Hail & Farewell.

Lest we forget.

Some Of Her Best Friends Were…

Hail and farewell Anne Meara. She and Jerry Stiller were part of an early wave of performers who, through albums, brought their acts out of the nightclubs and into homes. They must have seemed like an unlikely pair which may explain why some of their funniest routines revolved around an unlikely pair finding each other. Another routine that I’ve been able to find online is Stiller and Meara playing two strangers who meet and develop a relationship when one of them calls the wrong number. It’s funny but also touching. Unlikely they may have been, but we were lucky to have them.

One Of A Kind.

Source: IMDB

Source: IMDB

With Mad Max and the Terminator back and Jurassic Park reopening, plus a slew of sequels coming to theaters this summer, it seems like everything old is new again. I often hear complaints about remakes. In fact I seem to hear the same complaint about remakes over and over, which is funny when you think about it, but that’s another story. In principle I don’t have any problem with remakes. I’ve mentioned that my favorite movie is Invasion Of The Body Snatchers, but it doesn’t bother me that I have to specify that I mean the 1956 version. There are things I like about the 1978 version, including the inside-joke-cameo by Kevin McCarthy.

The problem I have with the 2015 remake of Poltergeist isn’t that it’s a remake. The problem is the absence of Zelda Rubinstein. I’m sure Jared Harris is a fine actor, but let me be blunt: Zelda Rubinstein was perfectly cast in the original because she may have been physically small but projected being psychically strong. She carried herself with grace and strength. The original Poltergeist is full of strong women, but Rubinstein’s Tangina towers over all of them. The first time I heard her say, “This house is clean” I expected the credits to roll. I can’t imagine anyone would want to mess with her, but it seemed like anyone who did would regret it.

Maybe that’s why her work to fight AIDS in what only seemed like the disease’s early days—it had been around for years, but Rubinstein’s work began in 1984—was so powerful to me.

AIDS and HIV have only affected me indirectly. I can’t speak to, or even imagine, the horror suffered by those who lost those they loved, especially in the early days when the disease was so poorly understood. The closest I could come was someone else’s experience. A friend of mine who was a few years older lost his first longtime partner to AIDS. They had been separated for several years. It was the partner’s diagnosis and hospitalization that brought them back together briefly. One summer when I was home from college my friend told me the whole story. His partner had died only a short time before and I did what I could to help him through his grief. He never said so, but I knew from the way he described it that his time with his partner was the happiest time of his life. We’d go to restaurants and sit and he would tell me how they used to climb a hill overlooking Centennial Park and spend the night there just talking.

Even before I met him, even before I knew anyone I knew was gay the tragedy of AIDS saddened me. Kids I knew would make tasteless jokes about it and I hated them. Maybe it scared and saddened them too and that was their way of dealing with it, but I don’t want to let them off the hook. It was a scary thing to a teenage boy, even one who had almost no chance of being infected with HIV, but that doesn’t matter. Those of us who were hitting puberty during the AIDS crisis should have been able to sympathize, to know that joking about AIDS wasn’t wrong, but joking about the victims was. The subtext of every AIDS joke I heard at the time was “if you have AIDS you deserve it”. Sadly the kids who told those jokes were just repeating what they’d heard from adults, but as teenage boys we should have been smarter and more understanding. Our bodies were surging with hormones that were almost screaming at us to have sex, and the news was telling us “Sex can kill you.” The one AIDS joke that made me laugh was when a kid sitting next to me in math class leaned over and whispered, “I’m so scared of it I’m wearing a condom right now.” There was also a Bloom County strip that reflected the dating scene at the time that also tickled me.

Maybe that’s why when I thought about AIDS all I cared about is that it was a disease and it was killing people. Whom it killed didn’t matter to me. It did matter to others, though. It mattered enough that there was a stigma surrounding it that fed the fear. AIDS was popularly considered a “gay disease”, but the fear was directed at anyone who had it. When I was sixteen one of my teachers read a story to the class about a boy with hemophilia who’d gotten HIV from a blood transfusion. His neighbors drove past his house chanting “KILL HIM! KILL HIM!” This fear spread even to those who worked with or even knew anyone with AIDS.

Here’s my version of an 80’s AIDS joke: how do you find out who your real friends are? Get HIV.

It’s against that backdrop that Zelda Rubinstein took part in the LA CARES advertising campaign. I remember seeing one of the ads in a magazine and thinking, “Hey, that’s the lady from Poltergeist. She’s so cool!”

This was the ad I saw. I didn't realize it was just one in a larger campaign. Source: The Advocate

This was the ad I saw. I didn’t realize it was just one in a larger campaign.
Source: The Advocate

Hollywood, where, within a few years red ribbons would become ubiquitous, didn’t think she was so cool at the time. She didn’t work for a year after publicly speaking out about AIDS. In case you think there just might not have been any roles for her check out her IMDB page and note how much she worked, which makes the absence of any credits for 1985 very conspicuous.

Was Poltergeist about AIDS? Not intentionally, and not even unintentionally since it was released in 1982, and it’s probably a bad idea to even try to tie the two, but let me offer some thoughts. The film was called “Poltergeist”, suggesting a single entity, but the haunting is caused by a group of ghosts. We speak of a disease as a single thing but it’s the manifestation of a multitude of organisms. The Freeling family notices odd things at first, but they’re afraid to talk to their neighbors openly about it. They retreat into their home and only turn to professional help when they lose their daughter. They don’t do anything to deserve being tormented. And then there’s that tagline: “It knows what scares you.” (It’s been changed to “They know what scares you” for the remake.) Sexual contact is the most common way HIV spreads. I don’t care how casual a hookup seems. Sex is always intimate contact which makes HIV a disease shared by intimacy. It also forced people who’d kept part of themselves secret, who’d been afraid to admit to the world who they really were, to come out. And for others, like my friend, there was nothing more terrifying than losing someone he loved. So many lost their lives. So many others lost everything else.

