Citizen of the Month

the writing and photography of Neil Kramer

Category: Movies and Television (Page 5 of 8)

So You Think You Can Host?

June 16, 2006 / / 56 Comments

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Now that I picked up a few new readers searching for “Gilmore Girls,” I’ve decided to suck up to them and write some more about television.

I have so many things to do before I go to New York that I ended up doing none of them tonight. I spent the evening with Sophia, watching the stupidest shows on TV. I literally think I lost 3% of my brain cells tonight.

Can it get any worse that watching Britney Spears being interviewed on Dateline?

Yes, it can. It is the show, “So, You Think You Can Dance?”

“So, You Think You Can Dance?” is presented by the same production company that makes “American Idol.” It is a dance competition, rather than a singing competition.

Now, I’ll tell you right here. I’m not a snob about these types of shows. “American Idol” is one of my favorite shows. I honestly mean that. I love variety shows. They were a staple of my childhood (Donny and Marie, etc.).

But “So, You Think You Can Dance?” is just bad. Even the title is too long. The judges are boring. The format is clunky. And the hosts make Ryan Seacrest seem like a genius.

Last year, the host was Lauren Sanchez. Viewers from Los Angeles already knew her as a friendly, but dim-witted, local news anchor. But, being a politically-correct type of guy, I was glad to see a “Latina” hostess of a prime-time show, even if this Latina had a little too much of “la rinoplastia.”

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This year the hostess is Cat Deeley, a British “TV presenter” and a media sex symbol in the U.K.

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She is probably the worst TV hostess I’ve ever seen — and I have watched A LOT of television. Whatever happened to the land of Laurence Olivier and Dame Judi Dench? She is as stiff as a board and can hardly read the cue cards. During the middle of the show, Sophia almost choked on the “smoothie” she was drinking.

“Do you see that?” she screamed. “She’s pulling her NAILS! The hostess is pulling her nails on national television!”

Our Tivo cut off the last minute of the show, so we never found out which male dancer was “eliminated.”

“Have no fear,” I told Sophia. “I’m an expert in searching on Google.”

I quickly went onto the show’s website, where they have a fan forum. On the poorly designed forum (c’mon, FOX!), everyone was angry because Stanislav, one of the best dancers, was cut from the show. I told Sophia the bad news.

“This show stinks,” said Sophia.

But what interested me most about the comments was all the hate focused on the host, Cat Deely. People HATED her. They hated everything about her. The way she looked. The way she spoke. The way she had no chemistry with the dancers. Granted, most of the writers on this forum seemed to be fifteen years old girls — but they all seemed to be right on.

I finally found a comment explaining why Lauren Sanchez was absent from the show this year. Apparently, she is pregnant.

Now, I have no idea whether this decision was her own or the producers, but it did get me thinking about pregnancy on TV. Would it really bother viewers to have a pregnant hostess of a dance competition? I mean, it’s not like she’s doing any heavy lifting. She’s standing there reading from cue cards. I would hope we have advanced to the point where if they made “I Love Lucy” today, Lucille Ball wouldn’t have to hide behind the couch. Would it bother you to see a pregnant TV host?

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Encounter in IHOP

June 15, 2006 / / 75 Comments

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I was hungry last night, but there was nothing in the fridge.  So, I walked over to the finest establishment in my neighborhood, IHOP, and ordered French toast (I was feeling wild).

I suddenly realized that I never showered after going to the gym, so I must have looked sweaty and grimy. 

As I waited for my meal, a mother and daughter passed by as they went to pay their bill.   The daughter, a cute twelve-year old girl, shyly looked my way.  A few seconds passed after they passed me, and then they reappeared — standing right next to my table!

“Excuse me,” said the mother.  “I really hope I’m not bothering you.  But my daughter wants to ask you something.” 

The little girl was nervous.  The mother held the girl’s hand to calm her. 

What was going on?

The only scenario I could come up with was that they were a rich Beverly Hills family, they thought I looked homeless, and they wanted to pay for my French toast.

“Go ahead, Jen,” said the mother.  “Ask him.”

But the girl was frozen in fear.  The mother decided to help her daughter out.

“My daughter wants to know if you’re an actor?”

“An actor?” I asked.

