Jorma Kaukonen was halfway through a 45-minute phone interview last week when the subject of a Jefferson Airplane reunion finally came up.

The former lead guitarist of the band that not only helped define the psychedelic '60s but also its brand of freewheeling rock is, at the age of 74, still a busy man. He was looking ahead to two weeks of teaching guitar at his Fur Peace Ranch On the Road at Dana Point, Calif., before starting a tour to promote his precious new solo record, Ain't In No Hurry (Red House Records), a smooth blend of blues, folk, traditional and original tunes that releases February 17.

Call it coincidence, serendipity or the primal forces of nature at work, but the gentle soul with the magic fingerpicking hands that work as well as his mind was discussing plans to commemorate Jefferson Airplane's 50th anniversary when he was interrupted by the trill ringtone on his nearby cellphone.

"Oh, it's Jack Casady," Kaukonen merrily announced. "I'll call him later."

He and his bass-playing partner -- before, during and long after the '60s -- certainly have a lot to talk about, now more than ever. And expect the other surviving core members of the Airplane -- Paul Kantner, Marty Balin and Grace Slick -- to join that conversation as long as the days during this milestone year remain.

While the chance of all of them performing collectively again has been pooh-poohed recently, Kaukonen, who obligingly covered the subject in detail, leaves the door open for some type of formal get-together.

Before his cellphone rang, Kaukonen (left) said, "You know, Grace not singing anymore has taken a lot of pressure off the rest of us that really don't have the time it would take to put together a show like that. Listen, I have nothing but respect for the Airplane but I'm just not there today. But just the last time I was in California, I had dinner with Paul; we just did a gig (in December) at the Beacon (Theatre in New York for Casady's 70th birthday), where Marty sat in for four or five songs (including 'Volunteers'). And I talk to Grace all the time."

After the brief delay, Kaukonen sounded like he was giving the Jefferson Airplane idea a ringing endorsement.

"Anyway, so we talk about this stuff and my idea, because I think that something needs to be done, we're sort of working to see if everyone else is on board, 'cause it would take so much work literally to put a band together, much less the band (former drummers Spencer Dryden and Joey Covington are deceased). But we're all here, you know. It would be a shame not to do something.

"I could see yakking on talk shows. To be honest with you, I could see doing lectures at colleges. Not just talking about, telling war stories about the time. Maybe talking about the creative process. I could see all of us who are into it; Grace won't do it but Paul and Marty and Jack and I would, I think. I haven't heard from Paul or Marty on this yet."

Kaukonen did backtrack to add that Slick might chime in, as long as she doesn't have to sing. But you never know -- Stevie Nicks said in 2012 that the chances of Christine McVie returning to Fleetwood Mac were about as likely as "an asteroid hitting the earth," and look what happened -- the most lucrative tour of 2014 continues.

"If it's just talking, she might (participate)," Kaukonen said of Slick. "She loves to talk. And she's a great ... I mean nobody can yak like Grace can. But I can see the rest of us sitting with our instruments and going, 'Yeah, I remember doing this or doing that.' Just basically like having a seminar that involves the audience. That would be my idea."

Getting 'very personal'
The articulate Kaukonen is filled with ideas, and many of them work their way into songs, including four on the upcoming Ain't In No Hurry, his first solo album since 2009's River of Time.

While he won't pick a favorite -- "I don't write that many songs; I gotta like 'em all," he said modestly -- Kaukonen clearly admires "In My Dreams," which he wrote about his wife Vanessa, and "Seasons in the Field," a touching encapsulation of this time in his life that he calls "a poem set to words."

Larry Campbell, a jack-of-all-instruments who's kept legendary company while touring with the likes of Bob Dylan and Levon Helm, assisted on the album-closing tune's music, but its Kaukonen's raspy voice, poignant words and breathtaking acoustic guitar that just might move you to tears.

Each previous moment /
Was a blessing in disguise /
I never saw so clearly /
It was right before my eyes

Though he said the song needed some editing -- "It's not like, 'OK, I'm done here; I'm brilliant and it's perfect,' " Kaukonen added -- writing "Seasons in the Field" was a relaxing process.

