Money in the bank

When I'm watching a tv show or a movie, there are always certain actors I'm happy to see. Actors who directors and audiences can rely on to give a great, complete, immersed in the character performance every time, with the uncannny ability to play any genre—comedy, drama, classical, farce, screwball, rom-com—all with the greatest of ease.

It's not easy, but these actors make it look that way.

Two of my favorites who deliver every time are Gary Cole and Margo Martindale. They are, as the saying goes, money in the bank.

I first saw Gary Cole in Fatal Vision, the story of Captain Jeffrey MacDonald, who murdered his pregnant wife and two daughters and tried to blame it on a Manson-like group of hippies. Cole has been reliably great in every role I've seen him in since.

One of my favorites was his portrayal of FBI Agent Baxter in A Simple Plan. I'm not going to spoil the surprise twist that his character takes in that role, but it is chilling. It's a great movie worth seeing, and Cole's performance, which comes near the end of the film, is one of the best reasons to watch it.

I'm sure I'd seen Margo Martindale before, but her performance as Hillary Swank's mom in Million Dollar Baby was the one that put her on the map for me. It's a joy for me every time I see her on screen. I especially liked her as the Russian handler in The Americans, and as Peter Florrick's campaign manager in The Good Wife.

Yes, I watched The Good Wife. Shut up.

There are many actors who may not be household names, but elevate whatever project they're in with their enormous talent, humility and committment. A dozen years ago, I wrote about another great one who's name almost no one knows but who's face almost everyone recognizes—Dabbs Greer.

Anyway, no funny little quips to end this. Just a tip of the hat, and a show of appreciation for real talent by two extradordinary actors that bring me pure joy, and some well-needed escape, every time I encounter them.

Ok. That's a wrap.

Not so Super

I’ll be the first to admit it. I am not by any stretch of the imagination or in any way a sports fan. I know what you’re thinking: how can someone like me who’s in peak physical condition not be into sports?

I know, it’s a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.

I do however occasionally like watching the World Series (baseball, right?) but that’s about it. Unless you count the Kentucky Derby, Preakness and Belmont Stakes because who doesn’t like horseys.

And reading the Racing Form. And placing bets.

Anyway, when Super Bowl Sunday rolls around every year, for the most part I look at it as the best day of the year to go to the movies, visit Disneyland or shop at South Coast Plaza. At least for about three and a half hours.

But because I’m in the line of work I’m in, I do have to slog through the game and watch the commercials. Including mine.

Here’s the problem: Apple set the bar for Super Bowl spots with their legendary “1984” commercial. You know, the one directed by Ridley Scott that we’re still talking about forty years later. But the downside of that spot was it got advertisers to think that just by pouring a ton of money into a spot, they’d have a memorable, entertaining Super Bowl spot that would ring up championship sales for whatever they were hawking.

Not so fast. If you watched the big game this year, you might’ve noticed there are about sixty examples that prove otherwise.

That’s not to say there haven’t been some enjoyable spots over the years. One of my favorites is this FedEx spot, which lays out in detail exactly what it takes to produce a successful Super Bowl spot. It's a low-res version, but you still get the idea.

Another is the Audi “Prom” spot. Everything about it is right—the casting, the dialog, the story, the production. They even caught lightning in a bottle with the reaction shot of the prom queen after the kiss.

The spot I liked most this year, besides mine, was actually this Disney+ commercial. Simple, engaging and not weighed down with celebrities and production value. It wasn’t forced.

I was discussing the spot with my close personal friend and blogger extraordinaire Rich Siegel, and he reminded me of the other reason I liked it so much. He said “When everyone is shouting, whisper.”

He’s right of course. Enough with the shouting.

In politics. In life. And especially in Super Bowl spots.

Encore post: Non-essential personnel

There’s been a great deal of discussion about essential and non-essential workers these past ten months. In the middle of a devastating pandemic, we quickly found out who we absolutely needed and who we could live without.

And the surprises weren’t all that surprising.

The people we take for granted day in and day out—grocery checkers and stockers, delivery people. Obviously the frontline medical heroes. The under siege postal workers (buy stamps). People who keep security and infrastructure going. As well as a long list of others.

And hey, you'll never guess who wasn’t considered essential. Give up? I hate for you to hear it this way but it's people who work in advertising agencies. I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

But here's something we know deep down in those places we don't talk about: the harsh reality is that was true even before the pandemic. And it’ll be true after.

Truth can be such a cruel mistress.

