The Ghost Writer

In "The Ghost Writer," Ewan McGregor's character, simply credited as the Ghost, is reassured by someone that he cannot be killed like his predecessor was, because ghostwriters are not cats. This is little comfort to the Ghost, for he is well-aware that he (like many characters in Roman Polanski's films), is someone in conditions that do not favor him, and against characters that are not ones to advance his well-being.

The Ghost is a writer, ignorant of current events but hungry for a good job, who has been hired to be the ghostwriter for Adam Lang, a former British prime minister and one of considerable controversy. Lang, played by Pierce Brosnan, resigned from his office after allegations spread that he illegally handed over British citizens accused of being terrorists to the CIA; the CIA tortured them and thus made Lang guilty of a war crime. The situation is made remarkably worse when the Ghost learns that Lang's former aide and the original ghostwriter was found dead in the waters next to Lang's compound.

Brosnan seems to be deeply concerned, as were some of his predecessors, as being typecast as James Bond. Brosnan was humorous in "The Matador," sang in "Mamma Mia!" and now is a nasty politician in Polanski's film. His performance is the most interesting to watch, though his scenes are few, but McGregor does his usual effective job in the leading role. McGregor's character is a typical one lost in situations beyond his control, as is often the case with Polanski's characters.

Oliver Wendal Holmes famously (and supposedly) said of Franklin Roosevelt that the president had a first-class temperament but a second-class intellect; Lang probably has neither. He is clearly influenced by others, drawing significant parallels to the Blair-Bush relationship. The allegories are not lightly-hinted--the America Secretary of State in the film looks remarkably similar to Condoleeza Rice. Additionally, he is half the talent of the Ghost, and it brings to mind other famous ghostwriters, as varied as Wolfgang Mozart and (speaking of Bond) John Barry, who has claimed he is the original composer of the famous Bond theme and not Monty Norman, who is credited with writing the score. (Incidentally, this is not a major theme of the film, but simply an observation.)

One disappointing aspect of the film is that it relies on the tired use of an ambitious, Lady Macbeth wife pulling too many strings, though the character is very enjoyable to watch Olivia Williams play her. And while this film may be a thriller, it's not always thrilling. The first and third half are fine evidence of thriller-making at its best, and while Polanski should be rewarded for not falling into cliches, he certainly does seem to lose a bit of bearing as it becomes dull and disorganized. Still, in an age of 3-D, CGI hyperbole, and the overuse of intensity, it is nice to see Polanski remind filmmakers how to make a good movie.

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A Fish Called Wanda

Many have noted filmmaker Errol Morris' article in the New York Times on anosognosia. Morris tells the story of David Dunning, a professor of social psychology at Cornell University, reading the newspaper to discover a bizarre story. The article was about a man named McArthur Wheeler who was arrested after attempting to rob two Pittsburgh banks. He attempted to rob the banks in daylight, but what really made the story unique was that Wheeler did not attempt to disguise himself. Wheeler was totally perplexed after he was arrested: "But I wore the juice," he insisted. As Morris writes, "Apparently, he was under the deeply misguided impression that rubbing one's face with lemon juice rendered it invisible to movie cameras."

Wheeler had been told of the phenomenon of smearing lemon juice on one's face to mask it from surveillance cameras. He was at least somewhat cautious, as he conducted a test to verify the results; indeed, the pictures showed no face. Perhaps it was because he had in fact mistakenly turned away from the camera just before it went off.

We have all heard of stupid criminals, but Wheeler takes the cake. Dunning suddenly realized something as he was reading the article. Perhaps Wheeler was not simply too stupid to be a bank robber, but instead was too stupid to realize that he was too stupid to be a bank robber. This is identified by Morris' article as anosognosia, which is when a person suffers from a disability but either is unaware of the condition or is unwilling to admit it exists. In the case of McArthur Wheeler, he was too stupid to realize he was stupid.

Many characters in "A Fish Called Wanda" probably have such a condition.

Written by John Cleese and directed by Charles Crichton, the film opens with three of its main characters: Jamie Lee Curtis as the title character (sort of), Michael Palin (an alumnus of Monty Python with Cleese) as a stuttering animal lover named Ken, and Kevin Kline as a maliciously-witted Otto, not daring to hide any compassion and instead horrifyingly staring at Ken's obvious stutter. "That's quite a stutter you've got there, Ken," he teases, interrupting his sentence with a chuckle. Otto also isn't afraid to mention to Ken that he once had a friend in the CIA who had a stutter which "cost him his life."

Wanda and Otto, with Ken and Wanda's boyfriend George (Tom Georgeson), rob a bank, then double-cross the ring leader while pretending to be brother and sister. They discover though that they too have been betrayed, as the stolen jewels have disappeared. Cleese himself then appears as a lawyer attempting to find some actual satisfaction in his life but instead is taken for granted by his wife and daughter. Cleese, as Archie Leach (Cary Grant's actual name), will be representing George at his trial.

Curtis is perfect at portraying such a seductive and funny character. And while it's reasonable to believe that perhaps Cleese's character would be the smart one of the group, he is the one who dances in the nude (while speaking Russian), only to discover a family walk in on him. Kline in particular is wonderful to watch. He is as animated as Chaplin and as fast as Keaton. Moment after moment, he shines. He is ready to assassinate Ken (regardless of the consequences), he loquaciously speaks Italian as he makes love, and he deeply inhales the leather boot of Wanda in the film's best fetish moment. He likes winning, too, and when he is challenged on the United States losing the Vietnam War, he shouts, "We didn't lose Vietnam! It was a tie!" His jealousy, his hatred of the Brits, his constant need to complicate things are all marvelously done by Kline. But as clumsy as Otto is, there is something deeply troubling him. To tie in the Morris-Dunning-Wheeler aspect, Otto is frequently called stupid, and his voice slows--"Don't ever, ever call me 'stupid,'" he warns. There is complexity here, yet Kline allows hyperbole without losing control, and there is an endless amount of stupidity with his character. For Kline's performance, he was awarded the Academy Award for Best Supporting Actor.

There is a flaw with a certain scene involving a dog, and I stand with Betty White in the stance that violence against animals is not funny. (May Ms. White forgive me, for I couldn't help but at least smirk at such dark humor.) In a post-Capra era, though, this is one of the finest examples of slapstick humor the movies have seen.

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Inception

Christopher Nolan's "Inception" is a film about characters who perchance to dream. There is something deeply philosophical and fascinating about man's ability to dream, to analyze and reflect on one's own dreams, one's own nightmares, that offers women and men the ability to command such creative power that would make everyone a Dante or Shakespeare, as H.F. Hedge put it, and Nolan capitalizes on this.

