Yesterday, O.J. Simpson died, and it was covered widely across the news. As I've mentioned here, I worked on the Naked Gun movies, in which he appeared, so I figured I should write something . Though I wasn't terribly anxious to. That's because they were among the most joyous work experiences I've ever had, and some of my fondest memories. (As I've noted previously, they even stuck me in couple of the films as butts of jokes.) And the trial and whole situation just sucked the joy out of that. It became so difficult to watch those movies for me, and even think about the work. Enough time has passed, so that the situation isn't as bad as all that any more -- but it's still achingly sad. And I'm not even remotely involved in what actually is sad about it, just tangentially from afar.
However, I did write about the subject a least somewhat here a decade ago when the mini-series The People vs. O.J. Simpson was on TV. I didn't have any interest in watching it, though did decide to add some thoughts. And I figured I could just repost much of what I wrote back then, with a few tweaks and minor additions, rather than go through it all again. As I wrote -- when the real court trial was on, and so many people in the country were mesmerized by it all, the public glued in front of the TV, and it was the Conversation Topic of the Day for months, I just didn't watch any of it either. Maybe a couple minutes total, but that's all. I didn't watch the "Dancing Ito" sketches on The Tonight Show with Jay Leno. There was absolutely nothing "fun" about it for me. It was just so profoundly sad on every conceivable level. In no way is my reaction meant as "O woe is me." Not even remotely. I'm a far-distant bystander. My point is merely how deep the tragedy went. And how much it impacted, beyond the attention-grabbing value, beyond what is so obvious and so gut-wrenching to those who it actually, literally pummeled . During the whole period, people would ask me, "You worked with O.J., do you think he did it?" I could only stare at them and say that I had no earthly idea. I got along fine with him, he wasn't someone I'd want to become friends with because he was involved in so many projects, always busy flying around, and somewhat distant, but, no, he didn't strike me as a mass mass murder. Did he do it? How on earth would I know? Beyond that, I really didn't talk about things connected to the trial. I, of course, crossed paths with O.J. a bit. It was part of the job, notably have to get information for the press kit I was writing. But I'm not sure he even knew my name. I think it was something like, "Hey, man." Not because it was me, I don't think he bothered to learn pretty much anyone's name, other than those at the top. We only had two extended conversations: one in his trailer, dealing with the press kit, and one sitting on the set, which oddly dealt with his family. At one point, he brought up how his wife seemed to want to get together, but that wasn't anything he was interested in. Whether his story was true, I have no idea. But that was the conversation. It hasn't aged well with time. The only thing I ever really commented about the trial was my observation whenever I'd hear people debating O.J. Simpson's innocence or guilt, and there would be people almost gleefully proclaiming his innocence, based purely on the reputation of the Los Angeles police department and its poor history with racial matters. To be clear, my reaction wasn't about these people's opinion -- I completely understood it, and the gross unfairness of the judicial system and well-publicized transgressions of the L.A. police -- but it was their near-mirth and utter certainty defending him and hope that O.J. got off. My thought at such moments was always a simple question: "Would you feel the same if the person killed was your sister?" One day, I mentioned this to a friend of mine. A few weeks later, he called to tell me he had been with a crowd of people, all of who were "rooting" for O.J., certain he had been railroaded and hoped he was acquitted. He said that he brought up my question -- and it stopped the conversation cold. Absolute, total silence. The mirthful certainty, the aggressive desire for acquittal completely disappeared. Again, to reiterate, I have no idea if he was innocent or guilty, though I have my opinion. It's just that one's thought on the subject should be based on the facts, whether believing him innocent or guilty. Having said all this, there was one personal thing that did ever so lightly touch me and was such a shame. It's that I'd become friendly over the two movies with O.J.'s assistant, an absolutely lovely, wonderful lady. She'd been with him for many years, and was totally devoted to him and her job. I only heard her name mentioned a few times in the news, but I'm sure if I paid closer attention I'd have heard it more. Though she of course wasn't directly