During the last calendar quarter of 2018 I only had an opportunity to catch eight movies on television. Two of them, M*A*S*H and Ten Little Indians, I'd seen before long ago, bringing back the memories related below.
Once in awhile a discussion might turn to funny scenes in movies. On more than one such occasion I've offered as my favorite a scene from M*A*S*H, a 1970 satire about war directed by the incomparable Robert Altman. The setting is an army "hospital" on the Korean Peninsula during the early '50's combat. The hospital is mostly comprised of several tents and makeshift buildings. Donald Sutherland and Tom Skerritt play two hot shot surgeons, Hawkeye Pierce and Duke Forrest, who make up their own rules as they go along. They can get away with their devil-may-care approach to life because (i) as surgeons they are indispensable, treating the critically and not-so-critically wounded GIs brought in by ambulance from the front lines, and (ii) the chief commanding officer of the camp is Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake (the low key, inestimable Roger Bowen), who has almost no control over what his subordinates are up to.
When they're not in the operating room, Hawkeye and Duke are best friends and tent mates. Their drink of choice is a dry vodka martini, consumed liberally throughout their non-working hours. One day a third surgeon, Trapper John McIntyre (Elliott Gould), reports for duty. He fits right in with Hawkeye and Duke, which is to say he's witty, sarcastic, chauvinistic and flamboyant. They are three of a kind. When Trapper John first walks into their tent, Hawkeye and Duke offer the new arrival a martini, apologizing for the absence of the requisite olive. After all, they are thousands of miles from home and nowhere near civilization. With that, Trapper John pulls a jar of olives from the breast pocket of his jacket and, much to the astonishment of his two new drinking buddies, plops the plump green globe into his cocktail. Perfecto!
One of my favorite authors is Agatha Christie. One year, circa 1976, I had my eighth grade English students read her 1939 classic, And Then There Were None. The plot involves a gathering of ten strangers inside an old mansion on a remote island. They have been invited by a mysterious Mr. Owen whom none of the guests has met. Due to the weather and other uncontrollable factors, once the guests have arrived there is no escaping and no telephone availability. Then one by one, the guests start being murdered, but there are no witnesses. Soon the survivors realize that the murderer must be one of them. My students almost unanimously enjoyed the novel which, by the way, is the world's best selling mystery of all time.
In 1965 the book had been made into a movie with the title Ten Little Indians. As part of a fund raising project, my class and I decided to rent the movie and show it on a Friday night in the school's basement auditorium. The public was invited for a relatively cheap admission fee. The 16 millimeter film arrived the day before and I decided to view it by myself that evening. Oh boy, trouble! There was a scene in the film which was not in the book. The guests played by Hugh O'Brian and Shirley Eaton ended up in bed together, a scene which lasted about two minutes. How was I going to be able to show this to an auditorium filled with grade schoolers and parents?
Here was my solution. After the auditorium filled up that Friday night but before the movie started, I thanked people for supporting our fund raiser and then advised them that, in recognition of the young kids in attendance, I would turn off the projector's lamp during a certain scene. (I did not tell them that another factor I considered was my job security.) That's exactly what I did; no one objected. In fact, while the light from the projector was off the auditorium was almost rendered pitch black, an unintended effect which added to the spookiness of the story. The dialogue between O'Brian and Eaton's characters was still audible, but thankfully bland. The show was a success and we managed to make a few bucks.
****
These are the eight movies I viewed on the small screen in the fourth quarter of 2018.