There seems to be a genuine dissonance between man's rationality of being awake and the insanity of dreaming, where all absurdity and surrealism is finally available. This is the case with Nolan's film, a film which almost entirely creates a perfect equilibrium between intellectualism and entertainment.

The story is likely inspired by the science and psychology of lucid dreams, that is when a dreamer recognizes and acknowledges that he or she is in a dream. Many characters have such moments in "Inception." The film toys with our own recognition of dreams in that it is difficult to recollect them; we in essence quickly forget what dreams we dreamed. Another aspect is dream incubation, or the placing of a seed in the brain, or inception.

Leonardo DiCaprio plays Cobb, a dream extractor who leads teams to steal secrets from people's dreams. But in this case, for a complicated and quickly-described reason, Cobb and his team are not extracting but creating an idea in someone's mind. Dreams within dreams are created, totems are used to detect whether or not the person is in a dream, and the subjects (those whom the idea is created or stolen from) possess subconscious protections against the extractors. The more dreams-within-dreams that are created, the more risk there is; usually "death" in a dream returns the dreamer to reality, but with heavy sedation (as is the case on the team's special assignment), being killed could result in actual death. To die is truly to sleep for these characters.

Like in Scorsese's "Shutter Island" from earlier this year, DiCaprio's character is a man struggling with deep guilt and alienation. It is as if he exists in a prison when he is awake, and dreaming provides him the perfect escapism. The dreams allow him to take enormous risks, regardless of the potential consequences to him and his team members.

Another wonderful aspect is the fact that Nolan has largely avoided shortchanging his actors. Aside from Michael Caine and Pete Postlethwaite who both have small roles, this is an ensemble piece, with DiCaprio, Ellen Page, Joseph Gordon-Levitt, Ken Watanabe, Marion Cotillard, Tom Hardy, Cillian Murphy and Tom Berenger all having important roles.

With Nolan, there is a special attention to detail, and when there are elaborate and expensive CGI images, one gets the sense that Nolan, unlike so many other directions, has not forgotten that the onus is on him to make the audience believe that these images are real. Cities fold onto themselves and characters fly like acrobats in a gravity-less corridor. There are nightmares--Cotillard's near-perfect moments as practically a ghost tormenting Cobb's guilt--filled with sudden horrifying glances, a look that could kill. And then a firm grip with a broken glass, and a powerful charge. And there is the wonder of subtext with regards to psychology and even architecture, all culminating in a film inspired by obvious previous science fiction films.

But this is a film with flaws. While there certainly is a sense of wonder here, that wonder unfortunately often does not go far enough. At times it feels as if there is nothing really new here, unlike other films that have dealt with similar subjects, as varied as Wilcox's "Forbidden Planet" to Hitchcock's "Spellbound," to Kurosawa's "Dreams." This film has been called a Kubrickian masterpiece; it is not. Part of the reason is that Nolan already is one of the best directors around, so the bar is just so high every time, but that does not mean one should not see "Inception." If you can tolerate the intensity, confusion, rapid speed at which the plot is explained, the lack of details to the plot, the real-or-not jargon about our dreams, the non-stop gun fights, etc., then it is a film worth seeing. There are many reasons to see this movie: its thrills, its acting, its cinematography, its ideas and especially its visuals.

You probably have heard about the ending. I won't mention much, other than it will probably make you smile (or groan if you are less patient or intellectually curious), and it would be best not to dwell too much time on it.

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Empire of the Sun

Steven Spielberg has created a legacy as the ultimate magician of the cinema. His movies have, for the most part, been bright, magical pictures, as is the case here in his 1987 film "Empire of the Sun." With this film, a coming-of-age World War II story, Spielberg indulges in familiar formulas: a lost boy without his parents, a yearning towards reconciliation, a feeling of miraculousness.

Almost always, Spielberg's combination works. Here it does at times, but there is no concrete epicenter, and instead it oversimplifies things and overly-complicates others. "Empire of the Sun" is a movie that often has that Spielberg quality of excellence but more often feels too long, too boring, and even too Spielberg.

A young Christian Bale plays Jamie Graham, the son of wealthy parents living in Shanghai in the 1930s as war breaks out between China and Japan (and the world, of course, for that matter). Jamie is as imaginative and charismatic as he is spoiled and selfish, but he is also quite interested in planes. In fact, it is his toy plane he tries to retrieve which separates him from his family during the chaotic and frightening invasion. Lost, scared, and confused, he returns home where food will run out. Often exactly in the right place, he joins an American sailor named Basie (John Malkovich), and the two develop a friendship, despite Basie constantly betraying him. The two are eventually captured and moved to an internment camp and wait for the war to end.

As mentioned, "Empire of the Sun" is either too complicated or too simple. It is too complicated as it involves an enormous amount of characters which were probably given their proper explanations in the autobiographical novel by J.G. Ballard which the film is based on. There is a doctor, a young Japanese man Jamie befriends, a brutal Japanese captain, an impatient British couple, and parts of Basie's gang which are all practically ignored. It is often too simple, as well. Towards the end of the film, Jamie, now called Jim, witnesses a bright and sudden light approach and push against his body. Instead of allowing reasonably intelligent viewers to ascertain that this is most likely one of the atomic bombings on Japan, Spielberg inserts a radio broadcast to provide exact details of the event. If that still could not suffice, Jamie offers out loud his realization of what has occurred and how he mistook it.

Most of the film is wonderful to look at. It involves dreamlike visuals and another majestic score from John Williams. But at times it feels like another attempt at "E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial," though it is worth noting that in 1987, Spielberg, along with his 1985 period piece "The Color Purple," was emphasizing his directorial range, shedding the perception that he could only direct children fantasy stories. (Then came "Hook" in 1991, and he would have to wait another two years with "Schindler's List" to finally secure the reputation he deserved and strived for.) Again, at times the quasi-fantastical nature of "Empire of the Sun" feels justified, and at other times it feels gratuitous. It is also noteworthy, though, that Spielberg discussed in interviews about this story being the anti-Peter Pan story in that this is about a boy who has grown up too quickly. And so far, no praise has been given by the reviewer to the performer playing that boy, Christian Bale (the future American Psycho and Batman). It is a very commendable performance, as are the other performers throughout this film (including Ben Stiller, who has said that he first gained the idea for his 2008 film "Tropic Thunder" while making "Empire of the Sun.")