Come to find out in a non-existent survey not conducted by Gallop, that in the time of Covid, turns out people across every demographic—including some that haven’t even been segmented yet—actually set priorities about what's essential and what isn't.

While people are busy worrying whether a cough is just a cough or whether it's a debilitating virus that's going to have them fighting for their lives in the ER, oddly enough they don’t consider banner ads, screen takeovers, wild postings, commercials of any kind (with the exception of those two Match.com Satan ads), radio spots repeating the phone number three times, bus shelters, outdoor, paid social, email, direct response tchotchkes (no I didn't look up the spelling, yes it's correct), online surveys, YouTube pre-rolls, theater ads that piss you off before the movie (remember movies?), product placement in those movies, brochures, endcaps, welcome kits and more essential.

Even more non-essential? People who create them.

But fear not fellow agency people. Remember that many great artists aren't appreciated in their own time. Eventually this too shall pass, and people will come out of the plague culture and discover they hold a deep appreciation and fond nostalgia for all the ads they saw that began with "These are challenging times..." and ended with "We're in this together."

Someday the world at large will see the sense in theoretically normal-thinking adults putting their health and the health of loved ones at risk to bring them commercials that involved people breaking into dance for no reason, running footage, bite and smiles and people who aren't doctors but play one on television.

You know, the same as usual except now the people in them wear masks.

I've heard the arguments: we're keeping the economy going during a bad time. Bringing information people would have no. other. way. of getting. Setting an example by being at work, etc.

I got news for you. Essentially, you're kidding yourself.

Non-essential personnel

There’s been a great deal of discussion about essential and non-essential workers these past ten months. In the middle of a devastating pandemic, we quickly found out who we absolutely needed and who we could live without.

And the surprises weren’t all that surprising.

The people we take for granted day in and day out—grocery checkers and stockers, delivery people. Obviously the frontline medical heroes. The under siege postal workers (buy stamps). People who keep security and infrastructure going. As well as a long list of others.

And hey, you'll never guess who wasn’t considered essential. Give up? I hate for you to hear it this way but it's people who work in advertising agencies. I know, I’m as shocked as you are.

But here's something we know deep down in those places we don't talk about: the harsh reality is that was true even before the pandemic. And it’ll be true after.

Truth can be such a cruel mistress.

Come to find out in a non-existent survey not conducted by Gallop, that in the time of Covid, turns out people across every demographic—including some that haven’t even been segmented yet—actually set priorities about what's essential and what isn't.

While people are busy worrying whether a cough is just a cough or whether it's a debilitating virus that's going to have them fighting for their lives in the ER, oddly enough they don’t consider banner ads, screen takeovers, wild postings, commercials of any kind (with the exception of those two Match.com Satan ads), radio spots repeating the phone number three times, bus shelters, outdoor, paid social, email, direct response tchotchkes (no I didn't look up the spelling, yes it's correct), online surveys, YouTube pre-rolls, theater ads that piss you off before the movie (remember movies?), product placement in those movies, brochures, endcaps, welcome kits and more essential.

Even more non-essential? People who create them.

But fear not fellow agency people. Remember that many great artists aren't appreciated in their own time. Eventually this too shall pass, and people will come out of the plague culture and discover they hold a deep appreciation and fond nostalgia for all the ads they saw that began with "These are challenging times..." and ended with "We're in this together."

Someday the world at large will see the sense in theoretically normal-thinking adults putting their health and the health of loved ones at risk to bring them commercials that involved people breaking into dance for no reason, running footage, bite and smiles and people who aren't doctors but play one on television.

You know, the same as usual except now the people in them wear masks.

I've heard the arguments: we're keeping the economy going during a bad time. Bringing information people would have no. other. way. of getting. Setting an example by being at work, etc.

I got news for you. Essentially, you're kidding yourself.

Taking one for the team

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Of all the snappy little phrases that get tossed around in ad agencies, and God knows there are plenty of ‘em, the one I like least is “team player.”

Now, before you start getting your panties in a bunch, wagging your finger, stammering and screaming, “I knew it!” you might want to hear me out. Then again you might not.

My life will go on either way.

Anyway, just because I don’t like the term doesn’t mean I’m not one. For instance, I’m also not a fan of the phrase “slightly overweight” or "distinguished gray" but, well, never mind. Bad examples. The point is, as much as it goes against my grain, I’m a team player when I need to be.

New business presentations? My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m banging out manifestos and taglines faster than Bret Kavanaugh driving to a liquor store at closing time.