involved in the tragedy, I knew that her life was devastated, and what she'd seen as a lifetime career was over, and it was heart-breaking to me. I did try to reach out to her at one point, letting a little time pass into the case. But I never reached her -- I left a phone message of support, but I'm sure she stopped answering her phone, and I wouldn't be surprised if she even stopped listening to her messages. I miss being in touch with her. Really nice lady. There was also one big laugh that did come from it all. I was working on another movie with much of the same team that make the Naked Gun films when the verdict came down. As you might imagine, the production stopped as the announcement neared. And when "innocent" was announced...well, I'll just say that when you're sitting around comedy writers who know the people involved really well, the phrase "gallows humor" was never more apt. Also, I have kept the one "keepsake" I have of the time. During those days, O.J. was involved in many businesses, one of which is that he was on the board of directors for the company that made Swiss Army watches. He had one, and I commented how great I thought it was. He reached into his gym bag (and no, I doubt it's that one, I'm certain he had many), and he grabbed a box with a new watch, which he gave me. For all the connections the case holds in my mind, I've held on to the Swiss Army watch. I like it too much. And still use it on occasion. And as that watch ticks away, time passes. (Thus endeth the poetic portion of this article...) And I watch the movies, and enjoy them. And I enjoy thinking about the work and talking about it. But the films, while wonderfully funny, still aren't as innocently funny to me as once, and the memories still can't help have a shading. But happily, so many of those memories are great. So, while I did go on length here about the experience, I leave more detailed analysis of the crime and trial to others. Me, I'll stick with the movies.
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It's a DVR Day, it seems. This probably isn't for everybody, but for a personal reason I want to mention it, and for documentary film buffs, you'll definitely want to know about it. But even if you don't want to watch it, or only want to check it out for 20 minutes or so, there is a fascinating story about it being made. I got a PBS email the other day about a documentary that will be broadcast on PBS tonight (Friday), which caught my eye for a specific reason. It’s called Menus-Plaisirs – Les Troisgros. The documentary is about this famous family-run restaurant in France that has had three Michelin stars for 55 years. The reason it stood out for me is that Lest Troisgros was probably my parents’ favorite restaurant, and they would travel far out of their way to get there every year on trips to France for probably decades. They even became sort of “letter buddies” with the family. I absolutely know how they dearly would have loved to see this (and be thrilled it was even made). Though I then saw it’s running time. four hours! Putting aside how on earth could someone make a documentary about a restaurant that long, as much as I wanted to see it, that struck as too long for even my deep interest. But then I looked it up to see who made it. And this bowled me over even more. It's made by a man named Frederick Wiseman. That may mean nothing to most people, but it’s amazing to me for two reasons. The first is that he’s one of the most acclaimed documentary filmmakers ever. For perspective, in 2014, he was awarded the Golden Lion for Lifetime Achievement at the renowned Venice Film Festival. And in 2016, he got an Oscar from the Motion Picture Academy. He’s made 54 documentaries. And always used a special style, with no narrator, letting the action and reality tell the story. The first film of his I saw was Hospital 1970. His second film, Titicut Follies (made in 1967) was selected two years ago (in 2022) for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant". The point is he’s legendary. But still, I thought, how could this film be possible? It must be an old movie he made long ago that I never heard of. So, I looked him up -- and that’s the second point that amazed me. I was stunned to learn that Frederick Wiseman is not only still alive, but that in fact he did make this last year…when he was 93!! So, I definitely will watch. Probably not in one sitting. But that’s the good thing about being about to record a movie on the DVR. Without having seen it, the best I can offer for those uncertain about checking it out is that, for fans of the series The Bear, this is the real thing. At a very high end. Like the episode with 'Cousin' who briefly apprentices at a high-end restaurant and learns the importance of meticulous detail and caring. It airs on PBS in Los Angeles tonight (Friday), from 9pm to 1am. My guess is that's the time it