A Long Road

Back in 1996, my friend Michael Shoob, who is a terrific writer-director, made a well-regarded independent movie, Driven, about cab drivers.  Only a mere 30 years later, he made a sequel, Road to Everywhere, starring and featuring many actors from the original film. 

First things first, it’s just such an amazing achievement that he – that anyone – would be able to pull this off.  And not only did he get the movie made, but he’s gotten it into 15 theaters.  And in major cities, including New York, Los Angeles, Chicago, Houston, Seattle, Albuquerque, Santa Fe, Atlanta, Portland…okay, you get the idea.

And second, beyond just “pulling it off,” he made a really wonderful movie. 

I went to see it on Wednesday in the theater, and thought it was a terrific work of high quality.  Wonderfully written – smart, thoughtful, substantive, good twists and even some humor.  And his direction was excellent, getting very strong performances from his two leads, along with good performances from the secondary characters, which isn’t always the case in indie films -- and with moody cinematography in the nighttime streets of Los Angeles and, most notably, across the desert Southwest that was extremely effective. 

The movie describes itself as a “coming of age story for grownups.”  It tells the story of a Los Angeles cab driver, dealing with long-held demons, still driving a cab after three decades, who is “offered the trip of a lifetime by a local casino dealer and gambler who wants to return to the Navajo Reservation to the home he abandoned 30 years ago to see his grandson compete in a Native American rodeo.”

It’s not necessary to have seen the original film in order to follow the sequel.  Though Road to Everywhere carries part of one of the plots from Driven, this tells its own standalone story, which is perfectly clear.  And any overlaps with the original are handled well with flashbacks and seamless “catch up” dialogue. 

The movie stars Whip Hubley, who was one of the cabbie stars of Driven (and was in Top Gun and starred in the TV remake of the series Flipper) and singer-actor Robert Mirabal, new to the story, playing an uncommon character trying to get to the Navajo Reservation, and they handle the many edges of their relationship – distrust, understanding, sardonic humor, lifetimes of experience, self-anger, companionship and more – with great skill.  Several other actors from the original film make appearances, as well, most notably Diane DiLascio as the cabbie’s ex-wife, and, in a small, but wonderful scene, Daniel Roebuck, the best-known of these cameos. 

It's not that Michael is that slow a writer, or procrastinates for 30 years.  He had other things to work on in the interim.  But eventually he and producer Joseph Mealey came up with a good story, from which Michael wrote the screenplay and then directed.  Among Michael's other work, he most notably made a great documentary, Bush’s Brain, based on the book about George W. Bush’s mentor, Karl Rove.  I suspect they’re trying to expand the theaters for Road to Everywhere to other cities, but I also suspect the movie will show up streaming at some point. 

Obviously, I’m very biased because Michael is a friend.  And I’m thrilled for him making this sequel after 30 years for that reason.  But I’m absolutely impartial and honest in how good it is.  It does me no good to praise a film so highly that doesn’t live up to that standard, since that mucks up my credibility.  I thought the movie was terrific.  It only has one critic’s review so far on the Rotten Tomatoes website, from the NYC Movie Guru. That, therefore, does not offer any substant evidence to support me.  Nonetheless, what that critic says is – “A profound, honest, engrossing and beautifully shot emotional journey well worth taking.” 

Here’s the trailer.  It’s a rarity – it does a very good job capturing the movie.  But there’s still a lot more to it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YL1q99yfZYY

Caught Between Iran and a Hard Place

I was going to take a breather today and not write about Trump’s “Memorandum of Understanding” surrender document.  But a news story came up that leaped out to grab my attention. 

I was watching the news, and they had a montage of MAGOPs in the Senate either avoiding answering questions about the disastrous document, or giving scathing comments.  MAGOPs!!  There was Lindsey Graham, the First Acolyte, actually walking in silence past a questioning reporter asking him about his cult leader.  There was Susan Collins, running for re-election, standing in an elevator, and doing all she could to talk slowly enough for the doors to (please, oh, pleeeease) close on her so she could avoid answering a question and having to she explain that, no, “I haven’t had a chance...to read” the...1-1/2 page docum….  There was Trump sycophant Ted Cruz saying scathingly that “giving billions of dollars to theocratic lunatics who want to murder us is not a good idea.” There was deep-far right Tom Cotton shredding the idea of giving billions to Iran, adding in deeply-bitter sarcasm that “we know that this terrorist revolutionary regime is not going to spend that money on daycare or on hospitals. They're going to use it to rebuild their drone stockpiles, their missiles, to fund Hamas and fund Hezbollah."  There was Ohio senator Jon Husted, running for re-election, refusing to answer a question on the memorandum. There was…

 Wait, hold on.  Let’s rewind and go back a minute.  While news stories all day were rightly pointing out how notable it was that Senate MAGOPs were either blasting Trump’s surrender or avoiding comment completely, something leaped out to me that seems to have slipped through the cracks.