Overall, "Empire of the Sun" has the feel of a inspirational picture that does not exactly inspire the feeling of being inspired. Instead the film drags on; there is a beginning, middle and end, but the middle seems of epic proportion and unjustly too long. It seems that as matter-of-fact as the story could be, it instead chooses to lack a definitive sequence of events. At times it's "Oliver," at other times it's "Stalag 17," and at other times it at least looks like "The Color Purple" but feels like it possesses the youthful optimism of "Hook." It is an interesting hybrid, and another example of his interest in World War II. World War II, a war Spielberg's father fought in, has often been the setting for Spielberg's stories. His first Hollywood attempt at the subject was "1941," then this film in 1987 (ignore the Indiana Jones films for now), and he finally secured a masterpiece with "Saving Private Ryan" (or "Schindler's List" if you prefer to consider that film the "third time's a charm" entity).

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The Dead Zone

As the film opens, Christopher Walken, the patron saint of eccentricity in the movies, is reading out loud Poe's "The Raven" to a classroom of students. It is immediately clear that his will be an enjoyable film. David Cronenberg's "The Dead Zone," from a screenplay by Jeffrey Boam based on Stephen King's novel, is an epic picture, despite its relatively short length of about 103 minutes, and immensely enjoyable to watch.

Walken's character, in that opening classroom, presents himself as a content man with an exaggerated smile; there's no real reason to doubt that most of his students probably like him, and as the audience discovers throughout the film, his character is passionate about education (King was also an English teacher himself before he became a full-time writer). Incidentally, Walken the teacher instructs his students to read "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," and if Christopher Walken could see the future as his character did in "The Dead Zone," he would know that about fifteen years later he would play that very headless demon he refers to.

Walken plays Johnny Smith (a name almost changed by Cronenberg due to its hard-to-believe simplicity). In love with his fellow teacher (Brooke Adams), Smith drives home in a storm and suffers from an accident. He finally awakens in a clinic. It is explained to him by his doctor (Herbert Loam) with dark-brimmed glasses and Polish accent (elaborated on later in the film) that he has been in a coma for five years. His girlfriend has left him, married, and now has a child. He obviously does not have his job anymore and requires physical rehabilitation.

These challenges would be difficult enough for any man, but Johnny discovers that he now has been blessed (or cursed) with the ability to see the future. One day in his hospital bed, he touches the hand of the nurse and suddenly can see that her daughter is in great danger. He shouts to the nurse that there is enough time; the daughter is saved. Johnny's life is completed altered.

Other characters appear in the story to utilize or be affected by Johnny's ability. Tom Skerrit is the local sheriff who has run out of options to find the Castle Rock Killer involving the rape and murder of young women. To the sound of the operatic score of Michael Kamen (one of the rare occasions in which Cronenberg did not use his frequent composer Howard Shore), Johnny helps the police track down the killer. Then there is a politician named Greg Stillson played by Martin Sheen in some of the film's best scenes. Stillson is a character that is the complete antithesis to some of his other characters like the loyal chief of staff in "The American President" and a practical, idealistic president in "The West Wing." He proclaims in a Pentecostal manner that he has a vision that he will one day be president (he played the title role in the miniseries "Kennedy" the same year), and Johnny becomes alarmed at the dangers of such a man and whether his power gives him the responsibility to act against the possible future.

Cronenberg's films are not usually scary so much as highly stylized, as is the case here (the exception is "The Fly," which manages to succeed in both aspects). Walken is effective from the beginning; his performance shows a man shifting from states of fright, command and anger, and he does so at complete ease. Not as accoladed as his performance in "The Deer Hunter" or as oft-quoted as his role in "Pulp Fiction," Walken's role in "The Dead Zone" is terrific and certainly one of his best performances.

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The Giant Claw

I used to think that the "best worst movie" ever was "The Tingler" from 1959. Starring Vincent Price as a doctor studying the psychological aspects of fear, what started as a rather interesting psychological thriller with some witty dialogue evolved into a bizzare monster movie; the tingler was, if I recall correctly, some sort of creation born in the spine when someone developed fear. Price's character somehow removed the tingler from someone's spine, and thus it was released to reek havoc. To its defense, "The Tingler" had some descent moments. There was the mentioned humorous dialogue, Vincent Prince, some clever and presumably expensive gimmicks (like placing electrical buzzers under the seats when the tingler escapes and planting "nurse" actresses to "faint" during some scenes). "The Giant Claw" from 1957 allows "The Tingler" to seem epically classic in retrospective comparison.

The opening of "The Giant Claw" involves some wonderful exposition from a narrator explaining to an audience about the "raed-ah" ("raed-ah" and other ridiculous jargon try to pass as authentic and authoritative science, even by 1950s monster movie standards). In the skies there is a UFO (that's "unidentified flying object," the narrator tells us, since we probably don't know). Jeff Morrow and Mara Corday play two officials (Morrow a radar expert and Corday a scientist) trying to explain to government officials the existence of some sort of flying monster from an antimatter galaxy--oh, who the hell cares?


This flying monster has the wings of a turkey, the neck of a brontosaurus, the face of the late ugliest dog on the planet, the hair of crazy Travis Bickle and the likability of Snooki. Even that description does not quite do it justice, so plenty of pictures are provided. Of course, missiles and even nuclear bombs cannot stop the monster, and it can't even be picked up on the rad-ah.

Director Fred Spears was no Ed Wood. There seems to have been no evidence of passion or dedication in the making of this movie. Spear's movie shifts from one annoyance to another. There's an actor with an accent changing from stereotypical French to stereotypical Mexican. This character is petrified, and the local sheriff explains to the two main characters that they must rush to make it to the plane, though he does have enough time to explain the legend of this creature--that the villagers believe that someone dies after seeing the monster. Of course, the French-Mexican has just seen the bird, but why should that stop story time?

A Vincent Price-like character (Edgar Barrier) is provided to throw out some jargon about antimatter. The Price character has maybe, at best, only seen some pictures and descriptions of the bird (and a feather, but "we don't know if it's a feather," he says), but he can issue some hypothesis, that the bird is extra-terrestrial, coming from a galaxy billions of lightyears from our own. "No other explanation is possible." There's other wonderful dialogue. A pilot, before he and the others are killed by the bird, jokes that he will "never call [his] mother-in-law an old crow again!" Someone else says, "I don't care if that bird came from outer space or New Jersey!" (Is there a difference? Please forgive me for such a predictable joke.)