Client meetings? Point me towards the bagels and let me loose. I love presenting, the bigger the room the better. I have a slightly different way of measuring if it’s been a good meeting. Here it is: If I get the big laugh, it was a successful meeting. I know some people think if we sell the work or get the account that’s actually the measure of success.

Whatever. To each their own.

The off-campus pep talk/morale boosting/team building meetings? You don't have to ask me twice. I’d be there even if there weren’t luxury buses to shuttle me, and free food and liquor after. I just wouldn’t stay as long.

Where I seem to be unable to muster up one for the team is Halloween. To me, October 31st at agencies is like personalized license plates: once you’ve seen the costumes, the joke’s over. What starts out at 9 with everyone oohing and ahhhing over the costume you made winds up with everyone tired of looking at it by 9:30.

However, I have nothing but love for the team I work with. So when they decided our group would dress up as characters from iconic 90's movies, even though all my Jedi instincts were screaming no, I decided I'd do it.

I thought it would be good for me to get over my bad attitude and insecurities—and I know what you're thinking: besides my weight, bank balance, increased memory loss, receding hairline, bad skin tone, limited wardrobe, nine-year old car, complete inability to fix the simplest things around the house, having to wear glasses, feeling like an outsider, not liking sports and, did I mention weight, what do I have to be insecure about?

Perhaps I've said too much. You never read this.

The point is I eventually decided to come to work as one of my favorite characters and perpetual profile photo on Facebook—The Dude from The Big Lebowski.

I found an exact match for the Dude's bathrobe. I went not to a pop up Halloween store, but to a professional wig shop and got my long hair locks like the Dude. I bought L'Oreal Light Brown Root Control spray to match the Dude's hair color (I'll probably be hanging on to that). I bought the sunglasses and brown flip-flops to complete the look.

I was ready and set, but I didn't go. I just couldn't do it.

Was it that the look wasn't as exact and perfect as I wanted it to be? Or was it that I couldn't get past the image of me wearing a white t-shirt under the robe that, well, remember the "slightly overweight" phrase? Talk amongst yourselves.

And despite the fact I could've legitimately gotten wasted downing White Russians all day, told my creative director "Well, that's just your opinion man" and said things like "That rug really tied the room together" to stay in character, it wasn't enough for me to suit up.

But not wanting to let my colleagues down, I did finally decide to come in dressed as an older, overweight, gray-haired, married Jewish guy with kids.

I know, it was a stretch. But what can I tell you. I'm a team player.

What about Bob

Robert Redford has a movie coming out the end of the month. It's called The Old Man & The Gun. From the trailer, you can see Redford doing what he's always done: charming us with his talent, humor, intelligence and the twinkle that still shines in those knowing eyes.

The sad part is Redford, now a hard-to-believe 82-years old, has said he's retiring from acting after this film. Which got me to thinking that we're coming up fast on the end of an era.

Redford is one of the last of a golden generation of actors. Each time out, he gave us something different, but always intelligent whether he was in front of the camera or behind it. He never pandered to the audience, and you never got the feeling he was phoning it in for the payday. And while like all actors, some films were better than others, his instincts for quality material rarely failed him.

From Three Days of the Condor to All The President's Men to The Natural to The Way We Were to Ordinary People to Quiz Show to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, and even to fluff like Indecent Proposal, we believed he was who he said he was.

Redford brought his best game every time out. And we showed up to see it.

I was talking to the wife years ago about Indecent Proposal. I said it was about someone who got to sleep with Robert Redford for a million dollars. She said, "Great. Who do I have to pay?"

I realize each generation has its own stars, but really, will we feel the same way when Bruce Willis retires from cranking out the same movie over and over again? I'm guessing we won't.

As Roy Hobbes in The Natural, Redford said, "I've got to reach for the best that's in me." Somehow he always found it.

Thank you for sharing it with us.

Tony Shalhoub. What do you need, a roadmap?

In the brilliant Coen Bros. film Barton Fink, Barton (John Turturro) asks producer Ben Geisler (Tony Shalhoub) for advice on getting started on the script he's been hired to write. Geisler takes a beat, then says, "Wallace Beery. Wrestling picture. What do you need, a roadmap?"

With apologies to the Coens, I'd paraphrase it to "Tony Shalhoub. Great in everything. What do you need, a roadmap?"

I've been a fan of Shalhoub from the first time I saw him as cab driver Antonio Scarpacci on the sitcom Wings. Like some of the actors I enjoy and admire most—Gene Hackman, Will Patton, J.K. Simmons, Richard Jenkins, Chris Cooper, Tracy Letts, the late great J.T. Walsh and the late great Jon Polito to name a few—Shalhoub is just money in the bank. Regardless of the quality of the material, Shalhoub elevates it.