"I'm not a wordsmith," Kaukonen said, though he contributed to plenty of Airplane albums during its existence. "I'm not a professional songwriter, guys like Jim Lauderdale or Guy Clark or Verlon Thompson, guys that write brilliant songs, brilliant song after song. And I'm not really sure what process motivates them to be able to be so prolific. I know some of their songs are very personal, but not all of them. But mine are always very personal.

"So something's has to be going on. So in 'Seasons of the Field,' I just started kind of reflecting. I've got a little office over a garage that I have at home because, you know, you can't practice or write around family. They don't mean to but they cannot not let you alone. And I just started thinking about what was going on and, you know, I spent some time working on the lyrics but really the whole thing just flowed very easily for me."

Hopefully, it'll be a set list fixture as he performs as a trio (with Campbell and Teresa Williams) from Feb. 14-22, solo from Feb. 25-28, then with mandolinist Barry Mitterhoff from March 5-15.

"Self-employed people don't have days off," Kaukonen said from his home in southeast Ohio less than a week before departing for the West Coast.

Still pleased to be playing acoustic Jefferson Airplane songs that he wrote ("Trial by Fire," "Third Week at the Chelsea") or performed (the traditional "Good Shepherd"), Kaukonen even went on iTunes to download two of the band's biggest hits -- "White Rabbit" and "Somebody to Love" -- to relearn before Williams sang them at Casady's birthday bash.

If the Airplane's highly publicized volatility left any bitter feelings, Kaukonen believes it's a thing of the past.

"Well, I just reconnected with Paul," he said. "We had some issues. I mean it's just guys running their mouth," said Kaukonen, who looks back on an "amenable" relationship with all his ex-band members. "No big deal but I got to thinking. We're not kids anymore. You know, if you can't be friends with your old friends, who can you be friends with? You know, it's not like we fucked each other or anything like that. We didn't. We never did. It's not like, 'Well, I hate him because ...' It's not like Levon and Robbie Robertson (in The Band). Or actually, when you think about that, that's pretty absurd, too. But that's not for me to say. ....

"You know, a lot of years went by when I don't think we talked at all. But I've never found myself to be adversarial with them. Which is good. It saves lawyer money."

In the beginning
Kaukonen actually brought up the Airplane first during this interview, mentioning several times how luck has played a part in his personal and professional longevity. But his health apparently is a priority.

"I have a lot of physicals these days," he said. "The insurance companies insist on it. My doctor goes, 'You know, you really owe your parents a debt of gratitude. Good genes. ... My family's been, generally speaking, long-lived and pretty healthy for the most part."

Kaukonen, who laughs easily and often, must have inherited his sense of humor from his parents, too. He said his mother (Beatrice) lived to be almost 88 and his dad (Jorma Sr.) just fell short of 87 and both were "very, very funny people."

"My dad dropped dead at my mom's feet," he recalled. "It sucked for her; it was probably great for him. At his memorial, we're sitting, everybody's lionizing the old man, my mother turned to me and she said, 'Your father always was an inconsiderate bastard.' "

Musically, while attending Antioch College in Ohio, Kaukonen learned fingerpicking directly from Ian Buchanan and indirectly from seeing Rev. Gary Davis play. In 1962, he went to the University of Santa Clara, south of San Francisco, a school "where I couldn't afford to send my kid (17-year-old Zach) today."

That first weekend, he said, "I remember I was walking around the campus, and I saw a mimeographed sheet tacked up to a phone pole. And it said hootenanny at the Folk Theater on First Avenue in San Jose. ... I got there and Janis (Joplin) was there, I met a guy named Steve Talbott, he's passed away since. (Pre-Grateful Dead) Jerry Garcia, "Pigpen" (McKernan), actually they've all passed away, too. People that became mainstays. Actually, everybody we've mentioned so far except me has passed away. ...

"It was so funny, it was so exciting to ... in this sort of conservative, staid, what I perceived as sort of a staid college campus, to meet people from that area that loved the kind of stuff that I did."

It was there, Kaukonen said, where he first performed the Jimmy Cox cover "Nobody Knows You When You're Down and Out" with Joplin. (A 1964 version by the two can be found on bootleg recordings.)

Appearing on a Jorma album for the first time, his roots-rock version that opens Ain't In No Hurry is a treat -- even minus that unmistakable Joplin voice.

