Rich Mintz  

And now, because I can, some Herbie Rides Again action. God, these Disney movies from the 1960s and 1970s movies were well made — well cast, well acted (with good-natured actors just short of caricature), well shot, visually rich, fun for people of all ages, and completely devoid of anything nasty or unwholesome (which doesn’t mean devoid of humor or villainy, both of which are in evidence throughout). And Ye Chicken Tournament Jousting Today! There is so little in popular culture nowadays that feels like this. And the scenery! They’re worth watching just for the backdrops, usually of a clean and tidy California (here it’s San Francisco) that isn’t around anymore.

If I were her publicist, I’m not sure I’d care for today’s profile of Jersey Shore cast member Nicole “Snooki” Polizzi in the NYT; writer Cathy Horyn calls Snooki out (in more or less so many words) for being shallow and superficial. Well, that’s a shocker!

Like everyone, I’ve watched a few minutes of Jersey Shore here and there to see what all the fuss is about, and I don’t really care for it, although the people who are offended by the whole thing are missing the mark. If you grow up the daughter of an auto salvage dealer, and someone wants to pay you $100,000 a year and put you on TV and get you talked about on the Internet, well, why not? These kids are harmless, and for the most part they seem to mean well. Sure, Mike Sorrentino has a somewhat higher opinion of himself and the options facing him in the future than “the Situation” warrants, but that’s not a crime, and if he actually is able to hold a career together for a while, it wouldn’t be the first time that sheer force of will was the deciding factor in someone’s American media success.

All that aside, it was kind of a relief to read in this surprisingly engaging report on the Jersey Shore contract talks that Sally Ann Salsano, the show’s creator, has no illusions about the longevity of these kids’ fame, and does her best to keep them focused so that when the opportunities dry up, some of their savings will still be left.

You know the movie Freaky Friday? With Jodie Foster and John Astin and Barbara Harris and Dick Van Patten and a passel of other B-listers from the 60s and 70s? (I’m talking about the real Freaky Friday (1976), not the superfluous remake with Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan.)

Well, here’s a fun fact: the baseball game near the end of the movie was filmed in Encino Park, across from my elementary school — on the very same baseball diamond where we once played a “students vs. teachers” softball game when I was in the sixth grade — which was, incidentally, right about the same time the movie was made. In fact, if you squint, in one scene you can see my school across the street.

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Also filmed in and around Encino Park: parts of Where Have All the People Gone (1974), an unjustly forgotten low-rent sci-fi flick.

Incidentally, while Googling for that, I found this gem (click for more), courtesy of Encino realtors Marsia and Eugene Powers:

This week on a listserv I read regularly — which happens to be a place where a lot of smart people hang out, each of whom thinks he is smarter than all the others, and, let’s face it, most of them are right — one of those petty little bitchfights broke out that will break out from time to time in such a place. And one smart but impatient person said to another smart but impatient person, by way of ridiculing his harping on some point or other, “Toot that horn, Clarabell.”

I thought that was funny in itself, but Michael Rose pointed out that it’s a reference to “Howdy Doody,” which is something so old that I know about it only from hearing actual old people talk about it. (Employees of Blue State Digital, take note: I am not the oldest person in the world.)

Turns out Wikipedia now knows as much about Howdy Doody as the olds do. (Perhaps an old actually wrote the copy that follows!)

Clarabell the Clown was the mute partner of Howdy Doody…. Clarabell, who wore a baggy, striped costume, communicated by honking a horn for “yes” or “no.” Clarabell would also spray fellow cast member Buffalo Bob Smith with seltzer….

Buffalo Bob Smith and the Kids of the Peanut Gallery sang a song about Clarabell, sung to the tune of “Mademoiselle from Armentières”: “Who’s the funniest clown we know? Clarabell!” (etc.)

For the benefit of those of you who are as old as me but not older: “Mademoiselle from Armentières” is the “Hinky dinky parley-voo” song from World War I — you know, “The first marine found the bean, parley-voo?” — tap tap, is this on? — and World War I, for the benefit of those younger, is the one that has the Germans in it but not the Nazis, not the one with Robert E. Lee and Oliver North. But I digress.

So far so good, except that based on the video below, Clarabell (who, I reiterate, despite the name, is a man) looks like someone grabbed Popeye off the street during a bender and slapped some makeup on him. It’s amazing how ragged and experimental this all looks, fifty years after the fact.