From Galaxy Quest to The Man Who Wasn't There. Spy Kids to Monk. Men In Black to Nurse Jackie. Big Night to Primary Colors. The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel to Luigi in Cars, he's simply scene-stealing in every project he's in.

What's so impressive is his range of characters, and level of commitment to them. Nuanced, organic, complete, they're at once interesting, compelling and intelligent—even on rare occasions when they're not written that way.

I suppose with a Masters in Fine Arts from Yale, his intelligence has always been on display. Look at the brain on Tony.

Shalhoub also proved he doesn't need words written by a screenwriter to be funny. He had one of the funniest real-life lines ever when he won one of his Emmys for playing Monk, a detective with an obsessive-compulsive disorder.

"To my fellow nominees, whoever they are - I'm not that familiar with their work - I just want to say, there's always next year - except, you know, for Ray Romano."

As the flashy, expensive litigator Reidenschneider in The Man Who Wasn't There, during the trial of Ed Crane (Billy Bob Thornton), Shalhoub is talking to the jury. At one point he says, "He is your reflection."

The same might be said of Tony Shalhoub.

Goodbye John Hurt

British actor John Hurt died today of pancreatic cancer. In everything from Alien to The Elephant Man to three of the Harry Potter, his exceptional talent was on display in all its range and colors.

A few years ago I wrote this post—under the title of We Have Contact—about a lesser seen role of his that's always been one of my favorites. I hope you enjoy the clip of it.

The year isn't even a month old, and it's already claimed yet another one of the greats.

I'll miss John Hurt. He was one of those rare talents I always thought would be around forever. Fortunately all of his performances will.

The image many people have of John Hurt is of him thrashing around on the dining table of the space ship Nostromo with an alien bursting out of his chest.

Or maybe it's his grotesquely disfigured form in The Elephant Man, as he proclaims to Anthony Hopkins he is not an animal, he's a human being.

Younger moviegoers might know him as Mr. Olivander from the Harry Potter movies - including the next two of them.

But his one performance I think I enjoy most is one most people didn't see. His role as eccentric, reclusive, terminally ill billionaire industrialist S.R. Hadden in the Robert Zemeckis film Contact.

With a keen interest in space and extra-terrestrials, his character is compelling, creepy and brilliant all at the same time (not unlike a few creative directors I know).

I quote the line at the end of this scene all the time. Scares the hell out of my kids.

It won't be like this for long

I know you're getting tired of posts about my son going off to college. But that's what's taking up all the brainspace right now, and writing about it here is cheaper than therapy (and a lot cheaper than tuition). I promise this will be the last one on the topic for awhile (fingers crossed, snickering to himself...).

This startlingly beautiful baby is my boy. It's always been one of my favorite shots of him. It was taken at our great friend Michelle Purcell and her husband John's former house in San Clemente, just before he gave a piano recital of Rachmaninoff's piano concerto number 3 (I recall he was pretty accomplished at number 2 as well - BAM!).

I don't remember how old he is here. I only know he's sure not that age anymore.

We just got back from dropping him off at his dorm room in Austin where, if you don't know by now, in between going to all-night movie festivals, eating barbecue brisket by the pound and locally-sourced quinoa salads, he's majoring in film.

And I don't mean dropping him off in the "here's your hat what's your hurry" sense. More in the "we're going to take six days, fix up your dorm room, buy even more things for you at Bed Bath and Beyond, take you out to eat for every meal and let you stay with us in our nice hotel until you absolutely have to move in" sense.

I won't go into what it was like to say goodbye before we had to leave for the airport yesterday. As I'm sure you've surmised by now from the other posts I've put up on the subject, suffice it to say I was a mess (I know, I'm as shocked as you are).

But twenty-four hours later, you'll be glad to know, it's not one iota easier.

I'm lucky in that I have a kid who wants us to text, call, FaceTime and Skype with him all we want. Or so he says. We won't drive him crazy, but we will be in touch on a regular basis. But he's grown up and he's growing up, and we're going to let him do it - no matter how much it hurts or how counter-intuitive it is.

It's been said they're leaving you from the moment they're born. Maybe, but for sure he's been leaving faster and faster as he's gotten older.

And now, in the blink of an eye, he's off becoming the man he's meant to be.

I'm so lucky, because I can't remember a time when my son and I ended a conversation without saying "I love you" to each other. And I'm not about to start now.

I love you buddy man.