1. Friday Night Lights (2004 drama; Billy Bob Thornton is the head football coach of a large high school in a west Texas town, where all they care about is winning the state championship.) B-
2. Little Women (1994 drama; Susan Sarandon, whose husband is away fighting in the Civil War, oversees her household of four loving and creative daughters, including Winona Ryder and Claire Danes.) A-
3. M*A*S*H (1970 war comedy; Donald Sutherland and Elliott Gould are hot shot surgeons in a life saving but highly irreverent ad hoc hospital near the Korean battlefields.) A-
4. The Mission (1986 historical drama; in the 1750's, Jesuit Jeremy Irons founds an Indian mission above Argentina's Iguazu Falls, converts slave trader Robert DiNero to the order, and attempts to persuade Archbishop Ray McAnally to protect the natives from European settlers.) C
5. On Chesel Beach (2017 drama; Saoirse Ronan and Billy Howle, a young couple from very different backgrounds, get married but are unable to consummate their marriage, causing them to go their separate ways with much regret.) C+
6. RBG ( 2018 documentary on the life of the second woman ever to serve on the U.S. Supreme Court, Ruth Bader Ginsburg.) B+
7. Ten Little Indians (1965 drama; ten guests, including Hugh O'Brian and Shirley Eaton, are trapped on a remote island, and someone among them is out to kill them all.) B
8. Time For Me To Come Home For Christmas (2018 romance; Josh Henderson, a country music star, and Megan Park, who does not know he's a celebrity, are forced by a midwestern blizzard to head home together to Tulsa.) B-
Thursday, January 31, 2019
Tuesday, January 29, 2019
Movie Review: "Bohemian Rhapsody"
"Bohemian Rhapsody": B-. Was it Freddie Mercury's teeth that distracted me from reaching the level of total enjoyment I was hoping for from this film? No, I couldn't possibly be that shallow. Could I? Maybe it was the creepy way, with those Boris Karloff eyes, he stared down men whom he targeted for homosexual encounters. The orgy parties? How did those people find each other? And why did his former girlfriend move into an apartment building right across the path from Freddie's place, and participate with him in phone calls and blinking light signals from their respective windows? It's hard to know. The clincher for me was the scene where Queen's attorney is working their sound board. Really? I was a lawyer for twenty-six years and was in two rock bands. How come I never got to work a sound board?
I don't usually open my critiques with the negatives, but in this case it is warranted. However, that's not to say Bohemian Rhapsody, the story of the English band Queen with a focus on its lead singer, Mercury, was a bust, or even that it was uninteresting. A general overview would be that the story never gets traction, with that being the most important obstacle preventing it from being very recommendable. Still, the performance of Rami Malek as the mercurial Mercury is a huge plus. If the late Freddie was still alive and played himself in a separate version of this film, audiences would be hard pressed to come up with many differences.
There are four things I usually look for in evaluating a film about a band, whether such film be a narrated fiction or a documentary. Two of them are formation and demise. In other words, how did the band get its start, and what brought about the end? According to Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie met guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor when the latter two were sitting in their vehicle's tailgate bemoaning the bad news that their band's lead singer was quitting to pursue a solo career. Freddie, who had just listened to the band's gig and was now passing by, struck up a conversation with May and Taylor, a conversation which included snide remarks about Freddie's teeth. A few seconds later they all broke into a sweet a cappella three part harmony, and a union, which evolved into Queen, was formed. Freddie later credited his extra set of molars for making his singing voice so melodious.
As for the band's somber finish, well, if you attend this film chances are good you were a fan of Queen, in which case you already know most of the mournful details.
The third box I like to check? Are the non-star band members given distinguishable personalities, or does the script simply put them in the background? Here, I've got to give Bohemian Rhapsody good marks. May (Gwilym Lee) and Taylor (Ben Hardy) have distinct personas in their important roles. They interact with Mercury in several of the movie's scenes, and are instrumental in sustaining Queen while Mercury's life style becomes a flirtation with death. Extra bonus points, too, for the uncanny resemblance Lee bears to the real May. Even bassist John Deacon (Joseph Mazzello), in a relatively minor role, provides bits of humor.
Lastly but most importantly, the music itself. Does the director, in this case controversial Bryan Singer, furnish the audience with displays of what made the band famous? Mostly this means a replication of live shows, supplemented with writing collaborations, studio work and behind the scenes inter-personal relationships. As alluded to above, Mercury was an electrifying singer who could amp up (no pun intended) his band's young audiences as soon as he took the stage. Malek channels Mercury 100%. The concert scenes are very good, and I appreciated that Singer usually chooses to show entire songs, not merely a verse or a chorus.
The behind-the scenes chapters fell a little short. Particularly weak was the attempt to convince the EMI record label executive, Ray Foster, that the non-sensical lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, and the song's six minute length, were worthy of studio time and label promotion. Not helping matters, production-wise, was the miscasting of comedian Mike Myers in the role of Foster.