Okay, do we have it cued up?  Deep-far right Tom Cotton shredding the idea of giving billions to Iran.  Play the tape --

“We know that this terrorist revolutionary regime is not going to spend that money on day care or on hospitals. They're going to use it to rebuild their drone stockpiles, their missiles, to fund Hamas and fund Hezbollah." 

There it is.  A regime that we know is so terrorist and revolutionary that they’re going to use the billions we given them in order to fund such terrorist organizations as the evil Hamas and Hezbollah, rather than spend it on such humanitarian needs as day care and hospitals. 

Exactly like Cotton’s own MAGOP is doing!  Not spending money on day care.  And cutting funding to hospitals.

 This isn’t hyperbolically twisting words.  This is MAGOP policy.  On the record.  Verbatim.  From their party’s leader.  And we have it on tape.  Go to Trump – 

“It’s not possible for us to take care of daycare, Medicaid, Medicare, all these individual things, They can do it on a state basis. You can’t do it on a federal.” 

And on of the core features of the MAGOP’s “Big Beautiful Bill” (and name they’ve been trying to run away from ever since it passed, and the public grasped what was in it) was cutting funding from rural hospitals.

From the National Health Organization – “Rural hospitals are expected to see a 21% decline in Medicaid reimbursement due to provisions in OBBBA [One Big Beautiful Bill Act]. With almost half of rural hospitals having negative operating margins, we are concerned about rural hospital closures or elimination of key service.”

And this – this!!! – not spending money on daycare and hospitals -- is what far-right senator Tom Cottom (MAGOP-AR) used an example to special show how cruel and dangerous the “terrorists” of Hamas, Hezbollah and Iran are!!  People who Trump sycophant Ted Cruz called “theocratic lunatics.” 

I don’t know if MAGOPs in Congress listen to their own words, or don’t care what their words are since they’ll change them to fit the moment, or don’t understand their words since they only care about posturing, or sometimes feel do caught and scared and lost that they’ll just spit out anything to fill the dead air space.  Or maybe it’s something else.  Or a combination of the above.  Or maybe it’s just that Trump’s dementia has become accepted within the MAGOP as the norm, and so speaking the same unconnected, unfocused, “Does he know what he’s saying???” rambling way as him is now the party’s standard.

Or maybe, like Trump, sometimes MAGOPs don't realize they just project themselves.  Slamming others while really only explaining who they are, out loud. 

I only know that for perhaps the first time, I actually agree with at least part of what Tom Cotton said.  Supported by Ted Cruz.  And backed up by all the silent, enabling, scared members of the MAGOP in Congress -- 

People who won’t fund and will even cut funding for daycare and rural hospitals are “theocratic lunatics who, like “terrorist revolutionary regimes,” don’t care about the humanitarian needs of those they serve.

You know what would be cool?  If the media picked up on this, too.  It's not a hard one to grasp.

Still Miraculous After All These Years

Twelve years ago to the day, June 18, 2014, I posted this article about one of the greatest (though little-known) sports miracles, which concerned the World Cup. And me.  I reposted it four years later, to the day, as the World Cup was then-starting, after having watched England's exciting opening match against Tunisia (that was tied 1-1 through regulation and then England scored during the four minutes of Extra Time to win the game). 

The original article told the story of perhaps the greatest sports miracle that I ever witnessed -- and concerned not only the World Cup, but England.  I thought it only appropriate to once again re-tell the story.  All the more so with the World Cup being held this year on American soil.

One of the Greatest Sports Miracles Ever

Now that the World Cup has started, and the United States has come up with a miracle victory, I thought this would be a good time to tell the story of not only one of the greatest, unknown World Cup miracles, but one of the all-time great sports miracles, period.

It's how my family and I got to see the World Cup in London, 1966,

And I'm serious.

Okay, no, it's not the upstart United States hockey team beating the Soviet steamrollers.  Or the unknown Roulon Gardner defeating the unbeaten, invincible legend Alexander Karelin.  It's not Kirk Gibson hitting a home run on one leg, or Doug Flutie's Hail Mary.  But those are more remarkable physical achievements by talented athletic.  This was an act of otherworldly intervention.

When I was but a wee kidling, my family took a summer trip to Europe.  One of our stops was London, where as fate would have it, the British were hosting the World Cup that year.  As maniacal as we know the rest of the world is over soccer, England might be the home of soccer insanity.  In a land known for tradition, soccer riots are de rigeur there.  If you're not rioting, you're not trying.

Nonetheless, my dad thought it would fun to see a World Cup match.  (Note:  The concept of it being "fun" to see a World Cup match is not relatable for most soccer fans, most especially those who are the aforementioned British.  "Fun" is a nice get together for tea, or taking your dog for walkies.  Being able to see a World Cup match in England is closer to being life-affirming.)  And so, uncaring of the obstacles, my dad found out how to apply to the world lottery being held to get tickets   He sent in his form and enclosed his check, and then went on with his life.  Meanwhile, throughout England there was national prayer held nightly in homes throughout the country, if only the Almighty would grant them a ticket.