Now I have to go help your sister move into your old room.

Missing Murray

He was the mayor in Jaws who wanted to keep the Amity beaches open, even though a great white shark was enjoying swimmers for appetizers.

He was Mr. Robinson in The Graduate, who couldn't bring himself to "shake hands" with Dustin Hoffman.

He was Murray Hamilton, one of the best character actors there ever was.

I know it seems like a random person to be writing a blogpost about. But, as the slogan at the top of the page reminds us all, random is the name of the game here at Rotation and Balance. Besides, I've always had great respect for character actors - this isn't the first time I've sung their praises here.

I can't remember the first time I ever saw Murray Hamilton, though I suspect it was on one of the original Twilight Zone episodes where he played Mr. Death. Of course, like most people, I know him best from Jaws and The Graduate.

Hamilton did all the classic television shows in his long career, which is why he pops up on reruns all the time. Inevitably people recognize him by face, if not by name.

I'm always in awe of people who do great work that stands the test of time, unlike, say, the disposable work no one wants or gives a second thought about in certain professions which will go unnamed.

Anyway, I saw him in some old movie today as I was flipping channels, and was reminded again how much I always enjoyed watching him.

Here's to you Murray Hamilton.

The Con is on. Again.

Except for this past week, I don't usually repost pieces on here. And I've never reposted a repost. But it's the Comic Con time of year again, and I was going to write a post about going. Again. But then I reread this little gem and realized it said exactly what I wanted to say. Again. We don't have to re-invent the wheel each time out people. Let's just take tonight's post at face value, and enjoy the writing for what it is - an excuse not to think of something new to write. Wait? Did I say that out loud?

Don't say you haven't been warned. For four and a half days this week, my son and I will be living amongst 'em (well, actually we'll be living at the Hilton and walking amongst 'em, but no one's under oath here): the Stormtroopers, Wolverines, Lara Crofts, Jokers, Iron Men, Darth Vaders, Zombies, Batmen, Supermen and other assorted, costumed inhabitants of Comic Con.

As you can see here and here, this isn't the first time I've written about the Con. And it won't be the last.

Don't get the wrong idea. I'm not saying it's the only subject I'll post about for the next few days. But if you happen to notice my writing in the Wednesday through Sunday posts have a nerdist, geekesque, maybe-I-ought-to-get-a-life, gee-he-sounds-REALLY-tired quality to them, then I've done my job and you'll know we're having a fine time.

For those who've never been - and really, like the Rolling Stones or Rick Perry trying to complete a sentence, it's something you need to see at least once in your life - please to enjoy this little taste of my next few days.

Welcome to my world.

The last picture show

Next to where the original Farmer’s Market was, where The Grove stands now, used to be an icon of a cinematic, automatic, hydro-matic time gone by. The Gilmore Drive-In.

When I was in high school, some friends and I would ride our bikes over to the back of the drive-in, and watch the movies from behind the chain-link fence (which could be easily hopped) for free on the ginormous screen. I’m not saying they were R-rated, but I’m not saying they weren’t. Besides, what was the point of rating anything if the entire city could see it on a 7-story screen.

I always got the feeling that on the list of things the Gilmore Drive-In was about, movies were somewhere beneath community. Socializing was the point, and there were just as many people in their cars as out walking around talking to friends.

I suppose it was foolish to think property that valuable wouldn’t get developed. And the slow death rattle of drive-in’s having the life choked out of them by actual theaters made it all but inevitable the Gilmore would one day be a faded Technicolor memory.

Still, I remember being with friends, watching Clint Eastwood’s violent directorial debut Play Misty For Me.

Even on bikes, even without sound, even though it was cold. It was still magic.

Hat's off

Where does the time go? One minute it's baby bottles and diapers, the next it's Starbuck's cards and Trunk Club subscriptions.

My boy is graduating high school next month. Of course, he's not the first kid to do it, and he won't be the last.

I did it - one of the very few items on the short list of things I've actually finished. But I didn't have nearly the celebration he's going to have this weekend.

There's a reason for that. High school now isn't anything like what it was back then.

I never had the hours and hours of homework he's had to navigate through. All while participating in and student directing school plays, playing in the school jazz band and orchestra and being president of the student council. Not to mention the guy who brings four dozen donuts to the rehearsals at 7 a.m. (I drive him to those morning rehearsals. Where's my donut?).

It's a whirlwind just writing about it. Back in the day we had homework, but it wasn't a second career. It was just, you know, homework. Then time for TV.

Anyway, just a quick post tonight to say I'm so proud of my guy. I love him like crazy.