Like in "Jaws" two decades later, there is a wait to see the monster, but the reward is almost equal, for obviously different reasons. In flight the bird is often out of focus (deliberate, you think?). When it is in focus, the breathing nostrils are clearly visible. Murrow claimed that the actors did not know what the monster would look like until they had to painfully sit through the screening and endure the snickering of the audience; he walked home drunk that night. I imagine that maybe alone in a dark studio at night; then, and only then, and just maybe, would this monster be a bit alarming. Instead, it might be one of the silliest things the movies have ever known. What inspires such a movie? Wouldn't it be great to read some long-forgotten documents about the making of this film? With all the things Obama has to deal with, maybe he'll also have to save us from a giant buzzard, and the media will criticize him for not being angry enough at the bird.

Bruce the Shark from "Jaws" recently turned up in a junk yard. Perhaps the Giant Claw will as well.

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A Simple Plan

It's all quite Hitchcockian. These are ordinary characters caught up in extraordinary circumstances. There are even symbolic black crows guarding a destroyed plane, a sort of Pandora's Box. Sam Raimi's "A Simple Plan," from 1998, does Hitchcock better than most other post-Hitch films.

The film reunites Bill Paxton and Billy Bob Thorton, who both starred in "One False Move" six years earlier. Paxton is Hank Mitchell, a working man and college graduate seemingly happy in love with a pregnant wife (Bridget Fonda). He is employed but of course faces not unusual economic troubles. His brother, Jacob (Thorton), is considerably less intelligent, rational, and respected in their Minnesota community than his younger brother. One cold, snow-covered day, the two venture into the woods during a hunting trip with Jacob's drunk friend (Brent Briscoe), who, like Jacob, is unemployed. They stumble upon a crashed plane with a dead pilot (black crows devouring his eyes) and millions of dollars in stolen money. While Hank is initially the calm Boy Scout, insisting the money be turned over to the police, he is eventually convinced into keeping the money. The three make a series of promises and missteps, all the while the situation and their chances of not getting caught deteriorate.

Thorton's performance is the great moral centerpiece of the film, as Paxton's character struggles but overcomes his sense of guilt. Jacob, unable to be analytical about such feelings and complex situations, cannot help but "feel evil." If "evil" is a word only best fit for fiction, then that is satisfactory for this man; any deeper evaluation would be too great.

"A Simple Plan" requires some patience, for some scenes are a bit annoying. Paxton's character acquiesces to the desire of money, the root of all evil, too quickly, while Fonda's character is so much Lady Macbeth that during her first moments with her new baby, she quickly but calculatingly insists that her husband set up one of the members of the trio. Still, one cannot deny how engaging it becomes as the stakes constantly rise. Here are characters trying to rationalize their irrational behavior, and the film has such terrific actors, some of whom (like Paxton and Thorton) have never really been given their full appreciation. And unlike Hitchcock films, there is a certain amount of Biblical symbolism here (the Biblical Jacob's brother, Esau, had a unique relationship with his brother, though the Biblical Jacob was the shy one).

This is a terrific movie. Danny Elfman's score, during a period in his career where he shifted away from comic book films and surreal fantasies to more dramatic films like this and "Mission: Impossible" and "Good Will Hunting," is spot-on. Raimi's direction is awesome, understanding perfectly how to set the mood and motivations of each moment. It is Hitchcockian without ceding too much to influence. "A Simple Plan" should be remembered for a long time.

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Outrage

There is a respectable person speaking about himself being so respectable in the opening moments of Kirby Dick's "Outrage." This "respectable person" "doesn't do those things." The respectable person is Larry Craig. Those things are gay things.

Larry Craig, in case one has forgotten, is the former senator of the state of Idaho (a state where, like Iran, there are no gay people). He had famously said that Bill Clinton during the Lewinsky scandal was a "naughty boy." Craig, despite having a solidly anti-gay voting record during his career in Congress and a preacher of all those family values things, was the man who was arrested in a Minneapolis airport for soliciting gay sex in a male restroom. Defending himself as having a "wide stance" to explain the way his foot stretched into the other stall to call for fun, he became partly a laughing stock, partly another sex scandal, but mostly the face of a disturbing hypocrisy among closeted politicians. The hypocrisy is obviously the call to discriminate against gay people and simultaneously lead a gay lifestyle.

Craig is the obvious target. Also discussed are Charlie Crist, Ed Schrock, David Dreier, Jim McCrery and Ed Koch. These are men who largely have refused to support issues regarding HIV/AIDS, hate crimes, gays in the military, gay adoption and gay marriage, among others. Crist is the example that is really troubling, particularly because of the Macbeth-style ambition of the man. Crist, of course, has been in the news lately--he is the sitting governor of Florida who is also running for the Senate. When it appeared that Marco Rubio, the Tea Party favorite, would defeat Crist in the Republican primary, Crist abandoned the Republicans (becoming more common among moderates these days) and created a three-man race. Crist had also apparently offered his endorsement to Rudy Giuliani for president, and then when it became likely that McCain would win Florida and the possibility arose for Crist to be a front-runner for the vice-president nomination, Crist changed his mind and endorsed McCain (and he didn't call Giuliani to let him know). Inconveniently, though, Crist was single, and of course a single man cannot make it to such a high position. The McCain campaign, according to the documentary, already with so many hindrances and distractions and shortcomings, could not afford to defend their man as a straight man (so they picked Palin, who was facing ethics violations and could barely make a coherent sentence). Conveniently but in vein, Crist married six weeks before the vice-president nominee was chosen.

Barney Frank points out in the film that in 1976, Gerald Ford and Jimmy Carter were about even on gay rights. Since then, Democrats have gotten better (passing the Matthew Shepard Act and poised to repeal Don't Ask, Don't Tell) and Republicans have gotten much, much worse (leading calls of hatred to ban same-sex marriage mostly on the grounds of firing up their base). Former representative Jim Kolbe, a Republican from Arizona, is interviewed and discusses telling John McCain that he is gay, to which McCain immediately stated something along the lines of, "Jim, it's okay. I know. You're a good legislator, and it makes no difference to me." McCain, of course, is the man who said several years ago that he would support repealing DADT if the military approached him offering their support of the repeal. Now that the Commander-in-Chief (the commander of the military), the Secretary of Defense (who incidentally served the role in both a Democratic and Republican administration), and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff all have supported a repeal, McCain has for whatever lack of logic changed his mind.

Ninety percent of these cases are Republican, and a section of the film discusses Dreier, who was denied a leadership position in the Republican caucus of the House of Representatives because he was too "moderate." The famous Barney Frank quote goes that, "Yes, in the sense that I marched in the 'moderate' pride parade last summer and went to a 'moderate' bar." Washington in the film is called gayer than San Francisco, but much more in the closet.