"The PA in a little coffee house like the Folk Theater was less than minimal," Kaukonen said. "One microphone. And, of course, Janis was, as we all know, very powerful. So when the time came for me to be heard, I remember having, it was like one of those bluegrass things, you step up and shove your guitar into the microphone. I had to push her back. ... It was something. She was really something."

Preparing for takeoff
Performing together since 1958 as high schoolers in Washington D.C., Kaukonen and Casady became road roomies in the early Airplane days when, Kaukonen said, "I know this is hard for kids today to understand, but hotels didn't even have TVs."

When the group formed in 1965, Kaukonen claimed he made more money teaching guitar lessons in a San Jose basement than he did as the Airplane's lead guitarist.

Though he's a college graduate ("and I use the term loosely," Kaukonen said) with a degree in sociology, his only interest was playing music. Oh, there was a time in elementary school when he wanted to follow in his grandfather's footsteps to become a research bacteriologist, but "then I realized you had to study science and math. It wasn't just owning a bunch of test tubes and cool-looking stuff."

Becoming a heavily involved participant in the drug culture was practically a rite of passage those days in the Bay Area, but 50 years later, Kaukonen offers this frank opinion on a period that continues to be romanticized in books, films and music:

"For me and a lot of my friends ... the whole drugs and alcohol thing wasn't as much fun as we thought it was. It didn't play out that way. And I know a lot of people that say, 'Wow, I wish I was there; we could've done this, we could've done that,' and I'm going, 'Yeah, you could've.' But maybe it wasn't all it was cracked up to be."

Feeling good about being "sober for a number of years" now, Kaukonen confessed that "I don't think I was unscathed for a long time. ... But I managed to survive and I found my way and I'm doing OK. Many of my buddies that we could be talking about didn't and aren't."

In Living in the Material World, the Martin Scorsese documentary on George Harrison, the late Beatles guitarist recalls the disappointment of his first visit to San Francisco, saying, "I went to Haight-Ashbury expecting it to be this brilliant place. I thought it was gonna be all these groovy kind of gypsy kind of people with little shops making works of art and paintings and carvings. But instead it turned out to be just a lot of bums."

Before the Summer of Love in 1967, though, Kaukonen witnessed a different setting "that you tend not to hear so much."

"The hippie scene -- well what started out, it wasn't hippie, it was more of a beatnik scene -- was hard-working people; people had ideas, artists, writers, poets, musicians," he said. ... "This was way before the spare change thing, you know. Everybody really worked hard. Yes, it was different, yes, people dressed differently, yes, people smoked a lot of pot. But they got a lot of stuff done."

Summer of '69 and beyond
Playing Woodstock in August 1969 was a historical high for Kaukonen, who contends, "I'll probably never work another Woodstock. I did work Bonnaroo some years ago. Without getting specific, it's not Woodstock."

While he still enjoys playing festivals -- and plans to return to the Lockn' Music Festival in Arrington, Va., this September -- he doesn't see how that "Woodstock moment" can be duplicated.

"I never played before a crowd like that and probably never will again," Kaukonen said. "The fact that we, you know, we of a certain age, all of a sudden had an identity, you know the camaraderie that we were actually part of the culture. Even my father got it, you know. And he hated all that stuff back then." (laughs)

On the flip side, though, only a few months later there was Altamont, which Kaukonen said was as horrifying as it has been described and shown in the Rolling Stones documentary Gimme Shelter.

"I don't know whether they were trying to re-create a Woodstock at Altamont or if they were just trying to do a free show as the Airplane and the Dead and so many other people had done in New York, in San Francisco, and it just went terribly wrong," he said. "It's hard to say. I'm not in their heads, so I don't know what their goals were. (laughs) I know this is an understatement, but it didn't work."

At least he came away from it with a few important life lessons and a personal moment worth sharing, regarding the Airplane's experience:

"Our little thing, as a parenthetical conclusion, next time you see the movie, notice Jack and I and Spencer never stopped playing until we couldn't play anymore. You know, that's our mantra. That's what I tell students I'm teaching: No matter what happens onstage, don't stop playing.

"But anyway, you know Marty got punched, all that. Well, as soon as that was done, I wasn't there for the poor guy getting killed. As soon as we got offstage, I realized, 'This is really a drag.' And I remember my ex-wife and Spencer the Airplane drummer and I, they flew us in on a helicopter. But nobody was taking us out. And we had no car. I remember we went to the parking lot, I found some guy that was passed out on the hood of his Mustang, we woke him up and said, 'If you let me drive you and us in this car to San Francisco, we'll buy you a Mexican dinner.' He said, 'OK,' and so he did and we did."