I'm undecided about the degree of success in the presentation of the romance between Freddie and Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton). I was going to write that I just didn't sense the chemistry between the two actors. Then I read that, in real life, Boynton and Malek have started dating. Good thing I don't work for It's Just Lunch or one of those other on-line match-making sites. Boynton, at least in this picture, seems better at emoting heartache than happiness. Given the fact that her boyfriend was Freddie, there was plenty of opportunity for that.
I don't usually open my critiques with the negatives, but in this case it is warranted. However, that's not to say Bohemian Rhapsody, the story of the English band Queen with a focus on its lead singer, Mercury, was a bust, or even that it was uninteresting. A general overview would be that the story never gets traction, with that being the most important obstacle preventing it from being very recommendable. Still, the performance of Rami Malek as the mercurial Mercury is a huge plus. If the late Freddie was still alive and played himself in a separate version of this film, audiences would be hard pressed to come up with many differences.
There are four things I usually look for in evaluating a film about a band, whether such film be a narrated fiction or a documentary. Two of them are formation and demise. In other words, how did the band get its start, and what brought about the end? According to Bohemian Rhapsody, Freddie met guitarist Brian May and drummer Roger Taylor when the latter two were sitting in their vehicle's tailgate bemoaning the bad news that their band's lead singer was quitting to pursue a solo career. Freddie, who had just listened to the band's gig and was now passing by, struck up a conversation with May and Taylor, a conversation which included snide remarks about Freddie's teeth. A few seconds later they all broke into a sweet a cappella three part harmony, and a union, which evolved into Queen, was formed. Freddie later credited his extra set of molars for making his singing voice so melodious.
As for the band's somber finish, well, if you attend this film chances are good you were a fan of Queen, in which case you already know most of the mournful details.
The third box I like to check? Are the non-star band members given distinguishable personalities, or does the script simply put them in the background? Here, I've got to give Bohemian Rhapsody good marks. May (Gwilym Lee) and Taylor (Ben Hardy) have distinct personas in their important roles. They interact with Mercury in several of the movie's scenes, and are instrumental in sustaining Queen while Mercury's life style becomes a flirtation with death. Extra bonus points, too, for the uncanny resemblance Lee bears to the real May. Even bassist John Deacon (Joseph Mazzello), in a relatively minor role, provides bits of humor.
Lastly but most importantly, the music itself. Does the director, in this case controversial Bryan Singer, furnish the audience with displays of what made the band famous? Mostly this means a replication of live shows, supplemented with writing collaborations, studio work and behind the scenes inter-personal relationships. As alluded to above, Mercury was an electrifying singer who could amp up (no pun intended) his band's young audiences as soon as he took the stage. Malek channels Mercury 100%. The concert scenes are very good, and I appreciated that Singer usually chooses to show entire songs, not merely a verse or a chorus.
The behind-the scenes chapters fell a little short. Particularly weak was the attempt to convince the EMI record label executive, Ray Foster, that the non-sensical lyrics to Bohemian Rhapsody, and the song's six minute length, were worthy of studio time and label promotion. Not helping matters, production-wise, was the miscasting of comedian Mike Myers in the role of Foster.
I'm undecided about the degree of success in the presentation of the romance between Freddie and Mary Austin (Lucy Boynton). I was going to write that I just didn't sense the chemistry between the two actors. Then I read that, in real life, Boynton and Malek have started dating. Good thing I don't work for It's Just Lunch or one of those other on-line match-making sites. Boynton, at least in this picture, seems better at emoting heartache than happiness. Given the fact that her boyfriend was Freddie, there was plenty of opportunity for that.
Saturday, January 19, 2019
Dillon Hall Diaries: Kooch
I have been told that the most luxurious hotel in the state of Oklahoma is not really a hotel at all. It's Headington Hall, the lodging facility at Oklahoma University where Sooner scholarship athletes lay their weary heads at night. To call it a "dorm" would be an insult to the OU athletic department. Check out these amenities: a study lounge and a laundry room on every floor, open 24/7; a commons area on every floor, where social and educational programs are hosted; a dining hall with many food options, a game room containing pool tables and ping pong tables; a media lounge with HD flat screen televisions and surround sound, plus blu ray machines; a seminar room, a reading room and private study rooms; an academic lounge, a performing arts theater and a technology center. Most of the sleeping quarters are suites with quality furniture and kitchenettes.