airs in the East. In Chicago, it runs from 8pm to midnight. So thems who are interested can record it and watch at your leisure. After all, you can always record it, and watch the first half-hour and see if you want to keep watching… Given that the documentary is four hours, I can't imagine that a trailer will give much of a sense of the substance of the film. But this is a nice, four-minute featurette with Frederick Wiseman talking about how the documentary came to be, intercut throughout with scenes from the film. And what the heck, here's the trailer as a bonus -- or for those who'd rather watch it instead of the featurette. Clearly there's much more to the documentary than this hors d'ouevre, but this does show the craft. Set the DVR for Turner Classic Movies tonight if you haven't seen this movie -- or perhaps even if you have, but not for a long time since it first aired on television over 50 years ago. The movie is Duel -- and for some people, that's enough. For others who don't know it, this is one of the most acclaimed TV movies, not just for its quality, and not just for its technique, but also because it was the very first full-length movie directed by a young man who instantly became Someone to Keep an Eye On. That would be Steven Spielberg. The movie stars Dennis Weaver, who was a pretty solid TV name at the time. And it's written by Richard Matheson, based on his short story. (Among his many credits are the novel and screenplay for the film Somewhere in Time, and the famous Twilight Zone episode, "Nightmare at 20,000 Feet," where William Shatner thinks he sees a demon on the wing of the airline he's in.) But of course, it's Spielberg today who is the attention-getter. Duel is about road rage, inspired by a real-life experience that Matheson had. In the simplest terms, the plot is that Dennis Weaver accidentally annoys the driver of a semitrailer tanker, who takes it personally and chases after him through the Southern California Desert. But what makes the film so special and riveting is how it's told. There's almost no dialogue, and we never see the truck driver -- at most, just his feet and flashes of his body. As such, he becomes an almost mythic evil. We don't know why he has such fury at Weaver (nor does Weaver), he is unrelenting in his effort to run Weaver down, unconcerned with the threat to anyone who might get in the way, and as the riveting tension builds, and the pace and quick cuts intensify, Weaver is pushed to an almost primal state of fear and survival. The TV movie was so well-regarded that Universal released it theatrically in Europe, and even in limited run in the U.S. Because the TV version was 74 minutes, additional footage was shot to extend it to 90 minutes. From the timeslot that TCM has it in, I suspect this is the theatrical release. Duel airs tonight (Friday) on Turner Classic movies at 9 PM in Los Angeles, and midnight in the East. Probably 11 PM in the Midwest. This is the trailer. It doesn't do the movie justice -- though it does do a respectable job getting some of the idea across. The Kennedy Center Honors always seems to somewhat understandably have more of a difficult time putting on a big gala presentation for actors, and that’s the case here when Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward were jointly honored in 1992. In fact, there’s very little entertainment at all. BUT – there is a wonderful opening speech from Sally Field (who worked with both honorees) and a lovely (and at one point, hilarious) speech from, not shockingly, Robert Redford. And for what little entertainment there is, I’ll just say it’s a low-key wallop to tug at every heartstring. And leave it at that. The past few years, on the day of the Oscars, I wrote the following, about a quest I've been on. A long while back, I was on a mini-mission to get the Motion Picture Academy to open their Oscar broadcast with a particularly wonderful song that, though it had a bit of shelf-life in country music (reaching #10 on the country charts), I figured they wouldn't know. I actually came close -- not to accomplishing my task, but having access to making the suggestion -- when my former boss at Universal Studios, Bob Rehme, years later was made president of the Academy. Alas, I didn't have the contact information that would have helped and didn't make the effort -- which probably wouldn't have been too difficult, even it was before Google searches -- to track it down (hence never getting beyond being just a "mini-mission"). The idea time has long-since passed, since the group who sang the song, the Statler Brothers, have retired, and also some of the references in the song -- while many are still classic -- aren't all likely as impactful on today's audience. Still, it's a very fun song with clever, overlapping references (as best as I can quickly count) to 51 movies, as well as a jammed-in handful of actors and