But these discussions are sparked by the film but do not really offer an evaluation of the film, so here it is: This is a very good documentary. Dick, just as he did with his brilliant "This Film Is Not Yet Rated," is asking common-sense questions and being met with absurd answers and realities. The film's flaw is that it seems to be unbalanced in its emotions, such as when it provided a catharsis of gay politicians explaining the freedom of coming out, then shifting again to the hypocritical nature of those remaining in the closet.

"Outrage" raises the analogy of anti-gay bully who happens to be gay--he behaves this way to exemplify the image that he is obviously not gay, for no gay man would hate himself and those like him. As Bill Maher said, "hating yourself is the greatest love of all."

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Lost

Beautiful...absolutely beautiful. That has been my reaction after the finale of the final season of "Lost," arguably the greatest television drama in history. There has been a certain amount of audacity with "Lost" that cannot be found anywhere else on television.

And here is a list of my favorite moments:

WARNING: Nobody likes (or should like) spoilers. "Lost" is a show filled with an enormous amount of twists. If you have not seen "Lost," if you are not caught up on all the episodes, if you have never seen the show and actually don't expect ever to see the show (there's still a chance you will change your mind), please, I implore you, I beg you, please don't read this post.

25. Joe Purdy's "Wash Away" (season 1)
24. Desmond is on Oceanic 815 (season 6)
23. There is a light in the hatch (season 1)
22. "Who's the President of the United States?" (season 5)
21. The first DHARMA Initiative video (season 2)
20. "Ben Linus, European History" (season 6) (of course the show's main "bad guy" teaches European History)
19. Hurley writes "The Empire Strikes Back" (season 5)
18. The tables are turned and Sayid is tortured by DHARMA (season 5)
17. Ethan's name can't be found on the flight's list (season 1)
16. The black chick? Rose's husband is found (season 2)
15. Ben confronts Whidmore off the island (season 4)
14. The introduction of Jacob and the Man in Black (season 5)
13. Richard is reunited with his dead wife (season 6)
12. Boone visits Locke in a dream (season 3)
11. The death of Charlie (season 3)
10. Desmond finally contacts Penny (season 4)
9. Mikhail's "death" (season 3)
8. "I was wrong"--the destruction of the hatch (season 2)
7. In a cabin in a woods--the introduction of Jacob (season 3)
6. The hatch is more comfortable than one would think (season 2)
5. "You guys got any milk?" (season 2)
4. Oceanic 815 in retrospect (season 1)
3. The plane crash (season 1)
2. Jack's flashback isn't exactly a flashback (season 3)
1. Locke's walkabout, sort of (season 1)

Aside from season four, which was the only season that seemed to provoke more anger and frustration from me than happiness and satisfaction, all seasons were tremendous. If I were to list them in order of least greatest to greatest, it would be as follows: seasons 4, 5, 6, 2, 3, 1. Season one in particular was exceptional because of its ability to construct a more entertaining form of "Castaway" and do so by introducing its audience to such profound characters, which only grew as the seasons progressed. Season two had much of that same energy, and it introduced great characters like Ben Linus, Mr. Eko, and Desmond, but it seemed to digress as the characters were now washing their hair with shampoo and wielding guns against the Others. Season three seemed to return to that sense of energy and adventure of season one, and had such a brilliant finale. Season four, again, was frustrating, with new characters who were not quite as engaging, and season five's only flaw that I can remember was its time travel which became taxing. Season six, other than the mythology episode and some other minor annoyances, was stellar.

Take, for example, the opening of season six, which opened with the sky. Jack stared out the window of the plane, and it was as if nothing--no Smoke Monster, no Others, no Jacob--had happened. Some things, though, were quite peculiar. Astute observers would have noticed that unlike the actual opening on season one, Jack was now a bit alarmed by the plane, while Rose was the calm one. But things were really peculiar when Desmond, who certainly had nothing to do with the flight, happened to be on the plane. Why? Viewers would have to wait literally to the end to find out. But it was an immediate, succinct, and calm way to start the newest and final season with a bit of a twist.

There were some very humorous moments, as well, such as when Dr. Chang discovered that several new members of the DHARMA Initiative were actually from the future. Dr. Chang suddenly believed that Faraday was right--Faraday, Hurley, and Miles were from the future, and Miles was Chang's son. Could it really be? Miles, angry about his father and the lack of guidance he had from him in his life, denied the fantastical reality. Hurley also wanted to deny the allegations. "Dude, that's ridiculous," he assured Chang. But Chang knew he was dealing with an idiot. "What year were you born?" he immediately asked. They were in the year 1977, and Hurley was not capable of doing such quick math. "Ah...19...31," was his answer. That would make him forty-six years old, Chang wondered out loud. That's correct, Hurley replied. "So you fought in the Korean War?" he is asked. "There's no such thing." (Perhaps Hurley shouldn't be blamed, for the Korean War is practically skipped in U.S. History classes.) A final question: "Who's the President of the United States?" Unable to understand that it was Jimmy Carter, he surrendered: "Alright, dude, we're from the future." Not groundbreaking or surprising, but nonetheless it was quite funny. (On a side note: I suppose I was a bit disappointed that in season six, it was never explained what happened to Chang in the real timeline, and since Miles left the island, it could be assumed that Chang was left behind.)


There were some inevitable angry moments. Admittedly, it took me a bit to be at peace with the decision to kill off Locke and have his persona sort of reincarnated through "the Man in Black," or Jacob's nemesis. I was eventually able to appreciate that Terry O' Quinn was provided another vehicle to demonstrate his range by being a full-flown villain (and, after all, we saw John Locke often in the flash sideways story line). One thing that could not be initially reconciled, however (until the writers fixed it), was the revelation early in season six in which the Smoke Monster returned. After killing several adversaries, Locke/Man in Black reemerged and apologized to Ben. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that." The Smoke Monster was Jacob's enemy? But eventually it seemed that the creators fixed their mistake, for it was revealed (though not explicitly explained) that the Smoke Monster had emerged from the magic light, killed Jacob's brother (which turned out to be "Adam") and thus only occupied his body, just as it had later done so with John Locke's body. At least my conclusion has been that, alas, the Smoke Monster is a genuine monster, not simply an arbitrary tyrannosaurus periodically showing up, or Jacob's brother, but some sort of genuinely evil entity, a demon per se. Either the writers had planned this all along, or they heeded the viewers' complaints.

