COVID the musical

My close personal friend and RoundSeventeen raconteur Rich Siegel is currently on the uphill side of his first case of covid. He writes about it here.

Which got me thinking (eventually something had to), now that the world has emerged, relatively, from the wrath of covids' heyday, it’s time to look at what we’ve been through in a different light. Many articles have been written about the pandemic, and with each new variant that rears its ugly head, every winter surge and every new booster shot comes an entirely new crop of articles.

I wanted to take a different approach. Instead of dry, medical journal ramblings, I feel the world is finally in a good place, done blowing their nose and ready to tap their toes. So, with that in mind, I’m happy to announce rehearsals will be starting soon for Broadway’s next theater event of the season: Covid Tonight!

You’re in your seat, the houselights go down, the curtain comes up. Spotlights hit the stage as singers belt out the opening number.

Did you hear? Did you hear? It’s getting very near.
Before you can say “vaccination” it’ll already be here
Did you hear? Did you hear? There’s nothing to really fear
The president said it’ll just go away, it’ll just disappear!

Well, we all know how Cadet Bone Spurs prediction worked out. But I digress. Like any great show about a deadly disease, Covid Tonight! will have something for everyone. There’ll be a lot of show-stopping numbers as we travel back down covid memory lane. Like this slow, poignant number speaking to the cure that was in front of us all along.

It’s the guest no one wants, it’s the gift to be returned
It’s the illness that haunts, it’s a cause for great concern
And if you can’t escape it, and at the door it knocks
The cure is already in your laundry room, in a bottle called Clorox

Ah, the good old days when IQ45 told us all we needed to do was pump some bleach into our veins to kill the covid virus. If only he'd taken the lead and shown us how.

As all shows do, the curtain must fall on Covid Tonight! Will it end on a happy note? A caustic warning? An optimistic view of the viral future?

Now the virus has seemingly run its course, at least its that way for now
And Pfizer and Moderna have turned it into a cash cow
We're happy that it's rarer these day, in fact let's raise a cup
But before we celebrate too much let's remember to mask up.

T-shirts, hats and soundtrack CDs are available in the lobby.

Goodbye Blaine

I got some sad news over the weekend. My friend Blaine Lifton died.

I met Blaine many years ago when he was on staff and I was freelancing at DJMC, a retail ad agency in downtown Los Angeles. My art director, the late, great Jim Benedict and I shared an office, and Blaine and his partner shared the office next to us. Thanks to Blaine, it was a great neighborhood to work in.

Blaine was always the person we’d bounce ideas off of. He understood humor as few did—not to mention the ins and outs of the highly-charged agency politics and relationships—and always had a positive energy that lifted everyone he came in contact with.

My permalancer situation ended after a couple years, and unfortunately I lost touch with Blaine. But in one of the very few good things about Facebook, we managed to reconnect years later and remained in touch.

When I went to New York to see Springsteen On Broadway (I know, I’m as surprised as you are), Blaine was the person I saw it with. First we had a long, catching up dinner at Juniors Deli in the theater district, and then we walked to the theater and saw the Boss.

For you fellow Bruce tramps, you’ll appreciate this fact: we sat in row E.

Afterwards, Blaine and I waited with the other fans outside for Bruce to walk from the Walter Kerr Theater stage door to his limo, and then just stood on the sidewalk for an hour talking about the show we’d just seen.

In the years since, Blaine tried a few times to hire me freelance at his New York agency Hyperbolus, but the timing and my availablilty just never worked out. Or maybe it was my day rate. Sometimes it's hard to tell.

Our mutual friend Gina and I spoke in November, and she let me know Blaine was battling colon cancer, and that it had been discovered very late stage. As chemo does, it wiped out his immune system. He caught covid, and passed away last Thursday.

There are certain people that are lights in our lives, and you pick up right where you left off even if it’s been years since you’ve seen them. And they continue to bring smiles to your face every time they visit your thoughts. Blaine is one of them.

God bless you friend. I'm grateful for our reunion and the all too little time we had. Peace on your journey.

