record-holder. Tonight's performance marks the 1,296th time the show has played on the stage of the Golden Theatre, breaking a more than 60 year old record held by the Patrick Hamilton play Angel Street. Now, roughly 1,300 performances is nothing compared to the true Broadway stalwarts. For nearly a decade, the record had been held by A Chorus Line which played 6,137 times. Cats came along, roundly trouncing that number with 7, 485 performances before finally (and mercifully) expiring in 2000. Meanwhile, it was only about a year ago that Cats' reign was cut short by fellow Andrew Lloyd Weber spectacle The Phantom of the Opera which should be some where around 7,762 shows ... and still counting. But blockbuster shows like those are the exception, not the rule.