“Are you Kirk?” the girl blurted out, finally finding her voice.

“Kirk?” I said, confused.  “No, I’m sorry.  I’m not Kirk.”

“My daughter wants to know if you “play” Kirk,” the mother explained.  “On “Gilmore Girls?”

“No, I’m sorry…”

I had no idea who “Kirk” was.  I’ve never seen “Gilmore Girls,” although it just happens to be my mother’s favorite show and she’s always telling me to watch it.

The girl looked crushed.  I was not “Kirk.”

If I had more time to think, or if I was just a little more quick-witted, I would have lied to the girl.  It would have been worth it.  I would have given her a story she would have remembered for the rest of her life. 

“Imagine!” she would tell her grandchildren.  ” I met Kirk at the IHOP on Wilshire Boulevard!  He even signed a menu!  Look — “Kirk.”

Hey, if I had met Lisa Bonet in a Chili’s Restaurant in 1980, I’d still be writing about it on my blog.

I tried to come up with something positive to say to the girl.  I felt guilty about getting her all excited about meeting “Kirk,” then snapping her dream like a twig.

“You know…” I said with a gentle smile, “‘Gilmore Girls’ is my mother’s favorite show.  She’ll appreciate that you thought I was Kirk.”

“You hear that, Jen?” said the mother.  “His mother loves “Gilmore Girls” too!”

The girl shrugged, like she gave a rat’s ass.   

I got home and decided to call my mother just to tell her the story.  She laughed.

“That’s so cute,” she said.

But there was one unresolved matter.

“So, tell me, Mom, who the hell is ‘Kirk’?”

“Oh, he’s the town weirdo.”

From Television City in Hollywood

June 14, 2006 / / 48 Comments

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Some of you have noticed that I’ve been a bit jittery on this blog lately — putting posts on, taking them off, and changing titles every half hour. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on with me. Maybe I’m nervous about spending two weeks in Flushing with both Sophia and my mother. Did I mention that we’re also spending five days in a lakefront cabin in the Berkshires together?

But I think the real reason for my nervous energy is because I recently went to a meet-up with a few old friends from grad school, and I’m doing the inevitable comparisons of our lives. We were all in the MFA program at USC Film School. We lost touch for a while, but one found me through “Citizen of the Month.” During the weekend, we had a reunion. One is them is a major movie director. One is a editor for TV. One is a ICM talent agent. And then there’s me, the freelance writer known as Neilochka. So, I hope this explains my recent ranting on about syndication and bloggers making money.

I was very anxious about seeing these guys, but once I was there, it wasn’t bad at all. After you hit the age of 30, everyone’s life is such a confusing mess that it’s difficult to make comparisons based solely on career choices. And in Hollywood, everyone has had his ups and down, including the most successful of the bunch.

At some point during our meet-up, we went around the table, and each told a tale of his WORST Hollywood experience. This was not an easy task. Everyone had stories of crazed agents and meglomaniacal producers, sometimes even with the same characters.

When it was my time to tell a story, I filed through my storehouse of unpleasant Hollywood moments. Should I tell the one about the agent that was arrested while I was in his office? How about the pitch meeting at Fox? Sophia and I had written a romantic comedy script together. But when we pitched it to a young executive, he stood in the corner of his office and played this miniature hole-in-one golf game by himself.

I decided to tell the story of the sitcom taping that I attended with my former writing partner. It was the taping of some brand new show for the Fall Season. The show had a lot of “buzz.” They were filming their first episode at Warner Brothers.

After the show, my partner and I went to Dalt’s Grill in Burbank (which sadly closed last year). Even though Dalt’s was nothing more than a fancy coffee shop, it was close to Warner Brothers and Disney Studios, so everyone went there. You saw more celebrities at Dalt’s than in Beverly Hills.

As we ate our burgers, we saw the cast and crew of the sitcom taping we had just attended — sitting a few tables away. The producers, the writers, and the cast were there, all celebrating the success of the taping.

My partner dragged me over there to say hello and kiss some ass. We tried to look confident as we introduced ourselves. We told them how brilliant they were and that their show was the best thing on TV since “All in the Family.” They invited us to sit down with them. My writing partner and I looked at each other. We were in!