Without the helicopter to produce an exit strategy, his suspicions were confirmed, especially under such disturbing conditions. "We always joke about this: You're a star before the show but as soon as you've played, you're a piece of shit."

Guitar heroes
If guitarists were gunslingers, Kaukonen could have had quite a shootout back in the day. But he says he never saw it that way, though he made sure to check out what top guns such as Jimi Hendrix and Eric Clapton were doing.

The first time he saw Cream perform at the Fillmore, Kaukonen was so impressed with Clapton's ability (and apparently his guitar) that he took it out on his own Rickenbacker 12-string that was used on some Airplane songs.

"I went back to my apartment and threw it through the wall like a spear," Kaukonen said. "Fortunately, I didn't break it, so I could sell it or trade it for another guitar.

"I found Clapton not only so inventive but what he did with the traditional music that I loved in a format that I'd never heard before was cool," he added. "Now Hendrix, yes, iconic, brilliant, I know all that stuff. I related as a player more to what Clapton did than what Hendrix did. I think it was because it was easier for me to understand. Just like I liked Rev. Gary Davis better than Robert Johnson from a learning and playing point of view."

Kaukonen, who was schooled in electric guitar by Mike Bloomfield, still likes to plug in, especially when assisting students, but rarely touches the instrument at home while playing his acoustic all the time.

On certain occasions, he'll get fired up, though. Last year, he met Chicago bluesman Dave Specter, who introduced Kaukonen to the sound of a Mexican Jazzmaster that was playing on one of his vinyl records.

"So I bought one immediately, put Lindy Fralin pickups in it and I've been playing it, because we did a Hot Tuna Electric tour," Kaukonen said. "I remember there was an interview with (ZZ Top's) Billy Gibbons some years ago where they asked how he kept it fresh electrically, and I believe his answer was, 'Buy new gear.' So there is some truth to that. I've got like 800 bucks in this guitar and it's as good as my Les Pauls. It's different, but it's really cool."

Keeping company with guys like Hendrix, Clapton and Bloomfield on Rolling Stone writer David Fricke's "Top 100 Guitarists of All Time" in 2003 was "flattering," Kaukonen said, but "I'm not sure what it means. ... To be recognized by your peers and people listening to music is always a good thing. "

Admitting "electric guitar is very, very seductive," Kaukonen still can be lured by its magical qualities. Having played his share of jams before there were jam bands and being the same age as Grateful Dead bassist Phil Lesh, Kaukonen seemed like a possible go-to guitarist when that legendary group started searching for a candidate to celebrate their 50th year with three shows at Chicago's Soldier Field in July, two decades after Garcia's death.

So the proud Rock and Roll Hall of Famer who performed his dreamy "Embryonic Journey" from Surrealistic Pillow at the Airplane's induction ceremony in 1996 expressed mock indignation when asked if the Dead ever contacted him to replace the late Garcia (No. 13 on that "Top 100" list) instead of choosing Trey Anastasio, who was 2 years old during the Summer of Love.

"They did not," he said. "And my feelings are hurt. No, I was one of Phil's friends for a while. I've worked with them a little bit."

Getting serious, Kaukonen added, "I'm not the right guy for that gig. I think I'm more of a blues player. I don't really consider myself a pure blues player but I think that my muse is stronger as a blues player than Jerry's was. I think Trey's a great fit because he's a great guitar player, he's not a blues guitar player and he doesn't sound like Jerry. We'll see."

On that 2003 list, Kaukonen was ranked No. 54 between '50s session player Mickey Baker and Deep Purple's Ritchie Blackmore, but at no time did he want to be drawn into a popularity contest or pretend any rivalries existed.

"I don't think I considered that I played well enough to really ... I mean if I was gonna consider myself in the head-cutting business, I'd wanna play as well as any of the Chicago guys. You know, Elvin (Bishop), Bloomfield, Otis Rush, Buddy Guy, B.B. King, Albert King. Any of those guys that I consider to be master players. And I couldn't do that, so I don't think I gave myself enough credit to consider myself in the competition game. Which is probably good because, hey, what's to be competitive about music?"