There were other minor annoyances. I did not like how Mikhail was "killed"--and by killed, I mean blood squirting from his head--but then randomly showed up again, only to die a second time (and sort of, at least, a third time). If the justification was that his character was good enough to arbitrarily return, I suppose I could be satisfied with that. There was also the weird thing about the "darkness" inside "crazy Claire," which was just ignored for the remainder of the show. And many reviewers were so impressed with Evangeline Lilly's performance (she has always been one of "Lost's" best performers), but I could not help but find it silly that she "remembered" her time on the island after viewing Claire's you-know-what during the childbirth scene, with that vaudeville crossed-eye look of hers.

One thing that I was satisfied with was the writers' refusal to answer every question. With season six, there was a growing chorus arguing that virtually every mystery must be answered. The writers had mixed results with this. There was Hurley literally saying, "So...that's what the whispers are?" when that pointless revelation was issued, but there was also the right path chosen: not every mystery needed to be solved. I was reminded of "Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home," one of the better "Star Trek" films. The film begins with a group of aliens who return to Earth, and it seems that these aliens are angry without explanation, for they start to destroy the planet. Spock and others conclude that the aliens have been trying to communicate with whales, which in this hypothetical future, the whales are extinct. Thus, the crew must journey home to 1986 to bring back a whale to the future and calm the aliens down. But the studio was not happy with the opening, and insisted that subtitles be issued to assure that the audience would understand what was going on. But director Leonard Nimoy and others stood their ground--ambiguity is sometimes necessary. As was the case with many of "Lost's" mysteries.


At first I wanted to concentrate on my anger about the lackadaisical manner of killing off some of the characters, or the ill-timed mythology episode featuring Allison Jenning. But why focus so much energy on forgettable things? Will I really remember such anger? Or will I remember the brilliance of such a show, and the fantastic moments I have had watching it? How can I possibly offer sincere criticism of the writers simply because I slightly disagree with some of their actions? If I were on their level of brilliant writing and creativity, then perhaps such criticism would be acceptable, but as of now, it is not.

One side note that has almost nothing to do with the aforementioned observations: Did you ever notice that Fisher Stevens, the man who plays the ill-fated crew member of the freighter and who later appeared in season six as flash-sideways Desmond's driver, is the Oscar-winning producer of "The Cove?"

And oh, how much I have left out. I did not write about my favorite characters--the complexities of Ben Linus, the flaws of John Locke, the struggles of Jack Shepherd, Michael Giacchino's excellent musical score, the Biblical symbolism of Jacob (notice that Benjamin is the son of Jacob in the Bible), or even some of the Korean moments. I did not write about the feud between Ben and Charles Whidmore, or the beautiful moment of Penny and Desmond being reunited, or the satisfactory way in which the secret of Richard Alpus's everlasting youth had been revealed. There was philosophy ("man is the author of his own soul" as John Locke the actual philosopher said), religion (not really faith versus science so much as order versus nothingness, according to the writers). There was science fiction (time travel and parallel universes), mythology (Jacob and his brother, plus a considerable amount of mythological archetypes), mystery (everything) and pop culture references (mostly to "Star Trek" and "Star Wars").

I do not profess to be a deep thinker of these things. Indeed, I did not foresee that Dr. Chang would be Miles' father or that Juliet would be Jack's ex-wife in the sideways story line. But that further justifies my main thesis of "Lost": while adding additional layers of "thinking persons'" material, it has always been essentially a show to entertain. One could totally ignore all the symbolism of the show and still be truly entertained by it. It was, at its essence, a show about characters lost on an island. And it was absolutely brilliant. And it will absolutely be missed. There will never be another show like "Lost."

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The Best of SNL--Part 2

The final part: the Best of SNL--Part 2...

14. Canteen Boy (1994)

Criticized for being too raunchy and controversial for suggesting pedophilia, Alec Baldwin's role was as a creepy Boy Scout Scoutmaster attempting to seduce his young Scout, Canteen Boy, played by Adam Sandler. After being teased by the fellow Scouts, the Scoutmaster, played by Baldwin, insisted that the boys leave Canteen Boy alone and that they return to their tents to sleep. After Canteen Boy insisted that their taunts were simply "sticks and stones," the Scoutmaster's arm was thrust around Canteen Boy's shoulder, and there was an immediate recognition of the situation. Ripping off his shirt, the Scoutmaster claimed--"Whoops, my shirt fell off." Wine spilled on Canteen Boy's sleeping bag, so it was insisted that Canteen Boy share the sleeping bag of the Scout Master, then to rub bug repellent on his chest (though Canteen Boy points out that it is February and the bugs must have hibernated). The skit was controversial enough to persuade SNL to clearly state the next time that Canteen Boy was in fact a twenty-seven-year-old man.

13. Coffee Talk (1992)


Though heavy on the Jewish stereotypes, "Coffee Talk with Paul Baldwin" and later "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" (both starring Mike Myers in the title role), featured a number of traits, such as a passion for Barbara Streisand and historical topics, like "The New Deal was neither new nor a deal--discuss" and "the Progressive Era was neither progressive nor an era--discuss." The most memorable moment was when Streisand herself made an unexpected appearance. Myers was joined by guests Roseanne Barr and Madonna (both also as stereotypical Jewish women--large, hard hair and periodically licking the teeth). The three of them (two actually, for Roseanne's character was a bit distracted and "gassy") were disappointed to the point of crying in lieu of the multiple nomination's Streisand's film "The Prince of Tides" received--the disappointment came in the omission of a Best Director nomination for Streisand. They became chocked up--or feklempt--but were disrupted by Roseanne's story of a man whose gallbladder exploded. The skit continued. A caller mentioned it would be a good idea for Barbara to do a duet with Madonna, to which Madonna's character, though expectedly, dismissed it as a bad idea. "She's a tramp--every day with a different boyfriend." Myer's Linda though mentioned that her legs were like "buttah." Finally, they repeated: Barbara's movie was "like buttah" (Madonna), "like buttah" (Myers), "like a big stick-ah buttah" (Barr). Then, unexpectedly, approached Barbara, who mentioned that with all the talk of food, she was getting hungry. The three of them--and the audience--burst into applause. Apparently, only Myers knew of her appearance ahead of time.