Now I don't know how I feel, I don't know how I feel tonight

If I've fallen 'neath the wheel, if I've lost or I've gained sight

I don't even know why, I don't know why I made this call

Or if any of this matters anymore after all

But the stars are burnin’ bright like some mystery uncovered

I’ll keep movin’ through the dark with you in my heart, my blood brother

- Bruce Springsteen

Taking a stand

I've been a season subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater for many, many years. Before that, for over ten years I had fourth-row center season seats at the late, great Shubert Theater in Century City. I tried on the Pantages for a few seasons, and I took a couple seasons of the Geffen for a spin when I lived in Santa Monica.

There's a phenomenon I've noticed increasingly over the years, and while it happens in New York too, it seems particularly native to Los Angeles. After every performance, regardless of whether it merits it or not, the audience rewards the cast with a standing ovation. Instead of standing because a play has been filled with brilliant performances that moved you, or were cast with the perfect actors to play the roles, sometimes it feels like standing ovations have become the theater equivalent of participation trophies.

Now you might think you're way ahead of me here—and God knows it doesn't take much—in thinking I'm against the practice. The fact is I'm not.

Here's the thing: I was a theater arts major, and no one appreciates the blood, sweat and tears that go into getting a production off the ground more than I do. And while I realize not every play and performance is worthy of a standing ovation, I believe every performer is.

Actors aren't responsible for the material they're given. Their job is to commit to it, and bring the characters to life as best they can. For all the talk about what an easy job it is, it's incredibly difficult, and they don't always succeed. Remember the last time you tried to convince someone of something?

Admittedly sometimes it's gotten to the point where it feels like the seats are spring loaded. It'd be easy to think doing it for every play across the board cheapens the currency of genuine appreciation for the craft. But the thing about actors is they know in real time if something is working or not. They sense the room tone, they hear the feedback and they see the faces looking back at them. Yet even when it's going south, they're giving it their all.

If I'm being honest, and really, where's the percentage in that, I've given standing ovations to more productions that didn't deserve it than I care to admit. I also tip more than I should for mediocre service at restaurants, clean up for the housekeeper and rinse dishes before I put them in the dishwasher. I may have deeper issues, but that's not the point.

The truth is when the curtain comes down and the cast comes out, I want them to know I appreciate the effort they've made in the name of entertaining me.

That's what I stand for.

Don't ask: Taking the middle seat

In my ongoing Don't Ask series I've covered such hot-button issues as moving, watching your stuff, sharing a hotel room and loaning you money to name a few. In tonight's installment, I tackle a topic that makes me very uncomfortable. The middle seat.

The middle is a place I've never cared for much. Middle management. Middle America. Middle earth. Middle of the road. Thanks, but no (being a night owl, I don't mind the middle of the night, but we're going to table that for the purposes of this post).

Let's start at the movies. When I go with friends, often they like to sit dead center in the theater. Alledgedly the picture and sound are calibrated for the optimum movie-going experience in those seats. You know who doesn't have the optimum experience sitting there? Me. My comfort zone is on the aisle—right or left, center or side. Doesn't matter. I've been going to movies my whole life, and I don't feel like I've missed much by sitting on the aisle.

There's a method to my no-center-seat madness. For starters, I'm a not a small guy. I'm built for comfort, not for speed—at least that's what I used to tell my high school girlfriend. I don't like feeling crowded.

I also have the bladder of a three-year old. At some point he'll want it back, but until then I'm using it (I'll be here all week). Because of that inconvenient truth, I don't like having to crawl over strangers in the dark, potentially stepping on their toes or knocking over their stupid bag of popcorn that should've been in their lap instead of on the floor. But can I tell them that? I can't, because there's no talking during the movie. And besides, I don't have time to chat. I need to get to the bathroom.

The other place you'll never find me in the middle seat is on an airplane.

Being the pampered poodle I am, it's always my preference to fly in the front of the plane, where middle seats are imaginary, non-existent things like unicorns or responsible Republicans. People always ask me, "Isn't it really expensive to fly in the front of the plane?" I always give them the same answer: that's what the college fund is for.

But on those occasions where I do find myself in a three-seat row on the plane, my seat choice happens in this order: window, aisle or window or aisle in another row.

I don't fly in the middle seat. Ever. Not to sound mean, but I'm not switching to the middle so you can be closer to your wife who's sitting behind us. Or so you can put a little distance between you and your screaming baby. Not because you're scared of flying and my window/aisle seat would make it easier.