Back to his roots
For a fan of blues and bluegrass, concocting Hot Tuna with Casady initially as a Jefferson Airplane side project happened organically for Kaukonen.

With an acoustic guitar on the road, he would play his songs with Casady in their hotel room during "the very beginning" days of the Airplane. Before the two called themselves Hot Tuna, Kaukonen thinks it was Kantner who suggested they play a song or two during an Airplane show at the Fillmore East "probably in '68 or '69."

"I was on a microphone with my old (Gibson) J-50, Jack was playing electric bass and I think we probably played 'Hesitation Blues' and something else. I don't remember what. And the crowd liked it. Because I never really thought about that being an outlet, you know. But then we started doing it more and more. And all of a sudden, we did a gig by ourselves."

Around that time Cream broke up, and Clapton took a more roots-oriented path on his first solo album with members of Delaney & Bonnie & Friends, a supporting act during his brief fling with Blind Faith.

A few years after that, Jefferson Airplane split up.

While admiring Clapton -- "He broke my heart when he left Cream; like he gives a shit what Jorma thinks" -- making a leap of that magnitude was never considered because "that kind of stuff was so far over my head," Kaukonen said. "I cut school when they were teaching harmony, so I couldn't do any of that stuff."

Instead, his musical partnership with Casady -- "We just really focused on what we could do," he said -- seemed like the next logical step. As simple as that, at least for Kaukonen (right, with Casady).

"Jack and I never really approached our career intellectually," he said. "Now if Jack was part of this interview, he'd be having fun with us because Jack in his talk -- most people don't know this -- but Jack is a very intellectual guy. And he second-guesses himself and parses every sentence to about three or four subterranean levels. I mean this would be a complicated conversation.

"It just made sense for us. And I think musically speaking, we felt at home in that milieu. I mean, thank God we have the Americana concept, the Americana milieu. A lot of people are doing that stuff these days. It's not the stuff of Miley Cyrus. Hey, speaking of that, I was so excited to learn the word 'twerking.' I had no idea. ... We had other words for that stuff, but twerking wasn't one of them."

Kaukonen just hopes, even while the bar is always getting raised with the new kids on the block (he's a fan of Sturgill Simpson), that a few slots remain open at cozy clubs and genre-bending festivals for a couple of talented old-timers.

Finally getting an invitation to appear at South By Southwest, as a member of a panel to discuss the works of late photographer Jim Marshall, Kaukonen (who wrote the intro to the book The Haight) was thrilled to report that he also "was able to weasel my way into a showcase" this year.

Now, if only Austin City Limits or AmericanaFest would come calling.

There undoubtedly are more incredible tales to tell from the man whose "Third Week in the Chelsea" is among four selections he wrote for one of Jefferson Airplane's final studio albums.

Listening again to 1971's Bark, an original copy (wrapped in a grocery bag with Grace Slick illustrations of each band member) that remains in my vinyl collection, the last lines of "Third Week in the Chelsea" seem to summarize the end to a bittersweet chapter:

Time is getting late now and the sun is getting low /
My body's feeling tired from carrying another load /
And sunshine's waiting for me a little further down the road

While that bright prediction came true, Kaukonen still credits his former group for jump-starting his shining career. And what better way to close a late -- but not final -- chapter in this adventure than with those early comments regarding his professional longevity that included this thoughtful soliloquy:

"As far as the musical career thing, wow, that's a miracle. You can't script that, you know. I mean obviously, my sort of ... whatever you want to call what it is I do today, folkie, Americana, whatever it is that ball got rolling is thanks to the Jefferson Airplane. And I'd like to think I'd still be doing what I was doing without that. But I think I have more visibility as a result of that. But the fact that people still like what I do after all these years is, I mean, it's beyond a blessing. It really is. And there's no way you can script that kind of stuff.

"Jack and I talk about this a little bit. And I guess the only thing that I can really think of, besides the fact that I think the music is good most of the time, is that we're really honest. What you see with us is what you get."

It just goes to show, some folks don't need an Airplane to fly.

Publicity photos courtesy of Red House Records. Hot Tuna concert photo by Barry Berenson.

It all started in October 2014. I was working as a technology consultant at PricewaterhouseCoopers. One Saturday afternoon, I wrote a short story about a man searching for love on Tinder, a popular mobile dating app.