We got four tickets.  

But that's not the story, it's not even close to the miracle.  It's just the heavens warming up.  Because, you see, we didn't just get four tickets to the World Cup, we got them for...the Opening Match!  Which would be filled with grand celebration and royalty.  But thing is -- that's not the story, either.  Because, again you see, featured in the Opening Match of World Cup 1966 was a team that it was likely British fans -- so knowledgeable of all the great teams in the world -- would dearly would love to see.

That team was England.

Yes, that's right.  By just randomly sending in to the worldwide lottery, we got four tickets to the Opening Match of the World Cup between England and Uruguay, held in London at Wembley Stadium.  And here's the thing:  no, that's not the sports miracle, either.

I should note that we were very happy to get the tickets.  Not "mad-crazy-happy, my life has been made whole" like anyone in England would have been to get those four tickets, but certainly happy.  But happy as in, boy, this will be fun.  I mean, to be honest, one has to put this in perspective.  Wembley Stadium is huge, after all.  It seats 90.000 people, which is 80,000 more than the town, Glencoe, we lived in.  So, the chances of seeing the match very clearly while sitting so high up were small.  And me not being mad-crazy soccer fanatics, not being able to see the game very clearly in the nosebleed section would certainly lessen the majesty of the moment.  But still, that didn't matter all that much, since I was pretty young and didn't know the rules of soccer all that well.  (I can't speak for the rest of my family, though I suspect I knew more than my mother.  You kick the ball and hope it goes in the net.)  But just being there in the massive crowd, somewhere, anywhere, amid all the excitement, that would be cool.  Just to be able to say we were there.  Wherever "there" was.

Where "there" was turned out to be -- okay, are you ready:  mid-field, center line, halfway up, directly across the field from where the Queen of England was sitting in the Royal Box.

Okay, that's the sports miracle.

Let me repeat.  With the entire world of sports fanatics converging on London, England, for the World Cup, we got four tickets to the Opening Match in which the host country England was playing, seated at midfield halfway up Wembley Stadium across from the Queen of England.

Seriously.  

And to be clear, this isn't the fuzzy memory of a little kid recalling things far better than they actually were.  Exaggerating for posterity.  No, I have photographic evidence.  

I took pictures.

(Sorry for the guy's head.  I wasn't great at composition at that age.)

Look directly across the field.  Do you see that "box" just below the horizontal, thin white line, marking the upper level?  That's where the Royal Family is sitting.  Directly opposite us.  If you look closely, I believe that Queen Elizabeth is waving at you.

I told you I wasn't lying.

It was pretty remarkable.  As I said to my dad just a couple days ago, reminding him of the story, if he had decided to sell these tickets it would have paid for the entire trip.  "And," he added, "your college education.  And your brother's." 

The crowd, the ceremony, the excitement, the game, it was great.  Memorable to one's bones.  Absolutely wonderful, historic.  There was only one disappointing thing about the match.  Ever since I knew we had the tickets, one of the things I was looking forward to seeing was England score a goal amid that maniacal crowd going soul-bursting wild for the home team.  (Even at that age, I grasped the concept of such drama.)  And the final score of the game between England and Uruguay was...0-0.  

Zippo.  Or as the soccer folks like to say, "Nil."  Or more accurately, nil to nil.  But it did at least add a nice, odd touch to it all.

(More action photos from the collection of photo-journalist Robert J. Elisberg.  Notice the compositional improvement after many minutes of experience represented here by the lack of heads getting at least completely in the way.  Hey, when you're a little kid, people are bigger than you are.)

So, no bursting of massive cheers by the heart-loyal English crowd at the sight of a goal for their beloved home team.  No cheers over a goal from anyone.  On the good side, at least we weren't there to see England lose.  In fact, just so you know, the zero goals were not the result of a mediocre team.  Indeed, host England went on to win the world championship.  They just didn't choose to get any goals that particular day.

Hey, that's the way some miracles go.  Sometimes, the fates decide to put the miracle in perspective.  After all, you shouldn't take the good and miracle for granted.

But a dozen years before Al Michaels asked the question of sports fans at the Lake Placid Olympics, I had already been able to answer the sports question.  Yes, I do believe in miracles.

When I next get together with the Queen, I'm sure we'll swap tales of that day.  No doubt it wasn't as much a sports miracle for her -- I'm sure she had an in, or went to a scalper -- but it was nonetheless quite a day of national pomp and circumstance, so I'm sure she had to have written about it in her journal.  For all I know, she's got snapshots of me in return.

When talking with my dad about this the other day, he noted one other thing.  "How did I get those seats??"

It was a miracle, dad.  The greatest sports miracle ever.  At least to some people.