​A few years ago, my friend Vicki Riskin asked me to read the first draft of her new book that she'd just finished writing.  I said I was very happy too -- though in truth as happy as I was, I was also wary, almost terrified.  After all, while most writers say that they want your honest opinion, they don't.  What they want is to hear you say, "This is my absolute 100% honest opinion -- not since William Faulkner has literature moved me so much."

But this was more of a challenge.  Not only was it a book that Vicki was giving me, over 400 pages, not a screenplay that one can breeze though in a couple hours, but far, far, FAR more problematic is that it was a memoir about her parents.  If I didn't like -- no, if I didn't love -- the book, how on earth do you tell someone that their story about their parents isn't any good.

The added challenge here is that Vicki's parents were renowned.  Her father was screenwriter Robert Riskin, one of the founders of what is now the Writers Guild of America, as well as the long-time partner of director Frank Capra, and the Oscar-winning screenwriter for It Happened One Night (the first film to win Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Screenplay, Best Actor and Best Actress).  Robert Riskin was also the writer of Mr. Deeds Comes to Town, Meet John Doe, You Can't Take It With You, Lost Horizon, Lady for a Day (which was later remade by Capra, as well, as Pocketful of Miracles), and many, many more.  And he headed the U.S. government's Bureau of Motion Pictures during WWII. (I wrote about him in more detail here.)  And her mother was even more famous -- honest -- the actress Fay Wray, best-known, of course, for starring in King Kong, but also with a half-century-long career of making more than 100 films, and even wrote Broadway plays and books. And an autobiography with one of the best titles ever -- On the Other Hand.
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I knew that Vicki was an excellent writer.  She herself is a former president of the Writers Guild. And the writer and producer of numerous screenplays and TV movies.  (Not to mention a former practicing psychologist, an international board member for 12 years of Human Rights Watch, and recipient of the WGA's Valentine Davies Award for "bringing honor to writers everywhere.")  But writing a book is another matter entirely from a screenplay.  Especially one that's a memoir of your parents.

So, it was with great trepidation that I opened the fist page of that first draft with clenched fingers and clenched jaw.  And it's important that you know all this as I dive into my reaction to it all.

The book was tremendous.

I don't say this lightly.  Or as a friend of Vicki's.  I say it in relief. I was terrified about what to say if to her it wasn't any good. By page 30, I was overjoyed. By the end, I was sorry to see it over.  And I said this to her not to be nice, but knowing that if I'm not honest with the author when they've given me a draft to read for comments, I don't do them any good.  Worse, I'm doing them a disservice because they can't fix what needs work.  And I did give her  some comments about things I thought should be addressed.  But the overriding first comment was that she'd written an absolutely wonderful book.

And before I go any further, it's important for me to interrupt here to say that I'm not alone in thinking this, because after battling the hellish and uphill world of publishing, Vicki broke through the near-impenetrable walls and sold the book to Pantheon Books (part of Knopf Doubleday) and it's being released in just a few weeks, on February 26, 2019.  The title is Fay Wray and Robert Riskin: A Hollywood Memoir.  

But the main reason I loved the book is that it did in a memoir what I look for when reading biographies of any sort.  I tend to wade in very warily when I read biographies, most-especially celebrity biographies.  What I like in any memoir is not so much that it's just nice tales of famous people's lives, but that it's as much a history book of the times with "edges" and shadings that give context.  And to my great pleasure, this is that.  It is not a mere collection of stories by a loving daughter putting her family world in the most-shining light, but rather about the Depression, the Golden Age of Hollywood, world war, McCarthyism (with her father being a target, despite his work for the government's war effort) and more -- at the center of which are the two separate lives of the author's parents pushing through it all until they finally meet.  Fascinatingly, that meeting doesn't even come until the last third of the book, so it's like following a winding path of successes and major hurdles before simply getting to that point.
 
And its portrait of Hollywood is no snapshot thing, but encompassing since her mother's 57-year movie career began in the silent film era up to an acclaimed TV movie with Henry Fonda in 1980, the true-story Gideon's Trumpet (written in a nice bit of life's kismet by her son-in-law, and Vicki's husband, David Rintels).  And Vicki's father's career started with SIX movies in 1931 -- including the classic Platinum Blonde with Jean Harlow -- and continued through TV work in the mid-1950s, before his untimely death from a stroke.  And included his involvement with Frank Capra and also in the creation of the then-called Screen Writers Guild..