By nightfall, the story grew larger and its plot, more complex. Soon, I deduced that prose was no longer the most compelling format through which to present my work. I felt that my story was yearning to escape from the Word document on which it was born.

The next day, I converted the story into a script. At this point, I knew that I wanted to produce a short film, I just didn't know where to turn for support. Leveraging Facebook and Twitter, I researched dozens of local video production companies. Finally, I discovered Robot Fondue, a boutique production studio based out of Brooklyn. Robot Fondue's Dan Jusino (director of photography) and Mark Bracamonte (director) shared my passion for skateboarding and the three of us decided to incorporate skateboarding, not only in the storyline, but also in the production process (i.e. Dan filmed a number of scenes while skating alongside the actors).



The great challenge of casting a love story about skateboarders was that I needed to recruit an actress who knew how to skateboard. With no outside funding and no experience assembling a cast, I took to social media. Rather serendipitously, I stumbled upon the Instagram account of Sarah Moliski, a comedic actor who skateboards and just so happens to be Lucy Liu's personal assistant. I contacted Sarah by commenting on her most recent Instagram post. She responded, expressing her interest in the film and later agreed to participate.



Exactly a month later, Sarah, the Robot Fondue crew and I were bundled up in Central Park, shivering in between shots as we rushed to complete the production in less than twelve hours. It wasn't, by any means, a walk in the park. My suit ripped in the middle of filming and for the sake of time, the team had to eliminate a number of scenes. Still, we managed to salvage the key shots that I dreamt up one Saturday afternoon. And together, we made movie magic.

*ASAP Ferg

People came out on a weeknight for the re-launch of DUH, hosted by the D.I.Y Hip Hop artist Alex Chapman, Joe Grun and friends or ASAP Ferg or because it was a Thursday night in NYC and obviously that's the pregame for the weekend. Either way, there were still crowds lined up outside of 14th and 8th avenue, steps from the subway and The Standard, way past happy hour hours. In one of the first shows since bandmate ASAP Yams' surprising death, Ferg showed up with his crew and played at least a thirty minute set, including club hit Shabba. One excited female club goer even remarked on how manly he smelled making his way to the VIP booth with a ton of fans following his lead, seemingly all from Parsons, NYU and downtown hipsters decked out in piercings and leather. It was also a sight to see the rapper crowd surf in that space. Though Ferg performed downstairs in the DJ booth, the intimate crowd welcomed a medley of songs that was accompanied with a special tribute to ASAP Yams, born Steven Rodriguez and also the cofounder of ASAP Mob. It was truly heartfelt and a nice addition to Ferg's performance. (Today, the Mob and it's supporters will send off their musical family member in New York City. )


*Hannah Bronfman DJing

UP & DOWN, which use to be The Darby, has been remodeled to a much more larger club full of colorful-mirrored rooms, trippy , selfie-worthy staircases and dark hallways, bathrooms to get lost in, and lots of table space for bottle service. Upstairs, you can find caste iron inspired decor, dimly lit rooms with gigantic chandeliers and an actual dance floor, despite what some may remember from the previous space that was super small. It's a fun house (especially for me while I'm on a brief hiatus from the nine to five gig) to dance throughout the hallways and lose your friends in the debauchery that will surely ensue. Previous DUH participants include Model Tyson Beckford, Lil Kim, fashion designer Nicola Formichettii, as well as few pop-up parties in Miami. Each week DUH NYC will feature an upcoming artist.

I like a good action movie and I like Clint Eastwood movies and so I went to see American Sniper. I also had a personal interest: decades earlier in Vietnam, I'd interviewed America's top sniper -- a dead-eyed killer nicknamed Papa Leech -- when I was investigating fragging as a journalist. Mr. "Leech" wasn't the kind of guy who would be played by Bradley Cooper -- he told me that he was thinking of becoming a hitman for the Mafia after he left the military (a dream that was heartlessly snatched away as he was killed by his own men before he left Vietnam). Back then, the American military wouldn't publicly confirm that we had sniper units because they were in a grey area under the Geneva Convention. How times have changed!