For the next hour, we poured on the B.S. I told my best stories. We did some shtick. I talked with the lead actor about some obscure movie he was in, and scored some major brownie points. The executive producer treated me like I was an old buddy. We both were from Queens. He said my partner and I would be perfect as writers for the show.

The executive producer’s phone rang, supposedly about some party we were all going to attend in West Hollywood. But it wasn’t about the party. It was the network. They were cancelling the show — after the taping of the first episode.

The executive producer started to cry. The lead actor threw a container of coffee against the wall. The others got drunk.

My writing partner and I never heard back from any of them again.

Another Sell-Out

May 5, 2006 / / 27 Comments

Some of my older relatives were socialists back in the 1930’s and 1940’s, and sometimes I think I have some of their politics in my blood.  I wonder if it is fair for someone to make more money than they can ever possibly need.  Hey, I’m all for someone to work hard and become a multi-millionaire.   But is it fair when a CEO of a company is making 1000x more than the average worker at the company.  Wouldn’t it be nice for a CEO to say, “Now I own four homes around the world and seventeen cars.  Enough is enough?”

In Los Angeles, did you know that 80 percent of SAG members earned less than $5,000 from acting annually, and fewer than 5 percent earned more than $35,000?  I’ve very happy Nicole Kidman makes $120 million dollars a year.  If she can bring in the box office, then she deserves it.  But why does she need to do commercials for Chanel No. 5?   I love Catherine Zeta-Jones, but does she really need to do those T-Mobile commercials?  Why don’t these actresses suggest hiring some fellow SAG actress who could use the extra money? 

But nothing has disappointed me as much as the knowledge that one of my favorite actors has recently “sold out” for the money.

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Voting Rights

April 26, 2006 / / 30 Comments

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I'm a firm believer in the importance of voting.   As a good "Citizen of the Month," I vote in every election.  Maybe if everyone actually voted once in a while, we wouldn't have such crappy government leaders. 

I've voted for the Writers Guild Awards and Sophia's SAG awards.

I voted last night for Elliot Yamin in "American Idol."   Actually, I doubt that he's going to win, but he's Jewish and cries over his mother, so I relate to him. 

It's been Dave's third anniversary all week on his Blogography blog.  I voted for which Blogography t-shirt design I liked the best.

I became very excited when Kevin told me about a Fox contest to let us vote on which of the five box designs for the new "24" DVD we like the best.  As if Jack Bauer had such difficult decisions. 

While I love to vote, there are some times I want decisions made for me.  With the success of reality TV, I hope that audience voting isn't integrating into regular series.

"Watch Lost this week, then vote which character you want to die!"

Sometimes I just want to watch the story.

Luckily, there are some institutions that still take themselves seriously as an authority on their subject, like CBS News, famed home of Edward R. Murrow, Walter Cronkite, and Dan Rather.

Whoops!

The major networks (CBS included) spend millions of dollars every year trying to figure out what people want to see on TV. Yet, in the end, much of the programming isn't what you would have picked at all.

That's why we're now giving you a direct say in the matter. You and the rest of our viewers will be able to pick some of the stories we air on the CBS Evening News with Bob Schieffer.

You, the viewer, are officially in charge of all the assignments of CBS News correspondent Steve Hartman. You get to tell him where to go and what to do — within reason, of course.

Every Friday we present three story pitches and you get to vote for the story you think sounds most interesting. Whichever story gets the most votes by 2 p.m. ET on Monday is the winner.

Last week viewers decided they wanted Steve to report on a teacher who has been teaching at the same high school for 69 years.

While this is a cute idea for me to do on my blog, is this something CBS News should be doing in their newscast?  Is this the evening news or an episode of "Survivor?"  

If CBS News really wants to go this route, I have a better idea to drum up ratings:

"Tonight on Sixty Minutes:  Steve Kroft reports on a new field of cancer research,  Lesley Stahl profiles Howard Schultz, the star of Starbucks,  Ed Bradley sits down with the oldest living teacher in Virginia; and of course — Andy Rooney.   After the stories, the voting lines will be open and ONE CORRESPONDENT WILL BE ELIMINATED."