(Okay, here's another quote about the book, worth mentioning since it specifically is in regards to the Golden Age, from Kirk Douglas.  "I was always curious about life in Hollywood before I came here. I found out in this fascinating book. And wow! What a story it is!")

​And the thing is, the book doesn't just tell Hollywood Golden Age stories about her parents -- but from all manner of perspectives.  There is a long, detailed, fascinating diversion into the life history of Merian C. Cooper, who directed King Kong, that is as adventurous and odd as that famous movie itself.  And some of the best stories in the book have nothing to do with her parents at all, but are about that era in Hollywood.

(I'll digress a moment with my favorite story from the book about the screenwriter Jo Swerling who was one of Robert Riskin's closest friends -- and who with his wife Florence were godparents to Vicki. Swerling was a highly-accomplished writer whose many credits included It's a Wonderful Life, The Pride of the Yankees, and co-writer of the Broadway musical -- and its film adaptation -- Guys and Dolls.  Swerling was a no-nonsense fellow not easily pushed around and working at the time at Columbia Studios, run by the dictatorial and oppressive Harry Cohn.  One day Swerling's wife came to visit him at the studio.  She got flustered this day and rammed her car in the parking lot into Harry Cohn's very expensive Rolls Royce.  The tyrannical Cohn was furious and came storming into Jo Swerling's office.  "What the hell was your wife doing smashing into my car?!" he screamed.  Swerling calmly looked back and finally replied, "She probably thought you were in it.")

The book also includes my favorite "writer's story" that I'd read long before I even met Vicki (in fact, when I was still in college) and as it happens is attributed to her father.  Though Vicki knows the tale, she notes that she's never been able to verify whether it's true or apocryphal.  When Robert Riskin and Frank Capra teamed up on their series of classic movies, it was director Capra who got all the acclaim, known throughout the press and to movie audiences for his "Capra Touch."  Indeed, Capra was happy to push his prominence throughout his career, and when writing his autobiography called it The Name Above the Title.  One day, as the story goes, Robert Riskin came into Capra's office, dropped a ream of blank paper on the desk, pointed to it and supposedly said, to the eternal gratitude of screenwriters everywhere, "Let's see you give that the famous Capra Touch."

But more that wonderful stories like this, the book is about a much larger world that eventually brings these two, endearing people together.
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Helping too is that it's wonderfully written by a daughter who is herself a terrific, professional writer with great skill and insight.  The risk of all memoirs like this is that it will fall into adulation, and in fairness while there are a few times when the book does creep towards that, it consistently pulls itself away by adding context, further depth and then moves on.  I sense that's because (beyond being so well-written) underneath it all is the running theme that the best biographies have in making them not just specific on fascinating lives, but universal, asking who we are and how did we get here?  The book is a gem.

For those interested, you can pre-order it here.  And if you want to read more about the book, or people involved, or see more photos, this is the website for it all.

I tend to enjoy interviews that are given by Tony Schwartz, who ghost-wrote Trump's Art of the Deal, and provides great and detailed information about Trump.  And is mortified by his earlier participation.  This is another, very good one from Sunday when he appeared on the A.M. Joy show on MSNBC, where he not only goes into specifics about Trump, but his own distraught involvement with the book.

Every year around this time, there are articles about which recorded version of A Christmas Carol is "the best."  Usually it comes down to the films that starred either Alistair Sim or Reginald Owen.

But for me, as I explain every year (and did lthe last couple of years here), it's this one.  It's not a movie, though, or a TV production.  It's, of all things, an audio version that was done in 1960 for, I believe, the BBC.  It's quite wonderful and as good an adaptation of the story as I've come across.  It stars Sir Ralph Richardson as Scrooge, and Paul Scofield as Dickens, the narrator.  Casts don't get much better than that.

I first heard this on radio station WFMT in Chicago which has been playing this every Christmas Eve for many decades.  (And only couple few years ago finally moved on.)  Eventually, I found it on audio tape.  I've listened to it annually since I was a kidling.  Some years I think I won't listen to it this year, but put it on for a few minutes for tradition's sake -- but after the first sentence it sucks me in.

There are four reasons why, for me, this is far and away the best version. But one reason leaps out.