My first reaction to the movie was similar to Matt Taibbi's recently published evisceration in Rolling Stone -- that the movie was an appallingly simple-minded embodiment of an obtuse, morally bankrupt mindset that has led the U.S. to perpetually look for the next Vietnam without absorbing the lessons of the last one. Then, as things go bad, we once again scratch our heads as to why our vast firepower and technological superiority couldn't win the day. In the movie,

Chris Kyle's motivation for putting his life on the line as a sniper in Iraq was to avenge 9/11, and to bring the fight there so that he wouldn't be fighting in San Diego. He's never presented as a brain surgeon, but I would have thought that at some point during his four tours of duty, he might have come across at least one of the credible reports documenting that Iraq had nothing to do with 9/11; or, as he saw the countless civilians radicalized by the immense collateral damage of the war, wondered whether our actions in Iraq were creating recruits for Al Queda, and making it more likely that terrorism would some day come to San Diego. Apparently not.

That was my first reaction. Then, as I thought more about the movie, I wondered whether Mr. Eastwood was attempting something sly and subtle. By now, most people who will watch the film know that Bin Laden's crew were largely Saudi; they know that Saddam Hussein did not have the wherewithal to attack San Diego; and they are aware of the metastasis of ISIL, which could be described as the evil spawn of the wars in Iraq and Syria, and which does seem hell-bent on bringing the battle to the West. Eastwood certainly knows this; maybe he felt that viewers now know enough that they can draw their own conclusions if the story is simply told.

You can't watch the film, for instance, without noting that despite being overwhelmingly overmatched, the Iraqi irregulars are willing to die for their cause, whatever that is (you won't find out by watching this film). Yes, the Iraqi adversary in one city, "The Butcher," is presented as being almost cartoonishly cruel, but there is also a scene in which a kid contemplates picking up and launching a grenade launcher after its handler is killed by Kyle. The scene is meant to illustrate that Kyle has moral compunctions about shooting a kid, but it's hard to watch that scene and not wonder about the level of hatred against American troops that would prompt a kid to even consider picking up the weapon. There are many other scenes in the movie that make you wonder about the awesome idiocy of that war.

The film also allows us to make our own judgments about sniping. One scene shows Mustafa, Kyle's mirror image, leaving his beautiful wife to rush off to fight after getting a call that Americans are in the area. In the narrative of the film, Mustafa is a bad guy, but many viewers will wonder what makes him bad if Kyle is good? Several tearful scenes on the home front as Kyle signs up for yet another tour make it quite clear that the American sniper vastly prefers killing people in faraway places to being home with the wife and kids.

American Sniper also subtly suggests that even Kyle knew that there was something unsavory about shooting people from a concealed and relatively safe position. In one scene, he puts down his sniper rifle and picks up an automatic weapon to join a group of marines going house to house. When his spotter balks at leaving the safety of their hideout, he all but accuses him of cowardice if he does not join Kyle in this real fighting.

I'm probably giving Hollywood too much credit, but it's possible that the makers were attempting something similar to the send up of militarism in Paul Verhoeven's Starship Troopers, which on one level is a very well made SciFi adventure about the defense of the planet from a race of giant alien insects, while on another, it deftly skewers the mindless jingoism, empty slogans and mass hysteria that incite the clean-cut, best and brightest of any society to rush off to war. For this interpretation of American Sniper to be believed, we have to assume that Hollywood embraces subtlety and that viewers have done some critical thinking about events of the past 15 years. Perhaps a stretch on both counts, but wouldn't it be nice if it were so?

2015's first great album may not even be from a musician. Now out, Lost Themes by John Carpenter has the icy menace of something out of a '80s horror flick. That's deliberate, not to mention fitting, as Carpenter's synth-based compositions for his films became one of the decade's signature sounds.

From Halloween's moody piano theme to the foreboding rhythms beneath Assault on Precinct 13 and Escape from New York, Carpenter's work is surprisingly visceral... and its impact long-lasting.

Now, the master of horror who -- along with the early Japanese video games -- informed a generation's appreciation of electronic, moody soundtracks has released a full record of music.

Carpenter's evocative sound has taken on a life of its own since its heyday during the Reagan administration. Today, synth is practically an indie subgenre in its own right: bands Symmetry, Desire and Chromatics on the Italians Do It Better record label owe their sound to Carpenter's atmospheric compositions.