Many other colleges with huge athletic budgets follow a similar track, although OU is probably the most extreme example of a place where scholarship athletes are afforded accommodations which set them apart from most of the general student population. We also hear a lot about practice facilities and how they play a major role in the recruitment process. The one year old Athletes' Village at the University Of Minnesota, with a price tag of $166 million, is an example of how schools which wish to be competitive must keep up with the Joneses. It's all part of the arms race. Other perks might include training table meals, first dibs on "Easy A" classes, individualized tutorial help, and even an eased admission policy for prospective student athletes with subpar academic credentials. Athletes admitted under such eased conditions are sometimes called "exceptions." Heck, the University Of North Carolina even gave credit for non-existent classes to some of their "student" athletes, a scam that went undetected for years. We'd better not get into the hiring of strippers to entertain basketball recruits at the University Of Louisville, alleged to have occurred under the watch of former head coach Rick Pitino.
***
You would be hard pressed to find an athletic dorm among the thirty residence halls at the University Of Notre Dame. That's because no such thing exists. The ND philosophy is that the student athletes should blend in with the rest of student body. The athletes are sprinkled around campus and, to the extent their in-season team obligations allow, live much the same life as their "non-jock" classmates.
That is the background in which Bob Kuechenberg became my roommate in Dillon Hall during our senior year. Well, okay, I'm guilty of a slight exaggeration; Bob was my suite mate, not my roommate. It sounds a little more civilized to call him my suite mate than to say we, together with our roomies, Wayne and Mike, shared the semi-private bathroom which was between our two rooms. Kuechenberg, better known as "Kooch," was a three year starter on the Irish football team. This was the Era of Ara -- named for head coach Ara Parseghian -- when more often than not Notre Dame was in the running for the national championship, the only goal that mattered since we were (and remain) an independent. (Mission accomplished in my sophomore season, 1966, and also 1973 under Ara.)
Kooch was born on October 14, 1947, making him sixteen days older than I. He passed away unexpectedly a week ago today in Florida, where he had lived since 1970. The family announced that he died in his sleep; a heart attack is suspected, although not yet officially confirmed.
Kooch was from Hobart, Indiana, a suburb of the rough and tumble steel city of Gary. At six foot two and around 255 pounds, he was all muscle, and on the football field, all business. When Kooch walked into your room it felt like the square footage of the space shrank exponentially. He started his ND career as an offensive tackle. In one of the most famous games in ND history, the 10-10 tie at Michigan State in 1966, he lined up across from Spartan All American defensive end Bubba Smith on virtually every snap. As a junior Kooch moved to defensive end to fill in for an injured teammate, then back to starting guard on offense his senior year. Kooch told a Miami sportswriter many years later that he thought his having to switch between O-line and D-line in college might have caused him to slip to the fourth round in the 1969 draft, especially since Ara then moved him from his old spot, tackle, to guard. Admittedly, Ara had a valid reason for doing so. The guy who'd slipped into Kooch's old spot was George Kunz, probably the best offensive tackle on any of Ara's eleven Irish teams, a consensus All American and the number 2 overall pick in the 1969 NFL draft (going to the Atlanta Falcons).
Kooch was drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles in 1969, and had a cup of coffee with the Falcons later that year. He married his high school sweetheart the same year, and ended up playing for a semi-pro team in Chicago, the Owls. After a tryout with the Miami Dolphins he signed as a free agent in 1970, and ended up playing fourteen years for the "Fins," all that time under the legendary Hall Of Fame coach Don Shula.
Kooch's accolades as a pro are too numerous to list in their entirety, but I would not be doing him justice if I didn't mention a few. Most football fans of my vintage know that Kooch was a key contributor on three championship teams: Notre Dame's 1966 national champion, and the Miami Dolphins' Super Bowl champs of 1972 and 1973. There is a little known but almost equally important fourth championship involving Kooch; I will describe it momentarily.