I used to be scared of flying, and look how good I am at it now. Know what helped me get over it? Not flying in the middle seat.

If you somehow find yourself traveling with me, or going to the movies, I promise we'll have a good time. But make sure you set your expectations ahead of time, because when it comes to where I'm sitting, there's no middle ground.

So don't ask.

Start spreading the news

Even though you could probably guess, I'll say it anyway—I love New York. It's the best city in the world, and it vibrates with talent, creativity and possibilities.

As a theater arts major, the fact there's a city where I can go to a Broadway play or two every day is a little bit of heaven on earth for me. I'm always looking for reasons to hop a plane and go there. Fortunately, over the past few years, I've had a couple very good reasons to visit.

The first was to see my friend Holland Taylor perform at the Vivian Beaumont Theater at Lincoln Center in ANN, the play she wrote and starred in about former Texas governor Ann Richards. It was a master class in acting watching Holland literally inhabit the spirt of Ann Richards.

Now you say, "Oh sure, of course he'd say that. He knows her." Just to be clear, she received a Tony nomination for Best Performance By A Leading Actress In A Play for her performance, so apparently I wasn't alone in my thinking.

This past April, the family and I hopped a plane to NY to see Hamilton. We'd had the tickets for a year, and even though it was coming to Los Angeles, we wanted to see it on Broadway. It's one of those rare plays that transcends the massive hype around it—for all you've heard, it's even better than that.

This October, I have yet another reason to head east. I don't know if you know this, but there's this singer from New Jersey I like quite a bit. Come to find out he's doing an 8-week residency on Broadway at the Walter Kerr Theater. It will be a night of stories, music, with just him, the guitar and piano. It's a 946-seat theater, the smallest venue Bruce has played in 35 years. And I'm going to guess at that size, there are no bad seats.

For as hard as it is to get tickets to a regular Springsteen concert, I'm going to wish it was that easy come August 30th when they go on sale. I've already seen one estimate that said it'll sell out in 45 seconds.

While Bruce has never done a show this intimate, I imagine it will look and sound a little something along these lines, minus the farm:

I'm going to say my prayers, keep my fingers crossed, live right, and be nice to everyone I know in New York and just hope I can see this once-in-a-lifetime Springsteen show. I know, I can hear you saying, "Geez, hasn't he been to a billion Springsteen shows? When's it going to be enough?"

That's easy. Never.

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.

A great Dame

Years ago, there was a Shubert Theater in Century City where the CAA mothership is now. The wife and I had been early season subscribers, and as a result for years enjoyed two fourth-row center seats to every production and concert that appeared there. And because we had such great seats, that we were never going to let go, we saw them all.

During the 2001 Shubert season, which included Mama Mia!, we also had tickets to another show: Dame Edna, the Royal Tour. At the time I had no idea who she was, but our seats were great and we were going.

Here are the things I remember. She brought two people out of the audience who hadn't had dinner, and had them sit at a table onstage. Then she brought out a phone and called Harry's Bar, which was downstairs from the theater, and ordered them dinner. When the dinner arrived, she served it to them, and they watched the rest of the show while eating dinner at their table on the side of the stage. Every once in awhile, she would ask them questions or talk to them.

It was a very interactive show, with Dame Edna talking to several people, including us, who were sitting up front. She asked one couple about their children, who weren't there, and who was taking care of them. Then she called their babysitter, and started quizzing her on how she was handling the children.

I realize I'm not even close to doing her justice describing what her show is like, but it's difficult to explain exactly what she does. Part satire, part improv, part slapstick, part social commentary, the only way to experience Dame Edna is to be one of her "possums," her affectionate name for her audience. This clip will give you a better idea than I can:

The character of Dame Edna is the creation of the brilliant Australian comedian Barry Humphries. He's almost 81 years old now, so this Farewell Tour may actually be just that. All the more reason if you can get a ticket, do it.

The other thing I distinctly remember is I have never laughed so hard in my life. I was crying, and my sides were literally aching. I instantly became a Dame Edna fan, and promised myself I'd see her every time she came to L.A. It's a promise I've made good on.

So a week from Friday, the wife and I are taking the kids to the Ahmanson, and we're going to see her Farewell Tour. I can't wait. I know it'll be a great evening start to finish, when she tosses her beloved gladiolas out to her possums.