First, the acting is as good as it gets.  Scofield is crisp and emphatic as the narrator,and almost every creak of his voice draws you in to the world, and Richardson as Scrooge is a Christmas pudding joy.  Second, being radio, you aren't limited by budgets to create the Dickensian world.  Your imagination fills in every lush and poverty-stricken, nook and cranny -- and ghostly spirit, aided by moody sound effects and violins.  Third, the adaptation sticks  closely to the Dickens tale, and Scrooge comes across more a realistic, rounded-person than as a Mythic Icon.  

And fourth, and most of all by far, unlike any of the other version, this includes...Dickens.  While the story of A Christmas Carol is beloved, it's Dickens' writing that makes it even more vibrant than the story alone is.  And that's all lost in the movie versions, even down even to the legendary opening line, "Marley was dead, to begin with."  Or any of the other classic narrative lines.  Or the richness of Dickens setting the mood and tone and description of the gritty and ephemeral and emotional world.  All that's gone in movies, good as the productions may be.  But all of that is here in this radio adaptation, and Scofield's reading of it is joyously wonderful and memorable.  For many, this will be A Christmas Carol unlike any other you're aware of, giving it a meaning and richness you didn't realize was there.  The ending of the tale is so much more moving and joyful here, as we listen to Dickens' own words, that begin with "Scrooge was better than his word.  He did it all, and infinitely more," and it soars from there, to perhaps my favorite passage about the new Scrooge and how good he is in the "good old world. Or any other good old world."

If you have the time or inclination, do give it a listen.  Ideally tonight around the fireplace while roasting chestnuts and drinking a Smoking Bishop.  (Listen to the recording, it's from Dickens...)  Even if only for five minutes to at least get the flavor.  You might find yourself sticking around.  Or just let it play in the background during the day, if you have other things to do.  It runs about 55 minutes.

(Side note:  speaking of Dickens, if you know the original cast album of Oliver!, the actor here who plays the Ghost of Christmas Present, Willoughby Goddard, was Mr. Bumble on Broadway and in the original London production.)

This might not play immediately, since it's a large file and may have to buffer first.  But be patient, it's worth it.
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I've written in the past about how I don't prefer to read current events books when they're initially published, rather like to read them 10-20 years later.  That way, many things that would otherwise mean nothing when you read them on the publication date often marinate over time and take on substantive meaning later on.  (For instance, I once read a current events book on Washington, D.C. -- but 30 years after publication.  There was a passage about a congressman speaking about the importance of transparency and good government, and why being open with the public is so critical to democracy.  It was quite noble.  And it would have meant nothing at the time that some then-little-known congressman made the statement.  But 30 years after the fact, it leaped out that this "noble" statement was made by Dick Cheney.)

Anyway, I made a rare exception by buying Bob Woodward's book Fear upon publication.  It just seemed like an important book to read now.  However, I put it aside for five weeks because I thought it would make good reading material for my two-day train trip, and wanted to be sure I didn't finish it before taking off. 

What a difference even just five weeks makes.  Had I read the book when I first received it, the passage in question would have meant nothing.  But with only a mere five weeks delay, it leaped out.

Beginning on page 110, Woodward talks about Derek Harvey, director for the Middle East on the National Security Council Staff, who has gone to see Jared Kushner.  "'What do you think about the president going to Riyadh for our first presidential trip,' Kushner asked."  Harvey was pleased to learn from Kushner that the first presidential trip would not be to Canada or Mexico, as was usual, but rather to Saudi Arabia.

Woodward continues on the next page --

"Kushner told Harvey he had important and reliable intelligence that the key to Saui Arabia was the deputy crown prince, the charismatic 31-year-old Mohammed bin Salman, known as MBS.  The son of the Saudi king, MBS was also the defense minister, a key position and launching pad for influence in the Kingdom.  MBS had vision, energy.  He was charming and spoke of bold, modernizing reform."

On the other hand, then-National Security Adviser H.R. McMaster had hesitancies and "clearly disliked the out-of-channel approach but there was not much he could do with it" since Kushner was pushing the matter and had Trump's ear. Among McMaster's significant concerns, there was a problem of causing friction in the royal family.  But in a meeting, Kushner held his ground and pushed his case to support "MBS."  Not only did he insist it was important to meet with Saudi Arabia and the Crown Prince for the politics, but also for the business deal that could come of it.