12. The Ambiguously Gay Duo (1996)


Always bound to inspire laughter, Robert Smigel's "TV Funhouse" cartoons featured the hysterical "Real Audio," in which dialogue from celebrities (usually politicians) would be animated to create bizarre situations. The real gem from Smigel was his "Ambiguously Gay Duo" of Ace and Gary, a take on the Batman and Robin archetypes. Smigel capitalized on the ambiguous nature that was clearly evident in superhero comics (particularly Batman--keep in mind this was not the seriousness of the 1940s period but instead the "nah-nah-nah-nah-nah Batman! and before the Frank Miller/Tim Burton/Christopher Nolan period), Ace and Gary were two crime-fighting and highly-friendly heroes, animated in the style of cartoons from decades ago. Voiced by Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell (neither were SNL members, but they were members of Second City, "The Dana Carvey Show" and "The Daily Show" together), the two characters happily saved the city from the villainous villains, only to have friend and foe unlike be perplexed by the, well, ambiguity of their actions: patting each other, climbin on each other, and driving a peculiar car. It didn't help the two that their episode titles were also ambiguous, like the one titled "A Hard One to Swallow."

11. Clinton-Bush-Perot Debate of 1992 (1992)


While interesting enough of an actual debate to watch, 1992 featured not only the first televised debate featuring three candidates, but also a hilarious spoof on SNL. While Phil Hartman was Bill Clinton, Dana Carvey played both Perot and Bush, which allowed the audience to see the contrast in his calm, wimpier-John-Wayne voice of Bush with the hyperbolic and staccato annunciation of Perot. The funniest moment was when each was allowed a final response. The camera would zoom in on an opponent, and the audience would see what that candidate was thinking. So when Clinton gave his final thoughts, Bush envisioned the Arkansas governor as a 1960s radical, pot-smoking hippy; when Clinton focused on Bush, he saw an old lady from the World War II-period. Finally, for Perot, both Clinton and Bush saw the Mayor of the Munchkin City.

10. The Ford/Carter Debate of 1976 (1976)


By the time this faux-debate came about in 1976, Chevy Chase had already established Gerald Ford as a bit of a goof, falling down frequently. As it has been stated often, even on the show, Chase looked and talked nothing like Ford, but he capitalized on the fact that Ford had a tendency to fall down and trip. The highlight of this skit was when the moderator, Jane Curtain, began a rather long question for the president. "Mr. President, you said that the Humphrey-Hawkins bill will cost a possible six billion dollars. But isn't it true that the jobs provided by the bill will create up to a hundred and fifty billion dollars in increased production--using Walter Heller's figure that for every one percent unemployed, there is a resulting thirty-nine percent billion dollar loss in GNP. Now, at the present rate of taxation of GNP of thirty-nine percent, doesn't this come to about the same sixty billion dollars in increased revenue?" The whole time Curtain had delivered the question, the camera slowly zoomed in on Chase's face, as the sweat on his forehead became more and more obvious. Finally, he said, "It was my understanding that there would be no math during the debates."

9. Land Shark (1976)

A spoof of "Jaws," with John Williams' score and everything, Land Shark detailed a conning shark (even claiming to be a dolphin) who eventually tricked his victims into opening the door for him (voiced by Chevy Chase) to devour. There is hardly anything to write, but perhaps no skit sums up the absurdity of SNL's humor better than the Land Shark.

8. Julia Childs Cuts Herself (1978)

Fans of the recent Meryl Streep film "Julie & Julia" would have noticed a scene where Amy Adams' character and her boyfriend watch a scene from "Saturday Night Live" with Dan Aykroyd as Julia Childs. The sketch would have sufficed had Aykroyd simply been in drag and a high-pitch Childs-esque voice and manner, but the stakes were raised when the character cut herself while cutting chicken. Aykroyd hardly looked or sounded like Childs (see above regarding Chevy Chase and Gerald Ford), but it was the gratuitous amount of fake blood that sprayed about the set that elevated his performance. The advice to "first, stop the bleeding" was good enough only to spare perhaps a drop of blood. Eric Idle, who hosted the show in the 1970s, said that Aykroyd, for his ability to write and act in these skits, made him the only SNL cast member worthy of being a member of Monty Python.

7. Schweddy Balls (1998)


The skit already started as pure gold--Anna Gasteyer, Moll Shannon and a guest (usually Alec Baldwin) somehow kept a straight face as they lampooned the incredible monotony of the radio voices of NPR. Shannon's character mentioned that she would be asking Santa for some rat traps to help her with the "excessive" rat problem she was having, while Gasteyer's character mentioned that she always leaves out tap water and rice for Kris Kringle (Shannon's could not leave out food due to the excessive rat problem). It only became better when host Alec Baldwin as Pete Schweddy brought out his special food--in the case of the first time, it was his Schweaty Balls. "Tell us about your balls, Pete." With the amount of laughter from the audience, especially the double entente after double entente, it was truly testimony to the ability of these three actors to keep a straight face. "No one can resist my Schweddy Balls."

6. Celebrity Jeopardy (1996-2002)

The absurdity was simple: celebrities playing Jeopardy. The categories were also simple, a bit too simple: months that end in "tober," presidents who are on the one dollar bill, countries between Canada and Mexico, and members of Simon and Garfunkel. Jimmy Fallon usually had great impersonations, as did Norm McDonald as Burt Reynolds, but while Darrell Hammond would usually play different celebrities--from Michael Donohue to John Travolta---once he settled comfortably into an impersonation of an unlikely player named Sean Connery, a Sean Connery who constantly annoyed the host Alex Trebek (Will Ferrell), did the skit really take off. Connery usually would challenge Trebek's authority, and Trebek desperately tried to keep his composure as he was dealing with idiots. What seemed to annoy Trebek the most (in addition to the Bond-like quips Connery threw at them) was his sophomoric, probably-intentional ability to incorrectly pronounce the categories (like "anal bum cover" instead of "album cover"). There were also accusations that he slept with Trebek's mother. Another thing that seemed to make this skit work was the existence of videos on the internet of the actual Trebek being rather annoyed (Trebek himself made a cameo during one of these sketches). Supposedly, according to Macdonald, the skit was created only for him to do his Burt Reynolds impersonation, and Reynolds actually enjoyed the skit, so much that the show planned for Reynolds to crash the set, punch Macdonald, and finish playing the game with answers even dumber than before (with Macdonald being fired from the show, that never came to be).