Many NFL players have a career lasting ten or fifteen years and never reach the Super Bowl. In the Dolphins' franchise history, they have made five Super Bowl appearances; Kooch was the starting right guard in the first four of them. Kooch only had to wait until his second year with Miami to experience his first such start. Unfortunately his team lost by three touchdowns to the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl VI. Kooch's mano-a-mano adversary that game was Hall Of Fame defensive tackle Bob Lilly.
The following season begat one of the greatest teams in NFL history, the Dolphins, who ran the table for a perfect season, 14-0. That team remains the only one which has ever gone undefeated throughout both the regular season and the playoffs, including Super Bowl VII, a seven point victory over the Washington Redskins. You have probably seen pictures of Kooch and his old teammates lighting up cigars each year when the last remaining undefeated NFL team suffers a loss, thereby preserving the '72 Fins' place in history.
Then there was Super Bowl VIII, an easy 24-7 demolition of the Minnesota Vikings. The Vikings featured their supposedly unstoppable defensive front four known as the Purple People Eaters: Carl Eller, Alan Page, Gary Larsen and Jim Marshall. Page, a fellow Notre Dame alum (Class of 1967), lined up across from Kooch and never got a whiff of the Miami QB, Bob Griese. The Dolphins' offense was so dominant that Griese only had to pass seven times during the entire game.
Finally there was Super Bowl XVII following the 1982 season. The Dolphins came up short, losing to the Redskins by ten.
I have sent a check for $67 to the Buoniconti Fund, the significance of that dollar amount matching Kooch's Miami jersey, number 67. If he and I ever meet at that Big Senior Bar In The Sky, he'll probably ask why I didn't make the dollar amount 69, the year we graduated from Notre Dame.
Many other colleges with huge athletic budgets follow a similar track, although OU is probably the most extreme example of a place where scholarship athletes are afforded accommodations which set them apart from most of the general student population. We also hear a lot about practice facilities and how they play a major role in the recruitment process. The one year old Athletes' Village at the University Of Minnesota, with a price tag of $166 million, is an example of how schools which wish to be competitive must keep up with the Joneses. It's all part of the arms race. Other perks might include training table meals, first dibs on "Easy A" classes, individualized tutorial help, and even an eased admission policy for prospective student athletes with subpar academic credentials. Athletes admitted under such eased conditions are sometimes called "exceptions." Heck, the University Of North Carolina even gave credit for non-existent classes to some of their "student" athletes, a scam that went undetected for years. We'd better not get into the hiring of strippers to entertain basketball recruits at the University Of Louisville, alleged to have occurred under the watch of former head coach Rick Pitino.
***
You would be hard pressed to find an athletic dorm among the thirty residence halls at the University Of Notre Dame. That's because no such thing exists. The ND philosophy is that the student athletes should blend in with the rest of student body. The athletes are sprinkled around campus and, to the extent their in-season team obligations allow, live much the same life as their "non-jock" classmates.
That is the background in which Bob Kuechenberg became my roommate in Dillon Hall during our senior year. Well, okay, I'm guilty of a slight exaggeration; Bob was my suite mate, not my roommate. It sounds a little more civilized to call him my suite mate than to say we, together with our roomies, Wayne and Mike, shared the semi-private bathroom which was between our two rooms. Kuechenberg, better known as "Kooch," was a three year starter on the Irish football team. This was the Era of Ara -- named for head coach Ara Parseghian -- when more often than not Notre Dame was in the running for the national championship, the only goal that mattered since we were (and remain) an independent. (Mission accomplished in my sophomore season, 1966, and also 1973 under Ara.)
Kooch was born on October 14, 1947, making him sixteen days older than I. He passed away unexpectedly a week ago today in Florida, where he had lived since 1970. The family announced that he died in his sleep; a heart attack is suspected, although not yet officially confirmed.
Kooch was from Hobart, Indiana, a suburb of the rough and tumble steel city of Gary. At six foot two and around 255 pounds, he was all muscle, and on the football field, all business. When Kooch walked into your room it felt like the square footage of the space shrank exponentially. He started his ND career as an offensive tackle. In one of the most famous games in ND history, the 10-10 tie at Michigan State in 1966, he lined up across from Spartan All American defensive end Bubba Smith on virtually every snap. As a junior Kooch moved to defensive end to fill in for an injured teammate, then back to starting guard on offense his senior year. Kooch told a Miami sportswriter many years later that he thought his having to switch between O-line and D-line in college might have caused him to slip to the fourth round in the 1969 draft, especially since Ara then moved him from his old spot, tackle, to guard. Admittedly, Ara had a valid reason for doing so. The guy who'd slipped into Kooch's old spot was George Kunz, probably the best offensive tackle on any of Ara's eleven Irish teams, a consensus All American and the number 2 overall pick in the 1969 NFL draft (going to the Atlanta Falcons).