And while he's off to one of the country's top film schools at a major university in the next few months, I hope he'll remember and take to heart the one thing I've tried to drill into him over the years while he's been so consumed accomplishing so much.

"When you direct your first Marvel movie, daddy wants a big house."

One for the ages

The elderly gentleman to the left, in case you didn't recognize him, is Burt Reynolds. Yes, that Burt Reynolds.

He made a rare public appearance at an east coast Comic Con, and because he's looking like a frail, ghostly version of his former movie star self, the press has had a field day. Let the speculation begin.

Here's what I think happened to Burt. He got old.

Reynolds is turning the corner on eighty. He's had a great life as an actor (at one time the most popular box office draw in the world), director, talk-show staple, star of television and commercials. The FedEx spot he did still makes me laugh.

Despite how hard we deny it, we're all standing on the tracks, and the age train's a comin'. And there are only two choices: board it gracefully, or hop on kicking and screaming. But either way, we're all going for the ride.

A while ago I started making this noise when I got out of my soft, comfy, low-to-the-ground reading chair. Then I realized it was my father's noise. My knees hurt every now and again (it's what kept me out of the 400-meter in Beijing in '08). And my eyesight, which is already corrected with progressive lens that bend walls if you look through them, is getting worse even as you read this.

And, as topping on the cake, I have gray hair. But my dad went gray when he was twenty-five years old, so I never stood a chance. There was this one time a bald colleague of mine started making fun of my gray hair, to which I replied, "You really want to get in a conversation about hair?" That felt good.

While father time waves his wand over all of us, it must be particularly hard on people like Reynolds who've been in the public eye since they were young. There's the line Julia Roberts says in Notting Hill about "becoming some sad, middle-aged woman who looks like somebody who was famous for awhile."

When Burt Reynolds was starting out, his calling card was the fact he looked like a double for Marlon Brando. It was a mixed blessing - it got him jobs and it cost him jobs. But the ones he got, he delivered on.

What with his marriage to and divorce from Loni Anderson, all the bad Smokey movies and the Playgirl centerfold it's understandable that sometimes people dismiss Reynolds' talent.

But then you have to take a minute and think about his performances in Deliverance, The Man Who Loved Cat Dancing, The Longest Yard, Starting Over, Sharky's Machine, Boogie Nights and The Player. Roles that betray his Brando wanna-be, pretty boy reputation.

Burt Reynolds has had several health problems over the years, including the one he's facing now: old age. In our youth driven time, it makes me sad an actor who's been so popular and entertained so many has to endure the speculation, lies and insults of a tabloid culture where vultures are swooping in literally even before the body's cold.

Someday, the paparazzi and hacks who've hounded him for years will be old and frail themselves. And I promise you one of the stories they'll spin over and over, because they can't remember they just told it ten minutes ago, is the one about the time they met Burt Reynolds.

The pleasure that is Platt

There's an entire class of actors I feel are underrated. They're usually something more than character actors, yet somewhat less than lead actors.

It's in this sweet spot that Oliver Platt lives. He's been one of my favorites for years.

Whether it's White House lead counsel in The West Wing, Warren Beatty's nervous, cocaine-fueled campaign manager in Bulworth, acidic restaurant critic Ramsey Michel in last year's Chef or Cameron's gay bowling adversary on last night's Modern Family, Platt's characters are fully realized, unique and completely organic. He couldn't make a false move if he tried.

Full disclosure: years ago I started writing a television show for Platt before my complete lack of discipline did me in. Again. I'm working on it, okay? Back off.

Anyway, it was about two lawyers who were also brothers. One went to prestigious Harvard law school, and the other went to the Saul Goodman law school in Samoa. Through a series of events, they wind up in practice together, and the néer-do-well brother winds up teaching his Harvard grad broheim a thing or two about the real meaning of the law.

Along the way, hilarity ensues.

Like so many other projects of mine languishing in a drawer or on a disc somewhere, I never finished writing it. But each time I see Oliver Platt onscreen, my muse is rekindled and I start thinking about maybe easing into working on it again.

He deserves a great show of his own, and I'd like to be the one to create it for him.

Like Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Gene Hackman, John Cazale, Jon Polito, Michael McKean and a dozen more, Oliver Platt's presence in a project elevates it far beyond where it would've been without him.

Of course now that I've spilled the beans on the lawyer/brother idea, I'll have to come up with something else.

I'll do my best to make it worthy of him.

Honey I love my kids

There's a very small club of actors I'm genuinely happy to see on screen, regardless of what movie they're in. But one who always brings, and brought, a smile to my face was Rick Moranis.