5. The Joe Pesci Show (1996)

So many things were magical about "The Joe Pesci Show," chief among them the bizarre idea of Joe Pesci, the actor who portrayed such violent characters in "Goodfellas," "Casino," and "Home Alone" having a talk show. The sketch usually featured the host, Pesci, with a spot-on impersonation from Jim Brewer, and an SNL host (frequent hosts Alec Baldwin or John Goodman, for example) as guest Robert De Niro, and usually climaxed into an angry assault by Pesci and/or De Niro on the guest(s). One highlight was when the actual Pesci and De Niro showed up, in perfect deadpan, and turned the tables. But the greatest moment was when host Jim Carrey (a natural from his days on "In Living Color") appeared as Jimmy Stewart. Hunched over and frequently shifting his jaw in Stewart fashion, barely finishing his poem about a fish he caught but released due to sympathy (a spoof of Stewart's poem to his late-dog on "The Tonight Show"), Carrey was perfect. The skit got better as Pesci's second guest was none other than Jim Carrey (Mark McKinney). McKinney's impersonation was good, but the pricelessness of the situation was the angry look on Carrey/Stewart's face. "Smoke a lot of dope, do ya?" an annoyed Stewart asked. McKinney/Carrey then did an impersonation of Stewart, but was one-upped as Carrey/Stewart slowly rose to his feet to return the impersonation: "I'm Jim Carrey! I'll do anything for a laugh. I need attention twenty four hours a day. Look at me! Look at me!" He then proceeded to imitate a donkey. As expected, Pesci assaulted McKinney/Carrey with a baseball bat, and Carrey/Stewart protested that he did not agree with "gratuitous violence," which provoked Pesci to whack him in the head. But James Stewart, a veteran of World War II, did not go quietly, as he nabbed the bat from Pesci and wreaked havoc on the set.

4. The Katie Couric and Sarah Palin Interview (2008)


Sarah Palin was a good enough joke before SNL took advantage of the situation. Recall that when John McCain picked her as his running mate in August of 2008, SNL had not yet returned for a new season. But everyone noticed Palin as looking remarkably similar to Tina Fey, a former cast member and writer for the show. Not letting a perfect opportunity go to waste, Fey returned to open the next season as Sarah Palin, noting that she could "see Alaska for my house" (which helped define the narrative of Palin). But that skit featured Amy Poehler as Hillary Clinton, and while Poehler's impersonation of Clinton was never really good, it also seemed to distract the skit for the sake of being fair. The next time, however, SNL could not resist but to decimate Palin. The disastrous interviews Palin did with CBS's Katie Couric, in which Palin could not cite a moment of McCain supporting financial regulation while he was a senator (though moments early she said he had a record of it) and where she could not recall which newspapers she read, provided such an opportunity. The perfect moment was Fey/Palin's explanation of the "ill" bailout, using big words like "ultimately" and "deficit" while juxtaposing it somehow with health care reform and "shoring up" the economy and small business and "reining in spending" with a heavy emphasis on "reining." The real painful reality, though, was that, as numerous videos on the internet have demonstrated, Fey's impersonation of Palin seemed to be a word-for-word mimic of what the latter had actually said, confusion and all.

3. Gerald Ford Dead Today (1996)

The idea was perfect: Tom Brokaw (Dana Carvey) of NBC was ready to go on vacation. As a precaution, NBC ordered Brokaw to film any potential stories that might occur while he was away. The hypothetical was tragic--Gerald Ford dead. "Gerald Ford, well he's in good shape." But they wanted to just make sure. Then the other, less-likely hypothetical situations came: being shot (Ford was actually shot at twice in one week), suicide, drug overdose, and my two favorites--eaten by wolves and strangled to death by the corpse of Richard Nixon. Brokaw became angrily skeptical, but was reassured when it was explained that "it happened to Taft."

2. King Tut (1978)


The king of SNL's sophomoric nature was Steve Martin's rendition of a musical homage to Tutankhamen. While starting as what seemed to be a sincere tribute to the late king evolved immediately into a bizarre dance that was perfected by the absurdist behavior that has defined Martin's sense of comedy over the decades. Wildly shaking his arms and bizarrely singing about Tut's consumption of a crocodile and the fact that "he gave his life for tourism," "King Tut" has been a defining moment for "Saturday Night Live."

1. More Cowbell (2000)


I will concede that my number one and number two choices are essentially a tie as I believe that both do the best job at visualizing what "Saturday Night Live" has been these past thirty-five years. In this skit, starring one of SNL's greatest hosts, Christopher Walken, the audience was explained the behind-the-scenes story of the Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper." What probably was conceived as SNL's explanation for the odd-sounding cowbell in the song, Will Ferell played a long and overbearing (and offended) cowbell player who conflicts with the direction of the cowbell's sound with other band members. It was Walken, as Bruce Dickenson ("yes, the Bruce Dickenson") who insisted that there must be more cowbell. The confrontations increased, but Dickenson demanded more--"I gotta have more cowbell, babe!" Walken has been one of Hollywood and the theatre's best actors for the past thirty years, but it was SNL (and Quentin Tarantino's casting of him in "Pulp Fiction") that introduced the world to a more humorous Walken. He utilized every aspect of that persona in those sketches. Walken has mentioned in interviews that people will randomly approach him and request a bit more cowbell. "Guess what? I got a fever. And the only prescription is more cowbell!" And thus was spoken SNL's immortal line (that, and "live for New York, it's Saturday Night!").



There were of course some that did not make the list but of course deserve recognition. In 1982, Frank Piscopo and Eddie Murphy gave a perfect duet as Frank Sinatra and Stevie Wonder respectively (was that word really needed?). Martin Short and Billy Crystal's characters and sketches were both left out, but both delivered quality performances. A favorite actor of mine, Tim Curry, hosted the show in the early 1980s and performed "the Zucchini song" with suggestive lyrics. Current senator from Minnesota Al Franken had great moments not only as a writer but also as his Stewart Smalley character (Franken's enemies of the right still refer to him as Senator Stewart Smalley). Did you know that Robert Downey, Jr., Anthony Michael Hall, and Ben Stiller were at one point cast members? Or that Sarah Silverman and Conan O'Brien were once writers on the show (the latter was the one who wrote the infamous "penis sketch")? Perhaps it was the biggest crime on my part to have not seriously discussed Gilda Radner's role in the show.

"Saturday Night Live" is, simply put, a remarkably important part of American pop culture and even history. If nothing else, it is the funniest show on television, certainly with regards to longevity and consistency. There were the periods of doubt (notice that not much of the early 1980s is represented? This was the period when producer Lorne Michaels had left the show), but for the past thirty-five years, hearing that "live from New York, it's Saturday night," has been an essential.

SNL, Alec Baldwin, Canteen Boy, Mike Myers, Adam Sandler, Saturday Night Live, Clinton, Bush, Daily Show, Jaws, Jeopardy, Sarah Palin, Joe Pesci, Tina Fey, Steve Martin, Christopher Walken, Tim Curry

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