Tonight we’re watching “So You Think You Can Dance,” tape-delayed from last night. It’s the top 11, this time paired with “all-stars” from previous seasons.

I like SYTYCD because it involves genuine talent, of a type that you can’t fake. Creativity and innovation count for something here, but you also need native ability and the willingness to learn and hone a craft. These young people aren’t just putting one over on America — on “America’s Got Talent,” a schlocky ventriloquist might make it to Vegas, but you’re not going to crack the top 20 on SYTYCD unless you’re a star across the board. And you won’t survive elimination unless you keep up your game.

Now, when I first came to this show, I knew almost nothing about dance — possibly even less than you do. But after three seasons of this — and the judges, though they have their quirks, are pretty dedicated and legit — I’ve learned a lot about both how to recognize good dance and how to enjoy it.

On the whole, the contestants’ partners (the all-stars) were visibly better than the contestants — smoother, snappier, cleaner, more effortless. The contrast was obvious, for example, in Melinda’s and Pasha’s routine. Even when they were doing the same step side by side, your eyes were mostly on him. But Robert’s and Courtney’s African jazz routine was an exception. He matched her move for move, and brought a grace and a bounce and a flexibility and a confidence of his own. Nigel called him a dark horse, but I think he’s going to turn out to be more than that — he’s the one to beat. It’s on!

Kent, in his cha cha, wasn’t the best ballroom dancer I’ve ever seen. But wow! I can’t remember when I’ve seen a dancer having so much fun. And isn’t that the whole point?

One final comment: for two of these dancers, Alex and Robert, this was probably the best day of their entire lives. Look at their faces as the judges give their notes! Aside from everything else, the humanity of this show is what gets me.

Straight recap here. Bitchier recap, with video links, here.

… make up the opening scene of the “Three Valentines” episode of Frasier, which I saw this morning while getting ready for work, and which you can see right here. I’m not sure that a more sublime 6 minutes of comedy starring a single actor have ever been shot in the history of television.

I know that’s a strong claim. But after watching The Room last night (in a group of film nerds who called my attention to every plot hole, continuity lapse, and character problem in the film’s 90 minutes, I’m not sure it isn’t justified. This movie is the biggest hodgepodge of bad acting, appalling directing, unbelievable dialogue, and implausible plot points I’ve ever experienced, despite the fact that it apparently cost $7 million to produce and promote — and yet it’s watchable and even endearing. After seeing it I understand the cult following, I understand why it has a professional following in Hollywood (and why Paul Rudd, when asked for comment by Entertainment Weekly, declined to “mock someone else’s stuff”).

Somehow I missed this film when it came out in L.A. (disclosure: I was really busy in 2003, running a money-losing small business), and missed it when it hit New York (disclosure: I was a partner in a startup at the time, and living in the office), and missed it last year when it started to go cult (disclosure: I work a lot, and don’t go to of movies). But I’ll be ever grateful to our friends for bringing it to my attention, and I’ll be at the next “participatory screening” (think Rocky Horror) in Brooklyn.

The EW story and the Wikipedia article are worth reading in full. The movie’s available from Netflix; if you’d like a YouTube clip or two to give you a sense of what you’re in for, start here and here.

I’m rewatching Good Bye, Lenin (2003) for the first time since I saw it in the theater during its US first run. What a richly realized film!

The conceit is simple: a patriotic East German woman goes into a coma just before the Communist system falls, and wakes up only after capitalism has taken over the only world she knew. Out of concern for her fragile health, her children create for her the illusion that everything is still as it was, complete with tattered old furniture rescued from the dump, obsolete canned goods, and the like.

It could have been made silly, it could have been made sad, but instead writer-director Wolfgang Becker and co-writer Bernd Lichtenberg struck a very human balance. The film is at times hysterically funny, very often light, even though the wistfulness inherent in the passing of a former time that was reassuring and beautiful in its way comes through clearly. I particularly like the visual experience of the film; throughout, you see Eastern Bloc coffeepots and linens, contemporary commercial art, and 30-year-old interiors and street scenes that are richly realized.

And it doesn’t hurt that in the lead (as the woman’s son) is the expressive Daniel Brühl, who appeared most recently in Inglourious Basterds (2009) — which I haven’t seen yet… but it’s on the list.