Kooch was drafted by the Philadelphia Eagles in 1969, and had a cup of coffee with the Falcons later that year. He married his high school sweetheart the same year, and ended up playing for a semi-pro team in Chicago, the Owls. After a tryout with the Miami Dolphins he signed as a free agent in 1970, and ended up playing fourteen years for the "Fins," all that time under the legendary Hall Of Fame coach Don Shula.
Kooch's accolades as a pro are too numerous to list in their entirety, but I would not be doing him justice if I didn't mention a few. Most football fans of my vintage know that Kooch was a key contributor on three championship teams: Notre Dame's 1966 national champion, and the Miami Dolphins' Super Bowl champs of 1972 and 1973. There is a little known but almost equally important fourth championship involving Kooch; I will describe it momentarily.
Many NFL players have a career lasting ten or fifteen years and never reach the Super Bowl. In the Dolphins' franchise history, they have made five Super Bowl appearances; Kooch was the starting right guard in the first four of them. Kooch only had to wait until his second year with Miami to experience his first such start. Unfortunately his team lost by three touchdowns to the Dallas Cowboys in Super Bowl VI. Kooch's mano-a-mano adversary that game was Hall Of Fame defensive tackle Bob Lilly.
The following season begat one of the greatest teams in NFL history, the Dolphins, who ran the table for a perfect season, 14-0. That team remains the only one which has ever gone undefeated throughout both the regular season and the playoffs, including Super Bowl VII, a seven point victory over the Washington Redskins. You have probably seen pictures of Kooch and his old teammates lighting up cigars each year when the last remaining undefeated NFL team suffers a loss, thereby preserving the '72 Fins' place in history.
Then there was Super Bowl VIII, an easy 24-7 demolition of the Minnesota Vikings. The Vikings featured their supposedly unstoppable defensive front four known as the Purple People Eaters: Carl Eller, Alan Page, Gary Larsen and Jim Marshall. Page, a fellow Notre Dame alum (Class of 1967), lined up across from Kooch and never got a whiff of the Miami QB, Bob Griese. The Dolphins' offense was so dominant that Griese only had to pass seven times during the entire game.
Finally there was Super Bowl XVII following the 1982 season. The Dolphins came up short, losing to the Redskins by ten.
Despite his prominent role in helping Miami reach four Super Bowls, plus being a six time selection to the Pro Bowl and an Associated Press All-Pro three seasons, Kooch was never elected into the NFL Hall Of Fame. It was little solace to him that he was a finalist for Hall induction eight times. One explanation offered by many so-called experts is the fact that three of his Miami offensive line mates, Larry Little, Jim Langer (a product of Royalton, Minnesota High School) and Dwight Stephenson, were all voted into the Hall, thus diluting his chances. Here is what Coach Shula had to say: "I've coached a lot of Hall Of Fame Players, including a number of offensive linemen, and Kooch was as good as any of them. He gave everything he had on every snap."
The highest honor bestowed on Kooch occurred on December 15, 1995 when he was added to the Dolphins' Ring Of Honor. At the time, he was just the eighth player so anointed, and the only one of them not enshrined in the Hall Of Fame. He retired after the 1984 season after having played in 196 games, the third most in Dolphins' history. An amazing Kuechenberg stat: In his entire career, he was called for holding a mere 15 times.
***
And now for a description of that fourth championship I promised. In the spring of 1969, a movement was started in Dillon Hall to conduct a beer drinking contest. In order to appreciate the atmosphere, you have to realize that out of the dorm's 325 residents, aka Dillon Dirt Bags, more than 225 of us no doubt considered ourselves quite proficient in the art of beer drinking. After all, what else (besides studying) was there to do when the cold March air was cutting across campus from nearby Lake Michigan? [Note: That's a rhetorical question. For a real answer check out my post from September 9, 2014, Dillon Hall Diaries: Kiwi Can Contests.]
