shoop praises full house

It is not, of course, cool to like "Full House," the ABC family-oriented sitcom that ran from the late 80s to the mid-90s. It's not even retro-cool, the way it's cool to like "The Brady Bunch." Certainly, "Full House" detractors have plenty of legitimate complaints--the inevitable synth strings when the situation became Emotional, Joey's really annoying voices, Bob Saget's blandness, John Stamos' hair jokes, and, of course, the spawning of the Mary Kate-Ashley industry.

And yet--I submit there are reasons this show still retains such popularity in reruns. And no, not for the "normal" reasons, i.e., audiences are stupid (I hold firm to the maxim that while there may be a considerable number of individual nitwits in an audience, the collective audience is always a genius), or that some people really like the Valuable Life Lessons the show offers. It's no coincidence, as far as I'm concerned, that kid actors on the shows that teach Valuable Life Lessons generally wind up being the most disturbed--and, sure enough, "Full House" boasts (at least) one bulimic and one methadone addict. There are elements that make the show worthy of a second or third look, and here they are...

1) The secrets of Danny Tanner: actors are always the most interesting when they're not revealing everything. What Bob Saget wasn't showing as affable neat-freak Danny Tanner was his bluer-than-blue standup side. This works best if you've seen Saget onstage, but try this--go see "The Aristocrats," the movie about standups telling the world's dirtiest joke. The whole movie's a hoot, but pay attention to Saget's contribution. Now go back and watch some "Full House," and imagine Danny Tanner about two seconds away from bursting into a string of vile profanity. Aren't his scenes 10 times more interesting?

2) John Stamos and meta-television: Stamos gave his character (Uncle Jesse, dude!) a distinctive vocal mannerism lifted directly from Archie Bunker, the bigot-hero of the landmark show "All in the Family." It's hard to render into print, but it runs roughly like this: a dismissive and irritated "hah?" at the end of a (usually exasperated) request, as in, "Just change the baby, hah?" Which made perfect sense--of course Stamos' character would have grown up watching "All in the Family," and that's just the sort of thing people do with characters they like and watch a lot. In a cleverer-than-you'd-expect revelation, we see Danny's late wife (Uncle Jesse's older sister) on a video, employing the same mannerism. Actors and writers on this show were really thinking about these people as, well, people.

3) Kimmy Gibler was hot. Okay, you have to wait till the final couple of seasons, but seriously.

4) The crushing tragi-comedy of middle child Stephanie: yes, you need the complete series arc to appreciate this. Check out the first couple seasons of Stephanie--cute, precocious, and armed with a killer catch phrase: "How rude!" As the youngest verbal member of the cast, Jodie Sweetin was free to steal scenes left and right. Now check out the middle years and the rise of Michelle. The show's diabolically brilliant move was to show us the same baby, then little girl, over real time, and the attachment level was enormous. (It's worth repeating--Mary Kate and Ashley became an Industry, and that's no exaggeration.) Michelle gets cuter and gains in attitude, while Stephanie goes through a major awkward period. And, again, the writers remain very clever--giving Stephanie more and more Danny (daddy)-like traits (particularly the nervous jabbering). Had the show lasted another year or two, the psychological depths could have been staggering.

5) Joey and the voices: okay, this element is the hardest one to defend. Examples of Joey's standup were never more than mildly amusing, and only about 1 in 15 of his cast of voices weren't downright annoying. Nevertheless, a few gems stand out: a) Joey's George Jetson--nails it, dude; b) Joey's "Wizard of Oz" bit, especially the Ray Bolger-inflected "A twistah! A twistah!" and c) a stray imitation, a propos of absolutely nothing, of Bill Murray's groundskeeper guy from "Caddyshack." I can't even remember the episode, but it kills.

"Full House"--doomed to derision and under-appreciation, except from those few million of us who appreciate it. And I didn't even mention the jaw-droppingly wacky telethon episode.

shoop and the atheists

Atheists, of course, have every right to be atheists. One of the most powerful moments of Obama's inauguration was his inclusion of non-believers--in the past, our leaders tended to list the various major religions when they wanted to evoke our national crazy quilt, so Obama's message was huge, timely, and absolutely right.

That said, atheists sure bitch a lot.

To be fair, I think American atheists do have one legitimate complaint--our money. If I decided that there was no God, and I still had to proclaim my trust in Him every time I earned or spent some cash, I'd be miffed, no question. And it's worth remembering that putting God on our money and sneaking God into our pledge of allegiance came out of the Cold War 1950s--it's by no means something we Americans have always done. So if atheists feel the need to protest those elements of our country and our society, full speed ahead.

