SOME OF THE BEST:
7 October, 1999 |
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Rod & Sunny: Photo by Bob Gentry
8/5/1999
A Thought for Today
Don't destroy your newfound joy by eating it all up too soon.
"Rod: I know you are both a fan and friend of Petula Clark. I love it when you write about her. Could you reprint your review of her performance in "Sunset Blvd? Alas I missed seeing her when she was on tour with it." Rex Brownstein
Dear Rex, My pleasure. By the way Petula will be appearing for a week in San Diego in an all Andrew Lloyd Webber Review. I'll be posting the details on it later this week.
LAST NIGHT AT THE THEATRE
Today I'm feeling as sunny as our still summer-like skies. It's mostly the afterglow of Petula Clark's performance last night as Norma Desmond in "Sunset Blvd." As different as Glenn Close origination of the role and every bit as valid. Glenn played Norma as eccentric and enigmatic, building the eccentricity till she goes quite mad at the end.
Petula makes Miss Desmond more vulnerable. Eccentric all right, but totally practical and savvy, she oozes sex appeal to lure the much younger and out of work writer to her bed instead of commanding him. She is at once sly, sweet and
manipulating. Where Close is frightening and demanding in her madness and makes broke Joe Gillis in effect
"an offer he can't refuse." What man, young or old, broke or in the chips, would give up a chance to bed the demented but delightfully so Norma as played by Clark. Incidentally the chemistry between Miss Clark and Joe played with the right amount of bravado and self-loathing by Lewis Cleale is very effective.
Clark plays the role with both pathos and humor. Close was scary and relentlessly imperial to the end. Clark's final decent down the great staircase, suddenly reveals for the first time in the evening, a defeated, heartbreaking older woman, who only returns to her mad belief that she is indeed 'The Greatest Star' when she is told the cameras are rolling.
Proudly she extols the famous "I'm ready for my close, Mr. DeMille," line. She is back in her make believe world again believing it. Last night it brought a tough Los Angeles audience to its feet the moment she uttered it. No easy task since Glenn Close originated the role in this very city and became the toast of the town by doing so. And now, Petula Clark as Norma Desmond? You bet! And last night a packed Pantages Theatre was raising their glasses high again.
Two Normas, both quite different and both making the star of yesteryear with only her memories very memorable. I couldn't possibly choose which performer I prefer, because both Norma's are perfectly valid.
I'm seeing it again Sunday night. Next week I'd like to review the singing actress as opposed to the actress singer.
- RM first published in 10/7/99
Two Years Ago This Week: from 7/10/98 Flight Plan
Getting To Know Ourselves
The more we get to know ourselves the harder it is to justify our quirks and habits. Fortunately the older we grow the more at ease we become with who and what we are. That's how it should be, anyway, some kind of balance. Boy is balance tricky. I could never be a high wire walker; I'd fall to ground the first day up. But, God, how hard I try to balance what should be done and what has to be done. How do others do it? That's a book I'd pay to read.
Such books exist on miles and miles of self-help shelves, but none have ever worked for me. Do you continue to ignore a couple dozen letters that should have had an answer three months ago in favor of work deadlined tomorrow? Beats me. Making earlier deadlines on how and when a project can and should be done is not the answer. I'm already sixty odd years late on that one.
Tomorrow we dip into the E-mail Box for more Ask Rod Sleep warm tonight.
- RM first published 10/1998
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OURSELVES TO KNOW |
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Our losses are the sores
we box and bottle up
far back, ladder down
amid the unlit chambers
of our cluttered minds,
hoping they'll stay lost
or unrecovered
like the mother lode
of some as yet uncovered mine.
Those things first dear to us
then lost or yet undone,
no matter what the reason
go unlisted in our wills
and codicils.
No pirates bearing half a map
find the other half marked x.
the interview is over
when the questions
come too close.
Grudges come
and settle in with ease
when losses are the subject.
We wear our gains
like barfly gear
or rows of medals
on an unpatched shirt.
Hurt, like loss,
is no brother
to ill attention,
the more we leave it
unrepaired and unattended
the quicker it will go.
It leaves behind
at most a residue
like sediment
that bubbles
at the bottom of the wine.
Why is it then
that simple sorrows
seem to thrive
as though the weekend gardener
was charged
with keeping them alive.
One snub
and every act of joy
once raised in toast
and sweetly celebrated
is crushed into the never was.
Friends are not immune
to this ill treatment
and lovers bear the brunt.
Acquaintances
remain immune to arson
even as the ashes smolder.
Not yet close enough
for love or final friendship,
they remain unblemished
and unblamed.
Why make tedium
safer than it should be,
constant, crossfiled,
calibrated
dried and dreary
hauled out in a hurry
dusted off and fluffed
like paper flowers
that go unnoticed
as counterfeit and crude
until the posy paper
tears
or the paint upon the plastic
wears thin and peels
enough to warrant touching up.
Reality is square
and easy to make out.
Its shadings are
the works of men
imbibed with building
barricades and battlements.
The more we hide
our summits or our sorrows
the less of what we are
or can be
is reflected or looks back at us
from mirrors.
Pause
before you give up seeking
the exit to the maze
send the guard or guide dog
off to chase a bone.
Be unafraid to leave
some portions of your life
to fate, to change, to God.
Should a friend's behavior
worry you
you may at last be given
the chance to give
some friendship back.
Some unexpected love
arriving right on time
is more welcome to the ill
than penicillin.
We know ourselves
but we'd know our worth
and, yes, our worthlessness
better if we paused
with more regularity
to take the boards off
the shuttered windows
and let some sunlight in.
The worth of man
is not in how he treats himself
or his dearest dozen friends
but how, when it is offered him,
he treats the treat of giving.
- from "Looking For A Friend", 1980 |