The Dillon beer drinking contest had just one rule. You had to drink a shot of beer every 30 seconds. My friends and I scoffed at the leniency and ease of such a regulation. Surely we could stick with that program for hours. We were wrong. When forced to drink beer at that rate, pretty soon it doesn't go down the hatch before it's time to quaff another. I felt so humiliated when I had to throw in the towel after nine shots. I didn't even feel a buzz, but my esophagus was about to rupture.
I was surprised Kooch was talked into participating. Between football commitments and Vomit Comet trips home to the Gary/Hobart area, we didn't see a lot of him on weekends. But once he signed up for the contest, it was almost inevitable he'd be crowned the champ. As I recall, he put down 237 shots, one every 30 seconds. The number sticks in my mind first of all because he beat the second place finisher by over 100, and secondly because I remember talking about his remarkable feat when I came home shortly thereafter for spring break.
***
Following his death, Kooch's family requested that memorials be forwarded to The Buoniconti Fund To Cure Paralysis, a non-profit organized to assist The Miami Project. The Miami Project is a spinal cord injury research center owned by and located at the University Of Miami. The Project was co-founded by Nick Buoniconti thirty-four years ago following a spinal cord injury sustained by Nick's son, Marc, in a college football game. Nick Buoniconti played football for Notre Dame, Class of 1962, and was Kooch's Dolphins teammate for six NFL seasons.
Wednesday, January 9, 2019
Movie Review: "Green Book"
"Green Book": A-. Two men who could not me more dissimilar set out on a road trip from New York to the Deep South. One of them, Don Shirley, is a renowned classical pianist living in New York City, where he plays in Manhattan's most famous concert halls to silk stocking audiences. Don is dignified, cultured, smooth and educated. His only apparent problem is the color of his skin, black. Why is that a problem? Because this is 1962 and his record label has booked him on an eight week tour which will take him through the Jim Crow South. Thus, Don needs more than a chauffeur; he needs a protector. Enter Frank Vallelonga, better known as "Tony Lip."
Tony is a bouncer in a New York night club. Within the movie's first ten minutes we are treated to two entertaining glimpses of what lies ahead. Tony talks the club's gullible hat check girl into letting him have a hat which he knows belongs to a powerful guest, probably a mobster. A few hours after the hat's owner goes berserk upon learning his hat has disappeared, Tony miraculously "finds" the chapeau and presents it to the man, who insists Tony accept a reward. Also, disregarding threats upon his life, Tony punches out a hoodlum who was causing a disturbance at the club. Despite these unsavory early glimpses of Tony, he manages to come across as kind of a lovable lug.
When the club temporarily closes, Tony needs a job, a predicament which fits nicely with Don's circumstances. The interview in Don's plush apartment does not go well, but Don is smart enough to realize he may need some muscle to get him through the South. This does not impress us as a match made in heaven, but crackerjack writing by a trio comprised of director Peter Farrelly, Brian Currie, and Tony's real-life son, Nick Vallelonga, coupled with the brilliant acting of the two leads, Viggo Mortensen as Tony and Mahershala Ali as Don, results in near perfection.
At the outset we figure that Tony's bad habits and uncouth manner may turn out to be more than Don can bear. The smoking, the slang, the lack of "book smarts," the carefree attitude and approach to life. Little by little it chips away at Don's patience. But over the course of many hours together, whether it be in the car, their shared motel rooms, restaurants or elsewhere, Don comes to the realization that, beyond transportation and preservation, the relationship between these two men can be more of a two way street. Some things Tony has to offer are actually worthwhile, if not beneficial to Don's better understanding of himself. The two men go from a distant "putting up with each other" to a mutual admiration and friendship.
Even before I stepped into the theater I knew this film had two huge plusses in its favor. First, I have somewhat of a predilection for so-called "buddy road trip movies." (Okay, I loved Thelma And Louise too!) The setup lends itself to character development, clever dialogue, and something else a linear guy like me appreciates: a beginning, a middle and an end. Green Book checks all three boxes. Secondly, I consider Mortensen and Ali to be two of the finest cinema actors in the modern era. (For confirmation, check out 2007's Eastern Promises and 2016's Moonlight, respectively, both of which I graded A-.) In Green Book, Don transcends from coldly intellectual to approachable congeniality, while Tony's change is from tomato can to guardian angel.