On the other hand the Freeling family escapes in the end. People with AIDS often disappeared, but there was no escape from the disease.

Zelda Rubinstein, who worked to make the world a better place, was born May 28th, 1933. She passed away January 27th, 2010. She lived to see HIV infection become a treatable disease even if there still is no cure. There will never be another one like her.

A Laugh From Our Sponsors.

Pete Puma

Copyright: Warner Brothers

Commercials aren’t supposed to be funny. If people laugh they’re not paying attention to the product. That was the conventional thinking until Stan Freberg, who’d been writing commercial parodies, started writing real commercials that were funny. The funny commercial isn’t his only legacy, though. He was also the voice of numerous cartoon characters, including Pete Puma in the Looney Tunes cartoon Rabbit’s Kin.

He also did countless parodies and influenced a whole generation of comedians. He passed away April 7th, 2015. Hail and farewell Stan Freberg.

Turtles All The Way Down.

Hail and farewell Terry Pratchett. Born April 28th, 1948, died March 12, 2015. Libraries were made for books like his. It’s checkouts all the way down.

pratchett

And here’s one more book–the back cover of my copy of Good Omens given to me by my friend James. Pratchett stands under a winged hourglass. Tempus fugit, but there’s always time for books.

goodomens

Words Fail Me. (Part 2)

Sleeping late for me means staying in bed until around 8:00am, unlike when I was younger when it usually meant getting up around the crack of noon. And that’s okay, especially on Sundays, because 9:00am is when my local NPR affiliate broadcasts Says You!

If you’ve never heard it Says You! is a word game where two teams of three panelists have to “define and divine” various words or phrases and work out other wordy puzzles. They also face off against each other in the bluffing rounds, where one team gives two fake and one real definitions for an obscure word and the other team has to guess the right one.

My favorite moment from the show was when one of the bluffing round words was “bream”. I was yelling at my radio “IT’S A FISH! HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW THAT?”bream1

At the center of it all was the host Richard Sher. Sometimes it’s startling to see someone you’ve only heard on the radio. You have an image that goes with the voice, but which turns out to be very different in reality. Sher, for me, was not one of those cases. He looked exactly like he sounded. He sounded like that favorite uncle who’s easy smile and kind eyes hide an eccentric sense of humor. He died February 9th, 2015 after a fight with colon cancer and leptomeningitis. The show will go on, but I’ll miss that voice.

Regular listeners know he ended most shows by saying it was best “when we get your comments, when we get your suggestions, but most of all when you show up.”

richardsherHail and farewell Mr. Sher. Thank you for showing up.

Words Fail Me.

mccoyspockMcCoy: C’mon, Spock, it’s me, McCoy. You really have gone where no man’s gone before. Can’t you tell me what it felt like?

Spock: It would be impossible to discuss the subject without a common frame-of-reference.

McCoy: You’re joking!

Spock: A joke…is a story with a humorous climax.

McCoy: You mean I have to die to discuss your insights on death?

Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home

It feels redundant to add my voice to the chorus of those mourning the loss of Leonard Nimoy, but then I remembered a story he told, and I realized that it’s because it’s a chorus that my voice is needed.

A friend and I were talking about the big things—life and death. I brought up that scene from Star Trek IV, which isn’t unusual. It would be odd if I didn’t bring Star Trek into a conversation at least once a week. We agreed that Spock was right: there are certain experiences, particularly those involving life and death, that can’t be shared except among those who have experienced them. Even then words sometimes fail us. There are some things that can’t be conveyed. Since the conversation was getting kind of heavy I threw in a joke. “Know how to get your ass kicked at a science fiction convention? Refer to Leonard Nimoy as ‘that guy who directed Three Men & A Baby’.”

An hour later I heard the news. Leonard Nimoy was no longer with us. The story I thought of is one he told in both I Am Not Spock, published in 1975, and I Am Spock, published in 1995. It was something that happened to him while Star Trek was still on. Here’s the earlier version:

On one trip to Salt Lake City, I was met at the airport and driven to a local motel. I had been preregistered and was taken directly to my room. As I turned the key in the door, the phone in the room was rining. I walked in and answered. A young female voice said, “Is this Mr. Nimoy?” I said, “Yes, it is.” “Mr. Nimoy, I’m one of your biggest fans. I live in Denver and I just wanted to say hello and tell you how much I enjoy you on Star Trek.” I was startled, and I asked, “How did you find me?” She said, “I heard you were going to be in Salt Lake City, and I called all the hotels and motels until I got the right one.” I thanked her for calling, and explained that I had to get off the phone since I was due to make an appearance in five minutes. I hung up, changed clothes quickly, and within five minutes was headed for the door. The phone rang again. I went back, picked it up, and heard: “Mr. Nimoy, my name is Patricia. I’m in Chicago, and I just wanted to say hello.” I asked: “How did you find me?” The answer was very simple, “Mary in Denver called me. . .

He would tell the story a third time for inclusion in William Shatner’s Get A Life. That time he sounded exasperated, but I prefer to think it really made him happy. Star Trek’s stars and its fans formed a chorus, and the man who told us to live long and prosper was clearly pleased to have been part of something that brought so many people together.

Hail and farewell Mr. Nimoy.

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