For decades, Moranis was the go to nerd, the nebbish with glasses who stole your heart and split your sides. His characters, cartoony sometimes, had depth. Not only did I feel for them, I rooted for them.

Which leads me to the question: where's he been the last twenty or so years? Come to find out he's been staying true to himself, and earning my respect in a way few people can.

In February 1991, Moranis lost his wife Ann Belsky to breast cancer. They had two small children, and Moranis made the unofficial decision to walk away from Hollywood and raise his kids. It became official in 1997. He was done.

In the few rare interviews he's given since, he says he doesn't miss it. He's always surprised when people are so shocked at what they think he gave up. But the truth was he had very little control over the material he was doing - especially the Honey I Shrunk The Kids franchise. For a comedy writer, it wasn't a good situation.

Here's what he had to say about it:

“Stuff happens to people everyday, and they make adjustments to their lives for all kinds of reasons. There was nothing unusual about what happened or what I did, I think the reason that people were intrigued by the decisions I was making and sometimes seem to have almost admiration for it had less to do with the fact that I was doing what I was doing and more to do with what they thought I was walking away from, as if what I was walking away from had far greater value than anything else that one might have. The decision in my case to become a stay-at-home-Dad, which people do all the time, I guess wouldn’t have meant as much to people if I had had a very simple kind of make-a-living existence and decided I needed to spend more time at home. Nobody would pay attention to it, but because I came from celebrity and fame and what was the peak of a career, that was intriguing to people. To me, it wasn’t that. I didn’t have anything to do with that. It was work, and it was just time to make an adjustment.”

In the past few years, since his kids are grown now, Moranis has gotten his feet wet again, doing a little voice over work in cartoons and recording a record album. It was all done close to home, and sadly doesn't signal a return to movie roles.

I won't run down his list of credits. You can see them all on his IMDB page. But I will say that when one of his films comes on TV, it does make me miss the Keymaster, Seymour Krelborn, Bob McKenzie and Dark Helmet.

But fortunately, they're all still alive and well and right where I last left them on Netflix, cable and DVD. They'll always be around whenever I want them.

Just like Rick Moranis was for his kids.

Your outside voice

I recently wrote a post that dealt with a kind of phone I thought had disappeared but hadn't. Today's post is about a phone I know has been vanishing for some time now.

That urban American cultural icon, and improvised Superman dressing room, the pay phone.

Not a surprise really. With the proliferation of cell phones, the pay phone and phone booth were on borrowed time.

I always felt there was a class system when it came to pay phones. There were the thick wooden phone booths, like the ones you can still find at Philippe's downtown, or Musso's in Hollywood. Then there were the metal ones, filled with graffiti and wreaking of urine, that you'd find on the corner of every gas station.

There are any number of movies where someone is on the pay phone, in a phone booth, at night, in the rain. The romance of those shots rarely matched the reality of trying to hold the receiver a few inches away from your face in case some of the nastier germs decided to make the leap.

Despite the inherent risk of using them, I miss pay phones. Not half-booth ones like above that got such a huge laugh in Superman II, but real ones.

When I'm at a place like the restaurants I named, I make it a point to call someone. I love the feeling of ducking into the booth, closing the door and shutting out the world.

Barring finding out I actually came from another planet, which many people I work with believe, the phone booth is probably as close to being Superman as I'm going to get.

The romance of the phone booth was also captured in the song Operator by Jim Croce. In it, he has a conversation with a pay phone operator, asking her to connect him to a lost love. It's a song I always loved, maybe because it reminds me of nights before cell phones, when I was on a pay phone trying to get back together with someone.

Or maybe I'm just a sap. It could be that too.

A post to relish

For me, one of the great joys in life, besides air conditioning and Mexican Coke in the large bottles, is having a movie theater hot dog.

Now however bad you think regular hot dogs are - and they are very bad - movie hot dogs are even lower on the hot dog food chain.

If you google what's in a hot dog, you'll see a lot of extremely unappetizing words like beef trimmings, extruding, flavor additives. And my favorite, non-food particles.

None of that matters much when I'm shelling out $4.75 for a movie hot dog. However bad it is, I usually smother it with mustard and relish anyway.

But lately I've noticed a disturbing trend. The big chains like AMC and Edwards have switched from the Heinz brand name condiments to these generic ones, imaginatively named Sweet Relish and Yellow Mustard. This is a bad thing. Mainly because the only thing of quality on a movie hot dog were the condiments.