Beggars and Choosers

April 20, 2006 / / 44 Comments

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Sociology experiment:

This Morning

Looking disheveled and unshaven, I stood outside my local Starbucks and panhandled for money.  I said I was an unemployed Desert Storm veteran.  I mentioned that my wife and child left me and that I hadn’t eaten in a week.

TOTAL AMOUNT COLLECTED:  87 cents

This Afternoon

After showering and putting on a Lacoste polo shirt, I returned to the exact same spot to panhandle for money.  This time, I asked my film school friend, Roland, to show up with his camera and videotape me.   When asking for money, I told passerbys that I was one of the participants on NBC’s "The Apprentice" and that our latest "task" was to use our marketing skills to obtain the most money by "begging," or risk being "fired" by "the Donald."  I told everyone how important winning this game was to me, because despite my trust fund, my Harvard education, and my success as a Wall Street attorney in my father’s firm, I thought it would be "cool" to become Donald Trump’s apprentice and try to get a television gig of my own.  After all, who doesn’t want to be on TV?

TOTAL AMOUNT COLLECTED:  467 dollars, including 2 dollars I took from a homeless Desert Storm veteran

Is Your Wife an Imposter?

April 18, 2006 / / 33 Comments

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After four long years, Tad and Dixie Martin finally encountered each other on yesterday’s episode of "All My Children."  Tad could not believe his eyes.  He thought that Dixie was dead.  Was she really Dixie?  Or an imposter?  Perhaps she was some actress given plastic surgery by Tad’s nemesis, world-renowned cardiologist (but immoral) Doctor David Hayward?

"I am Dixie.  I know things only we could know." said Dixie.

"You could have been fed that information from David Hayward."

"But would he know this…?"

She mentioned some obscure reference to "Ozzie and Harriet" that only the two of them would know  — from an episode twenty years ago, way before the actors had all their real-life plastic surgery.

Tad instantly knew this was the real Dixie.

I turned to Sophia, who was sitting on the couch with me, eating leftover matzoh.

"Make believe I disappeared for five years…"

"Where are you going to go?"

"It doesn’t matter.  I go to find myself… in Tibet.  By climbing the mountains."

"Yeah right.  You in the mountains."

"Just imagine it."

"You’d be calling me within two days, saying you lost your backpack and you need me to send you bagels."

"OK, let’s imagine you leave for five years to go climbing in Tibet.  And then you come back.  And I don’t know if you’re an imposter or not."

"Why would an imposter bother coming to you?"

"Just imagine it!  Now, what are you going to say to me to prove that it is really you?"

"I’m confused.  Who am I?   Me or the imposter?"

"You’re you.  Sophia.   And I want you to prove that assertion."

"I don’t know."

"C’mon, something only we would know.  Like with Tad and Dixie — and "Ozzie and Harriet."

"How about "bouqerones?""  (anchovies we ate during our honeymoon in Spain)

"I actually wrote about them in some comments to Ashbloem.  How do I know you just didn’t read that on her blog during your research?"

"Excuse me.  How the hell am I supposed to know you wrote about bouquerones on someone else’s blog?  How about if I just say, "Neilochka?""

"Neilochka?  Are you serious?  That’s my yahoo email address.  You could have just read the blog.  There are people in other countries that know the story behind Neilochka.  That wouldn’t prove you’re not an imposter"

"I can’t think right now.  Let’s just finish the soap."

"So, are you saying that after all this time together, you can’t come up with one thing that can prove that it is you and not an imposter when you come back after five years in Tibet?"

"Maybe if you would stop writing about everything on your blog, I would have something to say when I come back from Tibet?"

"I don’t write about everything.  C’mon, think.  Prove to me that you are who you say you are."

"I’m pretty sure that you’re never going to write on your blog about the time you xxxxx xxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxxx xxxxxxx."

"Holy shit, I forgot about that.  Welcome home, Sophia?!"

"Can we go back to watching TV now?"

Double Entendres and Croissants

April 2, 2006 / / 42 Comments

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I had the cold first.  Then, I went over to Sophia to get some TLC, and got her sick.  So, by the end of the week, we were both miserable.

Friday, I took some pills and ventured out, mostly because I was excited to meet two bloggers coming to town from San Francisco — Kristy of She Just Walks Around With It and Ish of The Original Pawns of Comedy.  I really enjoyed meeting them and talking about blogging, writing, comedy, and all sorts of things.  We had lunch in Hermosa Beach and then took a walk on the beach right up to the waves. 