And of course, I'm hoping the "farewell" part is the biggest joke of the evening.

In the midnight hour

There was a time, back in the day, when midnight shows were special. Not just the time slot, but the films themselves. It was the witching hour, a twilight time reserved for something you couldn't get during the day. Something that would scare you. Make you think. Make you laugh. Or, in the case of Pink Flamingos, completely gross you out.

Long before the word interactive applied to a screen, it applied to a bigger screen. The midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show were the first genuine interactive movie theater experience.

People would come to the theater dressed in costume, yell back lines at the screen and act out scenes in the aisles. During the wedding scene, the audience threw rice at the screen. When they proposed a toast, the audience threw toast. During the storm, they sprayed water in the theater.

If you've never seen the movie, it stars a very young Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon. Tim Curry, in the role that made him, plays Dr. Frank N. Furter. He's the one in fishnets.

Sadly, today the studios have turned the midnight show into a money-making time slot the night before the official opening of a movie. Any and every movie. It bumps up the box office, and lets them brag about it in bigger type Monday morning.

But if you can find a midnight show of Rocky Horror - and there are still a few - it's an interactive experience you'll never forget.

And if you don't know the Time Warp, it's just a jump to the left, and then a step to the r-i-i-i-i-ght.

It's showtime. Almost.

This is going to seem hard to believe, but unlike fairy tales and stories about unicorns, leprechauns, insightful account planners and consumer engagement, this one is absolutely true.

Once upon a time, people used to go to movie theaters and, not including movie trailers, there were no commercials or advertising before the movie. None. Zilch.

Then, someone at the L.A. Times had an idea about how the paper could get into the movie business. They decided they’d give a discount on media placement for theater listings to the theater chains if they’d run an L.A. Times commercial before the movies started.

It was a great deal for the Times. Captive audience, big screen and a theater extortion plan they knew the chains would go for.

When these commercials started appearing years ago, it didn’t matter if you were seeing a movie at the Village in Westwood or the Gardena Cinema. They were unanimously and loudly booed. People threw popcorn at the screen. The audience could get commercials at home on their televisions. It wasn’t what they were coming to the movies for. They hated it and they weren't going to sit for it.

Except that they have.

Fast forward to today. Since no one looks in the newspaper for show times anymore, the L.A. Times commercials are a quaint memory (and the paper might soon be as well). But what’s taken its place are theater owners who’ve co-opted the idea to generate revenue for themselves.

You know those pre-show, pre-packaged group of ads, shorts, trailers and interviews you see before movies? The ones that are usually bundled as First Look or The Twenty (short for the 20 minutes prior to showtime)? Yes it's paid advertising. But it's the theaters themselves who are bringing it to you.

The three major chains - Regal, AMC and Cinemark - have together formed National CineMedia(NCM) to show preshow ads in their theaters. Here's an idea how much they're making off it:

And you thought all their profit was coming from $4.75 cups of Coke.

It's actually amazing they manage to have the ad sales they do. Here's the pitch from their website:

If by fully engaged audience they mean a theater full of people talking, checking their phones, texting, playing games, looking for seats, at the concession stand buying $5.75 buckets of popcorn, then yes, they're fully engaged.

Fully engaged isn't the only promise they make that they aren't keeping.

Did you see it? It's the part at the end about loving the brand? I'm pretty sure being shown commercials in a theater has just the opposite effect. It's one thing when you see a bad commercial on television. But when you see one (or the same one) on a 60-ft. screen in 70mm with Dolby sound, the badness just scales up. So does the resentment. Even if it's a good spot, it's holding you captive before your movie.

There are two problems here. First, as always, is the money. Like the fees the airlines charge for what once was free, the theaters are making way too much from these commercials to get rid of them. And second is a passive audience who has just come to accept the first fact.

I usually like a theater as quiet as possible.

But I do miss the booing I used to hear the minute the commercial started playing.

Rate of exchange

If you've followed this blog at all - and really, don't you have better things to do - you know that I've written here about the pure extortion the Ahmanson Theater practices if you want to upgrade season tickets.

Yes, I understand this is a terribly first world problem to have.