Here's where atheists tend to go wrong. One, they tend to be really, really smug about their atheism. They have three basic arguments for believers: 1) I don't believe because I'm smart; you believe because you're an idiot; 2) I don't believe because I'm brave enough to face reality; you believe because you're scared; and 3) I don't believe because I'm sane; you believe because you're crazy. All three arguments pretty much kill dialogue before it starts.

The other area where militant atheist reasoning hops the track is that they blame a belief in God--anybody's belief in God--for the world's problems. (It's every bit as silly as believers blaming atheism for the world's problems.) Yes, former president Bush claimed that Jesus wanted us in Iraq--but that's not a belief in God issue, that's a being-obtuse-about-one's-belief issue. Same with pharmacists who won't fill certain prescriptions, same with the intelligent design folks, same with any "believer" who's being obnoxious and in-your-face. For all their intelligence and reason, militant atheists seem to miss that point, and pretty consistently. But that's what happens when you're a militant anything, really.

You miss points.

shoop and the 25 random things

Since you're totally sick of these from Facebook, I thought I'd import these from my Facebook page. Twenty-five things about me that will give you no insight whatsoever.

1. Now that I've lived more years than I'm probably going to live, I'm drawn more to long-form improv. I think it's the whole "getting out of my head" thing--horrible cliche, but I'm too intellectually lazy to describe it better.

2. Sometimes I don't realize I've accomplished something kind of cool until someone points it out to me. For example, I've turned my dissertation into a book, and it's due out tomorrow (I use my advance copies as coasters). And somebody told me, "That's really amazing!" And I thought, "Well, yeah, maybe it is..."

3. I believe you get signs and signals throughout your life, but unless you're really spiritually evolved or something like that, you don't connect the dots till later. For instance, when I was a kid, I remember this cartoon book where a kid is answering the phone and saying, "Dad can't come in to work; he's feigning illness today." So "feign" became one of my secret favorite words. When I first met my now wife, she used the word "feign" in a sentence, so I just kinda knew. Of course, it could have been a coincidence.

4. Sleep apnea sucks. I think a good night's sleep would be kinda neat.

5. People mock me for feeling more loyalty to the University of Pittsburgh (grad school) than to Georgetown (undergrad). It's just that at Pitt, I had the undergrad career I always wanted.

6. Most of my play ideas lately involve death and disease. Kinda gross.

7. I like Obama, but I'm keeping my middle name.

8. I'd like to do more research on George M. Cohan, plays that have to do with trials and justice, and plays that involve the I.W.W. (Industrial Workers of the World) in some way.

9. I like marriage. I got married kinda late (just before I turned 38), and I'll bet my parents thought I was gay.

10. I miss Dad (we lost him right around Labor Day, 2007).

11. I was an extra in "I'm Not Rappaport." I was not Rappaport. I think you might be able to see the top of my head, but I wouldn't swear to it.

12. Some years back, one of my plays was produced, and I got a call from someone introducing himself as the character in my play--"Hi, Mike, this is Simeon Pickett." I can't speak for all writers, but I think fictional characters calling me is kinda freaky.

13. Yes, I wrote a play with a character named "Simeon Pickett."

14. I also wrote a play a long time ago with a character named "August Rush." Years later, there was a movie called "August Rush." I guess dumb character names just kind of make the rounds, like other bad ideas.

15. Currently, I have a play that's a semi-finalist in the Hidden River Arts Playwriting Competition--it's called "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)." It's about neither Istanbul nor Constantinople.

16. Speaking of "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)," years ago I was watching one of those Doo-Wop specials that run on PBS stations during pledge drives, and I saw four older gentlemen (who turned out to be The Four Lads) singing "Istanbul (Not Constantinople)." And I thought, what are these old guys doing covering a They Might Be Giants song?

17. Sometimes, it just takes me a while to get it. This comes from being very literal. A friend of mine once said, "It's difficult to be subtle with you." And she was right.

18. If a familiar candy introduces a new flavor or new style, I have to try it. Like the M&Ms with strawberry, or the Snickers with almonds. Once I saw Snickers with "special yellow nougat." I had to have it immediately. Turns out yellow nougat is just yellow, but my curiosity was satisfied.

19. Biggest laugh I ever heard was when watching a rough cut of Beauty and the Beast at Lincoln Center. It was when Belle's father grabs Cogsworth's pendulum and starts messing with it, and Cogsworth huffily says something like, "Release that, if you don't mind." It still makes me laugh.

20. See, the pendulum was phallic in nature, so it was like Belle's father was grabbing... never mind.

21. The second biggest laugh I ever heard was while watching "Angels in America" in New York. One character, referring to Roy Cohn, asks, "Who's the biggest closeted queen in New York?" And his friend responds, "Koch?" But that's a New York joke.

22. Show I most wish I could have been in: "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." Maybe I'll direct it someday.