Being with people new to the area helped me look at LA in a new way.  I complain about living in Los Angeles a lot, but there is something to be said for living right by the beach, even if I sometimes feel like a fish-out-of-water in the beach culture — with the surfer dudes, the professional volleyball girls, and the ubiquitous fish tacos.

On Saturday, Sophia and I, still under the weather, spent most of the day inside, watching TV.  We especially enjoyed watching old game shows on the Game Show Network.  The highlight of the day was "The Newlywed Game," especially when Bob Eubanks asked the "wives" this question:

"Which of the following game show titles best describes your husband’s behavior lately in the whoopie department?"

A)  Concentration
B)  Make Me Laugh
C)  Beat the Clock

I thought I would have some fun with Sophia and ask her to play along.

"So, what’s your answer?"

"Whoopie meaning sex, right?"

"Yes.  So, which game show title best describes your husband’s behavior?  Concentration?  Make Me Laugh? Or Beat the Clock?"

"I never heard of any of those shows."

"They’re old shows.  Just pick one."

"I don’t know them.  Can I pick one I do know?"

"Sure."

"Wheel of Fortune."

"Wheel of Fortune doesn’t make sense."

"Who Wants to be a Millionaire?"

"Millionaire doesn’t really work either.  It only works if it’s a double entendre."

"Millionaire could be a double entendre.  Like "My husband is worth a million bucks in the sack, or should I phone a friend?.""

"But it’s supposed to be funny.  It should be something making fun of the man’s inadequacy."

"Ok, if you insist.  How about, "My husband’s lovemaking is so blah, that every time we make whoopie, there’s a "Family Feud.""  That’s not bad.  Or my husband is so boring in the bedroom, he’s the ultimate "Hollywood Square."  Or "Let’s just say that when I make whoopie with my husband, the words "Weakest Link" always come to mind."   Better now?"

"OK, OK, I get it.  Let’s watch something else."

On Sunday, Sophia and I spent most of the day like Saturday — watching TV.

At some point, I got lustful feelings and tried to get flirty with the sniffling Sophia, who responded by hitting me in the head with a tissue box.  Sophia promptly fell asleep and I started watching one of those poker shows on TV. 

It was a high-stakes tournament going on at the Aviation Club in Paris.  There was a lot of excitement in the air.  As the players battled each other with their cards and chips, some ordered drinks from an attractive waitress.   Not that this was unusual for a casino.  But I was very surprised when one player asked to be brought a croissant.

A croissant!

How French I thought!  He’s playing for a million dollars, but still has time for a croissant!  I’ve always been fascinated by the French.  Their culture.  Their art.  Their wine.  Their beautiful woman.  My all-time favorite movie director is Frenchman Eric Rohmer.   One of my greatest joys with this blog is that I actually have readers in France.  I’m not sure how they found me, but I’m glad they did.  Like a lot of Americans, I was pissed at the French government’s siding with the Iraqis a couple of years ago, but I never went so far as to change the name of my French toast to Freedom toast. 

And what is more French than a croissant? 

Suddenly, my lustful feelings became focused on French baked goods.  I had a deep yearning for a croissant that just had to be satisfied.  I threw on my clothes and headed for the supermarket. 

But Vons Supermarket proved to be a big disappointment.   Their store brand of croissants looked awful.   A true croissant is much like a perfect bagel — there must be a perfectly modulated juxtaposition between the toughness of the exterior and the softness of the interior.   Vons Supermarket’s croissants looked like cut pieces of cardboard.

But now I had a problem?  Where the hell am I going to find a good croissant in Redondo Beach — where Tito’s Taco Shack is considered fine cuisine?  Luckily, I was able to find a foodie friend at home, who directed me to a bakery in Hermosa Beach.

An hour later, I returned home, holding a bag with two croissants, one for me and one for Sophia.   I thought about the intense pleasure that eating this croissant would give me — like a night of passion in Paris with the most beautiful French woman.

"Why do you go out for croissants?" asked Sophia.

"It was like inspiration.  I heard player in a poker tournament in Paris ask to be brought a croissant."

"No one asks for a croissant in the middle of a poker tournament."