"'I understand this is very ambitious,' the president's son-in-law said.  He stood.  'I understand the concerns.  But I think we have a real opportunity here.  We have to recognize it.  I understand we have to be careful.  We need to work this diligently, as if it's going to happen.  And if it looks like we cant get there, we'll have plenty of time to shift gears.  But this is an opportunity that is there for the seizing.'"

Woodward continues.  "No one said no.  Harvey knew they really couldn't, and he continued to plan as if it was going to happen.  He set some thresholds, decided that they would have to have over $100 billion in military contracts agree on beforehand."

And now the Trump administration is in this horrific and untenable situation of defending the ever-changing cockamamie stories from Saudi Arabia trying to explain away the Crown Prince's involvement with killing and dismemberment of an American permanent resident, with American children, and who was working as a journalist for an American newspaper.  All because of a potential, national business deal and previous personal business connections.

Showing once again why nepotism is quite frowned upon when it comes to hiring advisers at the White House, especially high level ones.  And most especially when the person has absolutely no experience in international diplomacy.  Particularly when they have massive, personal money problems and are looking for friends to help bail them out.  And the president has his own business dealings without financial disclosure.  No, this $100 billion opportunity was not a good one to seize.

And had I read the passage only five weeks ago, it would have zipped past.

As long as we're talking about novels today, I figured that this fit in quite nicely.

My pal Bart Baker is a successful writer of about a dozen TV movies and several feature films.  He's also recently started writing novels the past few years, which I've mentioned here, most notably Honeymoon with Harry, which I heartily recommend.  Yes, I'm biased, since I edited the book, but I'm not wrong -- it has a 4-1/2 star rating out of five on Amazon, and its been optioned by the movie production company, New Line for Warner Bros.  (You can get the book here.  Did I say it's really good?)  

Anyway, the novel has been out for a while, but for reasons unknown to me, it just got published in, of all places, Hungary.  Bart sent me a copy of the Foreward, though he has no idea what it says because (aside from not speaking Hungarian) he thinks it got heavily edited.  He remembers mentioning several family members -- like his father -- who he doesn't see anywhere among the words.  But...I'm in there!  (Which is why he sent me a copy.)  What's most hilarious, however, is that I'm referred to as Robert J. Elisbergnek. 

I have no idea why on earth they’d change the spelling of someone’s last name.  They didn’t change “Robert.”  Was Barack Obama known as "Barack Obamanek" when he visited Hungary?  Perhaps so, for all I know.)  But there it is -- Elisbergnek. 

There have been a bunch of postings on social media today about it being the birthday of Fred Gwynne, who passed away in 1993 at the age of 67.  And all of these postings have a photo of him from the TV series The Munsters, clearly his more recognizable role.  But --

Back in my dark days when I was a unit publicist, I worked on the Stephen King film Pet Sematary that Fred was the co-star of.  He gave a extremely good performance and was a nice man -- not overly outgoing, but personable and approachable.  But when it came time for me to interview him...he would NOT talk about The Munsters.  He almost shut down when I brought the topic up.  And no, it's not that I just sort of got that impression, but he specifically said that he wouldn't talk about it.  He fully recognized that the show made him famous, and clearly there were benefits from that, but he said bluntly it pretty much ruined his acting career.  He was deeply typecast and couldn't get roles -- or at least decent roles -- for a long time.  Happily, late in career he started getting hired in some solid roles and gave wonderful performances, most particularly in The Cotton Club memorably paired alongside Bob Hoskins, but also My Cousin Vinnie, as the judge, and the aforementioned, Pet Sematary.  Unfortunately, he passed away in the midst of this long-overdue renaissance -- but at least he had the renaissance.

And lest one think that he was being presumptuous about his acting career -- know that he appeared on Broadway quite a bit, making his debut in Mrs. McThing (by Mary Chase, who wrote Harvey) opposite Helen Hayes.  And his first movie, though uncredited, was On the Waterfront.  And during the years he had difficulty getting solid roles in films and TV, he returned to the stage often, such as the Broadway revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof as 'Big Daddy,' and in two parts of the Broadway production of A Texas Trilogy, as well as the stage manager in the American Shakespeare Festival production of Our Town.  He was also a good singer -- appearing on Broadway in the Meredith Willson musical, Here's Love, based on The Miracle on 34th Street, for which I included one of his songs here.  And I also embedded a video of him here singing a song in his first sitcom, Car 54, Where Are You?  And an accomplished painter and illustrated and wrote several well-regarded children's books.  