There are several human touches in this film which deserve a shout out. The Italian meals cooked by Tony's wife, Dolores (Linda Carelini), and served to a full table of family and friends made my mouth water and reminded me of Sunday dinners at my grandma's in Chicago. The periodic letters penned by Tony to Dolores, little by little improving in quality and artistry to the point where authorship was obviously assisted by Ali. And finally, Don's epiphany upon hearing Tony's claim that he, Tony, a man who grew up on the mean city streets, was in some ways "blacker" than Ali.
The film's title refers to a guide book written by a black man, Victor Hugo Green, for the benefit of African Americans traveling through the South. It listed motels, restaurants and other facilities at which they were welcomed. Many editions were published following Green's death in 1960, and, sadly, even after the first Civil Rights Act signed by President Lyndon Johnson in 1964.
Tony is a bouncer in a New York night club. Within the movie's first ten minutes we are treated to two entertaining glimpses of what lies ahead. Tony talks the club's gullible hat check girl into letting him have a hat which he knows belongs to a powerful guest, probably a mobster. A few hours after the hat's owner goes berserk upon learning his hat has disappeared, Tony miraculously "finds" the chapeau and presents it to the man, who insists Tony accept a reward. Also, disregarding threats upon his life, Tony punches out a hoodlum who was causing a disturbance at the club. Despite these unsavory early glimpses of Tony, he manages to come across as kind of a lovable lug.
When the club temporarily closes, Tony needs a job, a predicament which fits nicely with Don's circumstances. The interview in Don's plush apartment does not go well, but Don is smart enough to realize he may need some muscle to get him through the South. This does not impress us as a match made in heaven, but crackerjack writing by a trio comprised of director Peter Farrelly, Brian Currie, and Tony's real-life son, Nick Vallelonga, coupled with the brilliant acting of the two leads, Viggo Mortensen as Tony and Mahershala Ali as Don, results in near perfection.
At the outset we figure that Tony's bad habits and uncouth manner may turn out to be more than Don can bear. The smoking, the slang, the lack of "book smarts," the carefree attitude and approach to life. Little by little it chips away at Don's patience. But over the course of many hours together, whether it be in the car, their shared motel rooms, restaurants or elsewhere, Don comes to the realization that, beyond transportation and preservation, the relationship between these two men can be more of a two way street. Some things Tony has to offer are actually worthwhile, if not beneficial to Don's better understanding of himself. The two men go from a distant "putting up with each other" to a mutual admiration and friendship.
Even before I stepped into the theater I knew this film had two huge plusses in its favor. First, I have somewhat of a predilection for so-called "buddy road trip movies." (Okay, I loved Thelma And Louise too!) The setup lends itself to character development, clever dialogue, and something else a linear guy like me appreciates: a beginning, a middle and an end. Green Book checks all three boxes. Secondly, I consider Mortensen and Ali to be two of the finest cinema actors in the modern era. (For confirmation, check out 2007's Eastern Promises and 2016's Moonlight, respectively, both of which I graded A-.) In Green Book, Don transcends from coldly intellectual to approachable congeniality, while Tony's change is from tomato can to guardian angel.
There are several human touches in this film which deserve a shout out. The Italian meals cooked by Tony's wife, Dolores (Linda Carelini), and served to a full table of family and friends made my mouth water and reminded me of Sunday dinners at my grandma's in Chicago. The periodic letters penned by Tony to Dolores, little by little improving in quality and artistry to the point where authorship was obviously assisted by Ali. And finally, Don's epiphany upon hearing Tony's claim that he, Tony, a man who grew up on the mean city streets, was in some ways "blacker" than Ali.
The film's title refers to a guide book written by a black man, Victor Hugo Green, for the benefit of African Americans traveling through the South. It listed motels, restaurants and other facilities at which they were welcomed. Many editions were published following Green's death in 1960, and, sadly, even after the first Civil Rights Act signed by President Lyndon Johnson in 1964.
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