"In France, they do.  You just don’t understand the French.  They have a lust for life.  When they want a croissant, they get a croissant."

"Let me see."

The game was still on Sophia’s Tivo.  She zoomed back to the exact moment I was talking about.   She started laughing.

"He didn’t say "croissant!"" said Sophia, who happens to speak French.   "He said "troi cents!"  He was asking another player if he had "troi cents" — three hundred [thousand] in chips."

"Oh," I said, feeling like an idiot.

We ate the croissants anyway.  Sophia loved hers, but it just wasn’t the same for me.

The Racist Cabbie

March 24, 2006 / / 27 Comments

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The movie Crash showed us all that racism is still very much alive and well in America.  Last night, on a hard-hitting Primetime, journalist John Quinones went one step further, exploring many important issues, including racism, in a show titled, "What Would You Do?"

In one segment titled "Dealing with a Racist Cabbie," a secret camera crew filmed passengers as they enter a taxi driven by a racist cab driver.  As the driver spewed his racist hatred, what would be the reaction of the various passengers?

"Are we all driven by prejudice and fear?  Do we all harbor racist thoughts?

Say you’re riding in a taxi and the driver starts a racist tirade — denigrating blacks, Arabs, Jews, Asians, or Hispanics. Would you argue with him, tell him to shut up and let you out, or just keep quiet? Or would you maybe even join in?"

To paraphrase John Quinones before the show cut to the commercial for erectile dysfunction:  "We were about to learn… "

Now I know many of you have already emailed me about this show, but in case you missed it — I was one of the passengers.   Some suggested that I didn’t combat the driver’s racism as strongly as I should have.  I will not apologize for what I said.  You all know that I am not a racist.  Imagine yourself in my position, alone in the cab with a talkative driver —

Here is the transcript:

Neil enters the cab.

"59th and Lexington, please."

"Sure thing.  You in town for a convention?"

"No, just visiting.  I’m meeting some of my blogging friends."

"Yeah?  You’re a blogger?  You know any Asian bloggers?"

"A few.  Why?"

"It’s just… Asians are the worst drivers.  I was wondering what type of bloggers they are?"

"This isn’t being recorded or anything?"

"Nah, nah, nah."

"So, I can be open with you?"

"Sure thing."

"Asians are as bad blogging as they are driving.  Especially those Koreans.  I don’t care if Jackie Chan is Korean.  They come to this country and think they can blog like everyone else."

"I hear you, buddy.  At least there aren’t any black bloggers."

"Unfortunately, there are.   Tons of them.   I don’t even understand half the stuff they write.  It’s always about rap music and big butts.  Sometimes, they don’t even tell you that they’re black and you’re reading them every day until they publish a photo of themselves and it’s like, "Holy shit, that motherfucker is as black as my leather jacket.""

"Holy shit is right.  They should make you post a photo so you can see who the blogger really is."

"Maybe it would work for the blacks, but what about the Jews.  Nowadays, Jews don’t even look like Jews anymore, with all that kabbalah crap going on."

"Oh, man, don’t get me started on those Jews."

"The Jews suck, man.  And I should know.  I’m Jewish myself.   You want a pain in the ass for the rest of your life, you marry a Jewish woman.  "Neilochka, fix my computer.  Neilochka, I bought you new pants.  Neilochka, eat my borscht."  They’ll drive you so crazy, you’ll want to hit your head on the mezzuzah!" 

"Man, oh Manischewitz.  Hey, tell me.  Is it true that Jews control all the money in the world and run the entertainment, medical, and legal fields?"

"Yes.  They’d run the blogging world, too — but they ain’t stupid.  There’s no money in it!"

"So, who runs the blogging world?"

"Who do you think? — the Pakistanis!"

The cab suddenly pulls over to the curb.

"Hey — why are you stopping the car?"

A camera crew approaches, along with John Quinones.

"Hello, I’m John Quinones of ABC’s Primetime and we’re conducting a experiment to see how people respond to a racist cabbie."

"What are you — a fucking Puerto Rican?" 

"You realize that this is being recorded and will be watched by millions of Americans…?"

"It will?  www.citizenofthemonth.com!  Come one, come all — even the Koreans!  I really do love Jackie Chan!"

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