I've tried to "correct the record" when I've seen some social media postings on Fred with those photos, since I'm certain it would have galled him.  But that's an uphill battle with no expectation of success.  But at least here I can not only give the proper record -- but have a proper photo, as well.

And what the heck, let's end it with a bonus:  Here's Fred Gwynne singing Gilbert & Sullivan's "A Policeman's Lot" (from The Pirates of Penzance, though with altered lyrics) from an episode of Car 54, Where Are You?. at the precinct's holiday party.

I've mentioned my good pal Bart Baker on this pages several times -- often because of his Shakespearean rants when he writes out his complaints in an email or on social media, usually about politics though occasionally just something in society that gnaws at him.  And yes, I have been known to intentionally noodge him, guessing what is to come and looking forward to the tsunami.  But those great rants come because he's a great writer -- of screenplays, TV movies and novels, most notably the gem Honeymoon with Harry that I've written about.  (It's been sold to the movies, and come close to being produced several times, but...we're still waiting.)

Bart has a new novel which was just published yesterday, so I would be utterly remiss if I didn't at least mention it. The Virgin Daiquiri.  No, I haven't read it yet (six pages thus far doesn't count), so I can't give an authoritative view.  But from the past I've read enough of Bart's volume of work to know that all his previous books have been a joy, wonderful story-telling and lively dialogue, mixed in with humor.  This one tells the story of a cheerful, tropical island barmaid, cosmetic rep and (holding out for "memorable") still-virgin, named Daiquiri La Bouquet -- who is accused by her manipulative mother of attempted murder.  The young woman runs off for Manhattan, where she has two goals -- to find her biological father who her mother has always suggested is “the richest man in New York City,” and also to search for the man who one day soon will be "her first."

If you're interested in finding out more about it -- there's a much more detailed synopsis -- you can check things out on Amazon here.

Since Bart is a father with two kids, I think that that counts as making this a Father's Day posting, as well...

Here's the main story from last night's Last Week Tonight with John Oliver.  It's a smart and scathing 20-minute look at Vice President Mike Pence.

And being John Oliver, it almost goes without saying the the whole piece ends with another one of his pretty-darn brilliant stunts.

Without giving anything away, I'll say that after watching the video if you want to follow-up, you can click the link here for more.

I've been reading Joseph Anton which is written almost like a novel in the third person, but it's a memoir by Salman Rushdie about his early life and time during the 11 years being under the fatwa.  It's quite good -- the title comes from the code name he used during that time, "Joseph" coming from Joseph Conrad, and "Anton" from Chekhov.  And amid it all, there's one particularly interesting, fun passage that stands out for being one of those things we refer to as unintended consequences.

It comes during a section on negotiations to find a publisher for his upcoming novel, The Satanic Verses.  There was no controversy at that point, so the issue was a case of advance money and what publisher would be best to handle the distribution.

He had been with a small publisher for a few years and had become close to the owner, and his agent  (with whom he was also close) recommended it.  However, other agents were involved, as were other, larger companies.  (One -- which made the best offer -- was owned by Rupert Murdoch's NewsCorp, and Rushdie notes how thrilled he is that the offer was turned down, because he's certain they never would have supported the book after the difficulties began.)

In the end, for long reasons explained in the book, he went with one of the larger publishers.  In the process, though, it hurt his friendship with the smaller publisher, and with his agent and friend, who he lost when he took the other offer.

Rushdie notes that, as it happened, over time, his strong friendship with the small publisher and agent managed to build itself up again, and they became very helpful supporters during his time being protected, which he explains in detail later in the book.  But it was something else long in the future which he said likely never would have happened if he had stayed with his former publisher, and so it turned out to be the decision all for the best, even though it didn't seem like that at the time.

As Rushdie notes, because his former publisher was so small, it is not likely that they could have handled the pressures caused by the fatwa.  Even his large, corporate publisher had huge difficulties with it -- having to build extra security measures in to their headquarters and pay a great deal for extra security personnel.  Not to mention needing the cover of a large enterprise to be able to handle all the requirements of logistics that came crushing down on the company.  He says that if the small publisher had handled The Satanic Verses, it's likely that they would have been overwhelmed by it all, taken huge financial its, and gone out of business.

And if that had happened, he writes, the small publisher, Bloomsbury, "would never have survived to discover an obscure, unpublished children's author called Jo Rowling."