Homer Simpson is still a winning loser


Homer Simpson was just realizing the impact: In high school, he was cheated out of his chance to be student president. The winner went on to be rich and respected; the loser became, well, Homer Simpson.

"That could have been my life," Homer groans, in the episode that debuts at 8 p.m. Sunday (Feb. 15). "I could have a big house and a hot wife."

Marge takes offense at that. Women do, sometimes. "I'd still be married to you," he reassures her. "But you'd be hotter."

That starts an episode that reminds us of the basics: "The Simpsons" may not be as good as it once was -- but it's way better than almost anything else.

Sunday's episode just arrived today (Friday), too late for any TV columns. Still, it's a good one and I wanted to tell you about it. (Also, please read my previous blog, which bears an important moral about putting things on cars.)

"The Simpsons" is already the longest-lasting sitcom ever. Next season will be its 20th, matching "Gunsmoke" and Red Skelton.

The show keeps dabbling. Sunday will be its first episode in high-definition. It also introduces a new title scene -- longer and funnier than previous ones. And it has lots of wit.

Sure, some people advise Homer not to hold a grudge. Al Gore points out that he was cheated out of the presidency and he's doing fine.

Then again, Gore is drinking alone at Moe's Bar and is talking to his Nobel medal. Maybe we shouldn't believe him.

Homer doesn't and seethes. We see (thanks to magic spaghetti sauce) what his life would have been. Like all "Simpsons" episodes, this is inconsistent. Like many, it has moments that are wonderful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Distributing good literature


One of the wisest observations I've heard on a cable movie went thusly: "Sometimes, even a bad parent is better than a good parent who leaves the baby on top of the car."

Always remembering (and agreeing with) this, I have never left a baby on top of a car. Today, however, I may have overcompensated.

After gathering many good books at the Lansing library, I was careful to put Kasia (age 4) and Lon (1) inside the car, in their car seats. I was less careful to move the books off the car roof and inside.

When I got home, I was dismayed to find no books. I called the library, which reported that several have been found on Capitol Avenue and returned. My thoughts:

1) My deep gratitude to the people who returned them.

2) I'm starting to think it's important to not leave anything on top of a car. Not babies or books or anything. Life is difficult.

Beware of TV time changes for Monday (Feb. 9)


If you're getting ready to watch TV tonight (Monday, Feb. 9), don't depend on schedules that were compiled in advance.

The complication came when President Obama set a press conference for 8 p.m. ET. To catch it, the networks are doing some quick scrambling.

On a different note, please read my previous blog about the Richard Thomsen memorial service in Lansing, Mich. Meanwhile, here are the expected changes tonight:

-- Two 8 p.m. shows -- "Chuck" on NBC, "House" on Fox -- are bumped.

-- Two others are nudged back. ABC's "The Bachelor" will now go from 9-11 p.m., dumping "True Beauty"; CBS' "Big Bang Theory" will slide to 9:30 p.m., dumping "Worst Week." 

A warm and quirky memorial


This may be one of the best lines ever uttered at a memorial service.

The subject was Richard Thomsen, the actor and director who linked with John Peakes to start BoarsHead Theater, near Lansing, Mich. His colleagues gathered, some calling it a sort of reunion. They recalled Thomsen's broad knowledge, his daring taste, his immense talent.

Then John Bowman talked about Thomsen's directing style. This man was terse, tough, demanding, precise. "This feels like a high school reunion," Bowman said, "only the bully is dead."

He said it fondly. Thomsen was a benevolent bully. He knew more than anyone else and wasted no time explaining it.

Once, a young actor found he could get laughs by scratching his back with a violin bow. Thomsen used only four sharp words: "Miller, eschew the impulse."

Yes, he could use the word "eschew" easily. He was sort of like John Houseman in "Paper Chase," only less cuddly.

Thomsen grew up as the son of a socialist druggist in small-town Iowa. He knew approximately everything, people agree. His daughter used to call him the smartest man in the world; she later lowered him to fourth-smartest (behind Albert Einstein and two others), but then raised him again after realizing the full scope of what he and Peakes had accomplished.

Consider David Dunckel, who was determined to run away from home at 10 or 11. He got on his bike and pedalled 10 miles or so, to the wilderness of Fitzgerald Park, in Grand Ledge.  There, he settled into the closest thing to a cave he could find -- and wept. Thomsen and Peakes heard him, took him to their Ledges Playhouse, gave him a blanket and called his dad.

Yes, it's amazing that those men would have heard the crying, far from their theater. Still, the most amazing thing was simply the fact that professional theater was being created in Grand Ledge.

It was often great theater. BoarsHead launched the professional careers of William Hurt, Anthony Heald, Bowman (the final new comic introduced by Johnny Carson), Mary Beth Hurt, Larry Joe Campbell and many more. Carmen Decker took a BoarsHead show to Chicago, promptly winning the Jefferson Award as that city's best professional actress; she promptly returned to Lansing and never did another Chicago show.

With Thomsen nudging it along, BoarsHead skipped all the easy routes. One year, a memorial speaker said, four of its eight shows were world premieres; the others were Michigan premieres.

There have been changes, of course. BoarsHead moved away from the wilderness and into a comfy, downtown theater. Thomsen moved to New York, Peakes to Philadelphia. Kristine Thatcher -- a former teen protege at BoarsHead and then an acclaimed Chicago writer-director -- is now in charge. This year, she had two straight near-premieres; now she's drawing good crowds with the logical combination of Decker in "Driving Miss Daisy."

Great theater has happened at BoarsHead; it's likely to keep happening there. That's the legacy of a benevolent bully.

 

 

 

 

Some David Frost memories


Watching the excellent movie "Frost/Nixon," I drifted back to a couple David Frost memories.

The film sort of implies that Frost was strictly a glib TV guy, smooth and slick, with nothing that prepared him to do those historic interviews with former President Richard Nixon.

Perhaps, but remember this: Frost -- like so many British TV people -- is smart and sly; he knew enough politics to do first-rate satire.

I first saw him in 1964, on "That Was The Week That Was." The show had been a hit in England, then was temporarily yanked off the air so it wouldn't do satire in a British election year. (Hey, sometime try to pull "Saturday Night Live" or "The Daily Show" during an election year.) So Frost was available for the American version.

It had some so-so people and some talented ones, including Alan Alda, Buck Henry, songwriter Tom Lehrer and, especially, Frost.

I remember him explaining the population explosion and the fact that (back then) there were maybe 800 million Chinese people. "To illustrate this, if you took those 800 million people and had them walking single-file around the equater, and kept them marching all day, every day, (a British-style pause here) you'd pretty much have the population explosion solved."

In 1977, 13 years later, Frost had his historic interviews with Nixon. Those moments are neatly captures in the movie, which is brilliantly written by Peter Morgan ("The Queen") and directed by Ron Howard. It has some flaws -- including an oddly showy performance by Sam Rockwell as James Reston, Jr. -- but is an involving look at a key confrontation.

It also portrays Frost as a globetrotter, a guy forever leaping across continents. That part is definitely true.

When I interviewed Frost in 1988, he had taken over as anchor and producer of "Inside Edition." He explained his schedule: Each Monday morning, he got on a Concord plane in London, flew to New York, then took a helicopter to the show's office. Each Friday, he reversed that route.

Commuting weekly between continents? That seems typical of Frost, a guy with a hyperactive mind. At 69, he's been Sir David Frost for 15 years. He still does light entertainment, but he has also interviewed six prime ministers and seven U.S. presidents. And thanks to a good movie, a piece of his past is now well-known.