23. I haven't watched "Inside the Actors Studio" in a long time, but I used to like it when they asked guests their favorite swear word. My favorite was Holly Hunter, because her favorite swear word was "c***sucker," except with that lisp of hers, it came out "c***shucker."

24. Kid actors don't impress me much. Maybe I'm not being fair, but I'm inclined to think that if a child under 12 or 13 or so gives a great performance, it's the director's doing.

25. Only part I've ever played that I'd like to play again: Matt in "Talley's Folly." Especially since that was college, and now I'm more like Matt's age.

There you have it. I'll try for more substance next time, but no promises.

shoop gives of himself

I spent about five days working with Acting Without Boundaries, who work out of the Haverford School in Haverford, PA. It's handicapped actors putting on an abridged musical--in this case, "The Sound of Music."

This post should be incredibly heartwarming, but there are two problems: I don't write "heartwarming" very well, and I don't, as a general rule, get into heartwarming situations. Mostly, I wanted to speak when spoken to, do what I was told, and try not to fuck things up too much.

(Note: I don't much like profanity in blogs, but I will occasionally use "fuck" as a verb. I think it's a waste as a modifier. For example: what a shame. What a fucking shame. See? Didn't add anything useful, did I?)

Actually, there was one heartwarming moment. One of the young actors, a blond girl in a wheelchair, took a look at the backdrop--a big, panoramic view of the hills that are alive with the sound of music--and said, "I would like to visit the Alps."

"I would, too," I said--yessing, but not yes-anding, as improv pros would point out.

"I would take you," she said to me.

"Thanks," I said. "That's sweet." And it was.

The thing that amazed me was everyone's attitude. The handicapped actors--mostly physically so, but some with discernible learning delays--all wanted to learn their lines letter-perfectly. They would repeat as many times as necessary until they had it. I've directed a few times, and I'd probably strike a deal with Beelzebub to get actors with that kind of attitude. As for the director--well, this man had the patience of at least a couple of saints, and you could throw in a few saint-nominees for good measure. He inspired, he cajoled, he coaxed--and, so far as I knew, never condescended and never lost his respect for the youngsters--never lost it, period. He was responsible for putting 15-20 handicapped actors through their blocking, their costumes, their mikes, and their paces. The play I directed that's going up now has 5 non-handicapped actors, and they were enough to make me pull out my increasingly salt-and-pepper hair. To put it mildly, it puts things in perspective.

I wasn't 100% successful in my quest to not fuck things up, however. I was assigned one costume change for the young lady playing Maria. "You're assisting me?" she asked, with the social accuracy of one skilled in spotting incompetence. Sure enough, during one of the performances, I managed to make taking off her sweater, cowl, and apron into an ordeal long enough to delay a major entrance. For the second performance, I did better, but I also had help. It would seem that the handicapped do not necessarily benefit from my presence.

Still, a good way to get out of your head is to go help people. Even clumsy efforts to help are surprisingly appreciated--that doesn't happen often in life.

shoop and the indispensibles

One of my myriad old bosses once told me that no one is indispensible. And he was probably right. What I'm examining today has to do with Hollywood--or as Bullwinkle used to pronounce it, "Holllly-wood." Movie stars--once upon a time, one of main reasons we went to a movie. Do we still go see stars? And who do we see? Who can't we imagine the movies without? Are there any indispensible stars left? Or is it all franchises, brand names, and niches? I have a few ideas about what stars are left.

Meryl Streep--like her or not, she's the only one we've got, and we go to see her to see what she'll do next. Now in her 60s, her unique combination of heavy-duty Method and heavy-duty Brecht is impossible to duplicate. It's a matter of the way she "disappears" into characters, yet you always are aware that Meryl Streep is doing the disappearing--the accent, the hair, the make-up or lack of it. It's the same sort of port-o-Brecht that Laurence Olivier used to carry around with him--you always knew it was Olivier, no matter what he did, and he damn well wanted you to know it. She's not only the only one who does it, I think she's the only one who would want to do it. And that's why we go see her.

Tom Hanks--yes, "Angels & Demons" is "underperforming" at a little over $130 million (nothing like inflated costs and expectations), but it's also killing overseas. And Hanks still has something in reserve, which he trots out occasionally on talk shows and stuff like The Colbert Report--a twisted sense of humor. Hanks could, and possibly will, reinvent himself with the right director.

Will Smith--he's not around this summer, but he's one of the few people around who can pretty much guarantee a big opening right now. He's equally comfortable in prestige films and middle-of-the-road comic stuff. And I think he's going to get more interesting as he gets older.