I understand it's a cost-cutting measure for the theaters. One cost they're not cutting - and I know you'll be as shocked as I am - is the price of the hot dog. For that price, I want the brand name goods to smother the meat batter (another term you'll see) flavor that's waiting in the bun.

I think it's time to start a movement. And not just the one you have after eating a movie hot dog. I think it's time to rise up, not go gently into that good night, well, dark theater, without letting the 16-year old theater manager know that if you're going to pay 400 times what the hot dog cost them, at least you want quality toppings for it.

I was also thinking cardboard would be a step up from the usual movie theater hot dog bun. Don't get me started.

Poster child

A couple days ago, my screenwriter friend Cameron Young put up a Facebook post about a great tagline he'd seen for CrossFit training (the line was "It's awful").

Since Cameron writes movies, it got me thinking about the delicate art of movie tag lines. The ones you see on one-sheets that sum up the essence of the picture in a few well-chosen words. Having worked at an entertainment agency where I had to do just that, I appreciate how difficult it really is.

One I wrote that I liked was for the Nic Cage movie Snake Eyes that took place in Atlantic City. The line was "All bets are off." It's not the line they finally went with. What're you gonna do?

Anyway, I know whenever anyone opens the discussion of movie posters, the one for the original Alien showing the egg with the line "In space no one can hear you scream." is always a top contender. No argument here, it's definitely one of the greats. Yet for me, it's the equivalent of hearing a joke, and instead of laughing, nodding my head and saying, "Oh, that's very funny." I appreciate the cleverness and eeriness of it, but it just doesn't get me on a gut level like some others do.

I usually find myself gravitating to the funny, punny and plain stupid. So here are a few lines I had a laugh out loud reaction to (as I did the CrossFit line).

I'd also like to know which movie poster lines you, dear reader, think are funny, clever or just get to you in some way. Leave them in the comments, and I'll do another post with the ones that get the most votes.

For me, funny lines make me feel good. Which makes me feel good about the movie. Then the movie makes me feel good. It's the marketing circle of life.

Trigger happy

Back in the day, before I could roll out of bed and be at Jet Blue, when I wanted to go to Vegas - and it was fairly often - I'd just hop on the 15, crank up Springsteen, put my lead-lined shoe on the gas and go.

But before I stopped for a Quarter Pounder at the water tower McDonald's in Barstow, and before I pulled over to buy a lotto ticket at the Country Store in Baker, I'd drive past Apple Valley, the small town just after Victorville in the high desert.

Home of the Roy Rogers Museum.

Thanks to the giant statue of Roy's golden palomino Trigger on the roof of the museum, you could see it from the freeway. Every time I went screaming past it I always thought someday I should make some time and stop in there. Not exactly a bucket list item, but more to satisfy my curiosity about exactly what good 'ole Roy had that could fill a museum.

When I was growing up, Roy Rogers was the King of the Cowboys, starring in many musical westerns. Co-starring in all of them was his trusty horse Trigger. Famously, the big draw at the museum was the fact that when Trigger died, Roy had him stuffed. He was now living at the museum, posed rearing up, just like he used to do in the movies and on Roy Rogers television show.

It could've gone worse for Trigger. At one point, Roy Rogers had a chain of roast beef restaurants.

Finally, on one of my Vegas runs, I stopped in the museum. Though it'd been open a couple hours by the time I got there, I was literally the only person in the place.

I came to two conclusions right off the bat: first, Roy and Dale Rogers were hoarders. And second, seeing Trigger stuffed and posed like that was more sad than anything else. It wasn't so much a museum as a garage packed with souvenirs from a lifetime in cowboy show biz.

Like seeing Elvis at the International Hotel in Vegas, hearing Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. at the Greek Theater, and meeting Groucho Marx, I can now wear the badge and say I've seen Trigger in his eternity pose.

Given the low attendance at the museum, probably due to the fact there weren't that many hardcore Roy Rogers fans still walking the earth (at least they weren't stuffed and posed), the museum closed. It moved to Branson, Missouri for a bit, but it eventually closed there too.

Trigger still lives on however, although now it's in the lobby of RFD-TV in Omaha, Nebraska. When the museum closed, he was auctioned off to the station for $266,000, along with Roy's dog Bullet who went for $35,000.

Just like my childhood, Roy and Dale are long gone now. But they're a fond memory from that time, even if their museum wasn't the thrilling experience I'd hoped it would be.

Still, I like thinking that wherever they are, they're still singing', ridin', roping' and wearing the white hats.

Happy trails Roy.