Anyway, the wife and I were supposed to go see Backbeat there yesterday. But as so often happens, once we actually looked at our calendar, we had a divide and conquer day which would leave both us getting home around five and in a state of complete exhaustion.

Once we realized this, we also realized we'd better exchange the tickets. As Ahmanson season subscribers, we have that benefit as well as the convenience of doing it online, as opposed to having to drive up to the box office and do it in person.

Their website not only lets you see available dates and select seats, it shows you the view from those seats. I wound up with center orchestra seats that are 10 rows closer to the stage. And they only cost $10 each more to upgrade from where our season seats are.

In my other Ahmanson post, I mentioned we donated $600 once and didn't get an inch closer to the stage.

So here's how the math works out: for four shows, if we're able to upgrade at least 5 rows for an average of $10 a ticket, it would cost us $80. Much better, and much less than any donation we'd have to be robbed of before they'd consider moving us closer.

Getting good seats at the Ahmanson has always been filled with intrigue, double-crosses, jealousy and greed. After all, it is the theater.

And where I used to have two words for the Ahmanson management that made it so hard to improve our seats after being subscribers for over a decade, after discovering this little loophole in their rules about upgrading I only have one.

Bravo.

Unmistakably extortion

I'm going to tell you the truth: it's not cheap being me. One of the reasons is that being a theater arts major (Really? Which restaurant?), and a lover of the thee-a-tah, I like going to plays. Not that I don't get enough drama in my real life. I work in advertising. I'm used to farce on a grand scale.

For me the stage holds a particular magic not found anywhere else.

Here's the other thing: I'm at a point in my life where, not only am I not willing to sit in the fourth balcony, I also won't beg, borrow, steal, wait, connive, cajole, call in favors and con people to get good seats.

I save that for Springsteen concerts.

Instead, I pony up the bucks and subscribe.

Now the alleged benefit of subscribing is you get better seats than the general public, and enjoy the same ones for each production. The most positive experience I've ever had with a subscription was the Shubert Theater in Century City. It's long gone, and in its place sits the Death Star (CAA). What the Shubert subscription gave me was killer seats - fourth row, dead center. Every season, every production.

When the Shubert went away, I became a subscriber to the Ahmanson Theater. I've been a subscriber over 10 years, and that entire time these have been my seats.

Fortunately the Ahmanson isn't a ginormous theater, so these are reasonably good.

However, each and every time we see a production there, I can't help noticing there are 17 rows in front of us, each one closer to the stage than we are.

But the Ahmanson wants to keep their subscribers happy.

So they enclose this form with the season subscription renewal that lets you check a box if you want to improve your seats by moving them closer to the front and center.

We've checked these boxes every year for ten years.

Guess where our seats are?

Really, who do you have to upstage around here to get better seats at this place?

I decided to read through the renewal package a bit more thoroughly. I thought somewhere inside there it might tell me how, after subscribing for 10 years (did I mention that?), I could guarantee myself better seats.

Well, of course it did. I just hadn't seen it before. Switch on the light bulb and cue the choir. Suddenly, it was all so very clear to me when I came upon this cheerily written yet profoundly disheartening little paragraph:

See the problem?

I thought by being a loyal subscriber for over a decade, at some point that loyalty would be rewarded with better seats. Come to find out that's not the way it works. Says right there in black and white you have to become a "donor" to get put on the "fast track" for better seats. It kind of begs the question: how much do you have to donate?

One year, we decided to test the waters and donated a tax-deductible $600 to see what that did for us.

Guess where our seats are?

Luckily, the Ahmanson provides a valuable service for its current and future subscribers. Instead of taking up valuable time making up your mind whether you want to donate and how much, they conveniently suggest a donation when you renew your subscription.

They even have a little box you check to show your desire to "support the theatre I love."

Funny, I thought that's what I've been doing for the last decade by subscribing.

And since I know $600 doesn't buy better seats, what exactly does their suggestion of $265 do besides prime the pump to get you in the habit of handing them money season after season.

Actually, if I'm going to be honest, the $600 we donated did buy us one thing: unrelenting calls for months on end at dinner time and weekends, sometimes three and four a week, asking us to donate more.

Thank God for caller I.D.

If the Ahmanson ever has a production where an actor has to portray a character who'd just as soon rob you than look at you, I know a great place they can research the part.

The subscription office.