Julia Roberts WAS indispensible. Who else could you root for more consistently in the movies, whether she was a good-hearted hooker, good-hearted runaway bride, good-hearted muckraking attorney's aide, or a good-hearted woman trying to sabotage her best friend's wedding. That's what critics of Roberts never got that we fans did--we weren't rooting for her to undermine the wedding, we were rooting for her to wise up. And she does in the end. But she's having trouble negotiating early middle-age--she might have to disappear for 10 years, like Audrey Hepburn, and then come back in the remake of "Robin and Marian."

John Cusack could have been indispensible--he was unpredictable as a young actor. That combination of blankness and alertness meant that you never knew everything about him. Lately, though, you do know everything. Which is a little boring.

Anne Hathaway might make it to indispensible. She's following a similar path to Julia Roberts, but she's already showing signs of greater versatility (plus there's the singing). At any rate, it'll be interesting to watch her try.

I invite my imaginary readers to present their own candidates.

Next time: shoop gives of himself.

shoop and something lighter for twelfth night

I was lucky enough to catch the Public Theatre's production of Twelfth Night in Central Park last week. There are many reasons to recommend it--including Anne Hathaway's lovely turn as Viola. That's not a surprise, though--Hathaway's been doing terrific work for years, and she might just become one of Hollywood's few indispensable personalities (a subject for later). And besides, how can anyone with the same name as Shakespeare's wife not kill in Shakespeare? So, yes, she's great--she even gets away with a totally goofy, non-scripted "Yes!" when she tops Feste at some wordplay--but that wasn't the big surprise for me. The big surprise was that I laughed--heartily, lustily, and often, at Sir Toby Belch and Sir Andrew Aguecheek.

I've seen Twelfth Night a few times. I've even been in a production--as that classic supernumerary combo, the Sea Captain and the Priest. And, to be sure, I've had to read the play, and write about it, a few more times. And I have never, not once, laughed at Sir Toby and Sir Andrew. I've seen lots of talented people play them, I've read the footnotes so I get the jokes--but nothing. These guys just aren't funny. And Shakespeare devotes pages to their discussions about wacky dances, drinking, and venereal disease, while the story takes a rest. So why are they funny in this production?

It's deceptively simple--Daniel Sullivan, the director, uses what every director needs--more than a concept, more than a Unifying Idea, more than a lot of frou-frou to show how clever and deconstructive he or she is. He uses common sense. If these two clowns are talking about goofy dancing, then they should demonstrate it. Some directors are clever enough to get that much. But to demonstrate it properly, they need musicians and music. So Sullivan provides the music, and the foolish dancing becomes funny, natural, and inevitable. The other part of the equation is a little harder to pin down, because it involves the two actors--in this case, Hamish Linklater and Jay O. Sanders as Sir Andrew and Sir Toby, respectively. Linklater goes for something resembling "random deadpan"--lines like "I am a great lover of beef" come from, and arrive, from nowhere, and somehow Shakespeare becomes funny like those funny moments in Chekhov where characters will come up with something for no good reason, let the other characters think about it, and then let the line drift off into the ether. Sanders is the hale and hearty one, who finds the vulgar in the gentleman, and the gentlemanly in all that's base, gross, and vulgar. They're a great team, and they provide a great time.

It's nice to be reminded why one cherishes theatre. I was lucky enough to be reminded last week. I hope that sort of thing happens to you, too.

shoop and hard-earned love

This one's about cats. Specifically, our cat, Dostoyevsky. He wasn't ours to begin with; our friends had to move from Erie, PA to Waco, TX, and they were afraid their senior-age (then 13) cat couldn't stand the trip. Plus the cat wasn't getting along with their new daughter, so one of them had to go.

Understandably, Dostoy (or Dos, or as my sisters-in-law like to call him, Dos-Equis) didn't take to us immediately. He would claw and nip at us, and turn away, annoyed. Gradually, he was able to train us. And he's come to love us, on his own terms--cats and Charles Foster Kane have that quality in common.

Now, I like dogs, too. And we all know the differences between dogs and cats. There's a reason Old Yeller, Beethoven, and Marley (or Beethoven the 8th, or as I like to call him, That Darn Dog) aren't cats. But if a cat deigns to put up with you, and even show occasional affection, you know you've earned it. After all, Dostoy swats at my nephew and hisses at my niece, and generally treats visitors very shoddily. And sometimes, when we fall short of his desires, he'll still swat at us, too. But every now and then, he'll touch his head to my hand. That's it. No rubbing against me, no licking, and only very restrained purring. It's a little like when Dustin Hoffman touched Tom Cruise's head in Rainman--a huge gesture, and hard-earned. Dogs can be unconditional in their love, faithful, and everything Owen Wilson emotionlessly intones over the Marley and Me soundtrack, and that's just fine. But love from a cat? You have to earn it.

Next time--shoop and something lighter for twelfth night