characters, and would make an enjoyable number in the middle of the broadcast, sung by a cobbled-together group of movie stars singing. And classic movies are just that – classic. (Hey, the Statlers themselves could even come out of retirement. They did briefly a few years back for an event when elected into a country music Hall of Fame). But no, it’s not likely to happen. But it doesn't stop me from at least presenting the song on the day of the Oscar broadcast. So, here it is -- one of the most affectionate and truly clever songs I've heard about movies. And it fits perfectly into the portfolio of "list" songs that the Statlers were so well-known for. Indeed, the name of the song is "The Movies." There's one change from the initial years. For a long time, when I've posted the song initially, it was a video with Jimmy Fortune who had replaced Lew DeWitt who'd had to retire for health reasons. But as I mentioned in 2021, I found a video with all four original Statlers, all the more notable since it was Lew DeWitt (on your far right, with the guitar and wearing tinted glasses) who wrote the song. And that’s the version I get to post now. Sometimes, you just need a break from the morass that is Trump World to recharge, and this seems a good palate cleanser. Many decades back, during what I call my “dark days,” I worked in movie publicity. At one point, I was the head publicity writer at Universal Pictures. It actually had some high points to it – like working on certain movies like E.T. and On Golden Pond and Sophie’s Choice. But one particularly leaps out among the rest. That’s when I attended the knighting ceremony for Alfred Hitchcock. Really. Well, sort of. But really. It was in January, 1980. Hitchcock had been knighted, but it was too difficult for him to get back to England for the official affair. Instead, they held an event at a screening room at the Universal studios, where he had his office. (After he passed away a few months later, his long-time secretary Sue Gauthier came to work in our department. I got to know her a bit, and it was a treat talking with her. She never gave interviews -- but I convinced her to do one with my childhood friend Patrick Goldstein who wrote for the L.A. Times, which she agreed to as long as I sat in on it. As far as I know, it was the only interview she ever did.) I don’t know if they had a full ceremony at Universal, or just held a press conference. My recollection is that they did have something official first, handled by either the British Ambassador or British Counsel, I forget, though I think the latter. However, it was held during working hours, and I couldn’t get away from the office. But as soon as my lunch break started, I raced over. (I’d asked others on staff if they wanted to join me, and was flabbergasted that no one wanted to. My God, this was the “knighting ceremony” of Alfred Hitchock! A four-minute walk away! How on earth could someone working at a movie studio not want to be there??) Whatever happened earlier, I got there for the Q&A. I was discussing this the other day with Greg VanBuskirk, and said that though I vividly remember the occasion, I only remember one specific thing from the event. Some reporter asked a bizarrely pathetic question -- "Sir Alfred, now that you've been knighted, do you think this will affect your relationship with your wife?" Yes, really. You could feel the entire room tense and some almost inaudible mumbles of "Yeeeesh" filled the air around me in the make. And most people were probably filled with the same thought: How in the world would he respond?? And then, after a moment, he said -- and please read this with the voice of Alfred Hitchcock in your mind -- "I certainly hope so." The room exploded with laughter. A short while later, Greg wrote back to me. He’s done some searching on YouTube and actually found a CBS news story of the knighting event – and it included footage of it. But better…no, make it “more amazing” than that – they actually had footage of that question and answer!! The one thing I’ve remembered and told as a fond memory for over 40 years. And next best of all is that it confirms my memory from four decades ago. I got it right. The only difference is that he doesn’t say “certainly.” Proof that I wasn’t lying. Vindication. They really, truly did hold the knighting event for Alfred Hitchcock on the Universal lot, and he really, honestly had that great response. (He also has another great response with a tremendous, quick-witted pun that most of the people in the room miss. It comes when he's asked what does a maker of mystery do when he's been made a "Sir"?) And with thanks to Dr. Buzz, here is the video. |
AuthorRobert J. Elisberg is a political commentator, screenwriter, novelist, tech writer and also some other things that I just tend to keep forgetting. Feedspot Badge of Honor
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