The connection to Desire and Chromatics is essential, given their songs featured in Drive, a film indebted both to Carpenter's visual cues and often fatalistic worldview. Drive has Carpenter's sensibility and influence everywhere, even down to its musical score from Cliff Martinez. As a package, Martinez's score and the film's soundtrack were cited by Spin magazine as one of alternative music's top influences.

So, in a roundabout way, Carpenter's work fulfilled something said by none other than Tupac Shakur once: "I'm not saying I'm going to change the world, but I guarantee that I will spark the brain that will change the world." Inadvertently, Carpenter provided that spark which became an antidote to today's music trends, i.e. house, dubstep.

And this coming from someone who once claimed to not know how to read or write music.

However, despite its creator's overt musical legacy, Lost Themes still feels niche, something Nathan Rabin might write about in his Mutations column. Carpenter has been upfront about it being a fun side project, but hopefully it still finds an audience. At its best, Lost Themes parallels the dramatic paranoia of some of Carpenter's best film work; other times, it's as playful and silly as a video game.

The overall project is grounded in what I'll call throwbackitis: a serious cultural condition in which a project is judged not on its own merits, but how it instills nostalgia in its audience. (See the recent releases of Dumb & Dumber 2 and Anchorman 2.) This isn't necessarily bad, but it underscores the ability to generate buzz based solely on tapping into a grown person's memories of childhood.

It's been lucrative business model for others, so hopefully it'll be powerful enough to get Carpenter to direct another feature length movie. (Or maybe reunite The Coupe Devilles.)

Previously seen on Section Eighty.

I was introduced to Clint Eastwood via Philo Beddoe when Dad took us to the theater to see Every Which Way but Loose. I had not yet seen any Dirty Harry movies or even any episodes of Rawhide. So Philo was my first impression.

And it was a pretty accurate impression that represented most of Eastwood's characters. He was always the average Joe who rose above his situation with an honest and sometimes brutal defiance. As Dirty Harry he portrayed the cop who refused to play by the rules and dealt with criminals with a vigilante mentality. And we loved it.

I couldn't get enough of him. I became a huge Dirty Harry addict and, in fact, a fan of all his movies, even the not-so-good ones like The Gauntlet and Pink Cadillac.

In 1992, however, Clint Eastwood did something that moved him beyond idol status for me and elevated him into the annals of hero lore reserved only for a few people in history: he came out with Unforgiven. Taking a chance that America was ready for a more realistic view of human nature, he rolled the dice and came out a winner.

In Unforgiven, Eastwood tore down every stereotype that had plagued the silver screen since the beginning of time. The cowboy in the white hat, who was good in every sense of the word and in every aspect of life, facing the black-hatted villain who was the polar opposite, was not a concept to be found in this motion picture. In fact, we discovered that the bad guys were not really that bad, with one of them being perhaps the best person in the story, and the good guys were far from being commendable.

That movie still resonates with me because in reality, things are never black-and-white. There are always a million shades of gray -- always.

Eastwood's movies continued to amaze me from Million Dollar Baby to Grand Torino. Imagine an old white curmudgeon who comes to care for two young adults who were Hmong, and making the ultimate sacrifice to make sure they had a better life. I was absolutely blown away.

But, alas, as happens with many of our heroes in life, the pedestal has been broken and the lofty perch has come crashing to the ground. With his last movie, American Sniper, Eastwood has foregone the courageous reality of human nature and even the attempt to come to understand a foreign people.

This is not to take anything away from the accomplishments of Chris Kyle. To be a Navy SEAL is in itself incredible. To be the sniper with the most confirmed kills is an astonishing feat to be respected if not admired. Kyle deserved all the success from his book and his life deserves to be made into a movie.

But I would have preferred to see the real Chris Kyle, the one he told us about himself in his book. His hat was not entirely white, nor did he try to paint a false picture of who he was. In short, he was not dishonest about his feelings about killing people, so why did Eastwood feel the need to be?

In Kyle's book, he explains that he loved his job as a sniper. He loved killing people and wished he could have killed more. He even explained that although he did not do this, he wished he could have killed everyone carrying a Koran. And while these things might not make his character appealing to some people, you have to respect the honesty.

Clint Eastwood did not respect it. The man who took a chance making ground-breaking movies in the past that disposed of the classic good guy/bad guy scenarios; that delved into the contaminated reality of human nature to show us a more unmarred view of the world -- that man sold out. He reinvented Christ Kyle to be a soldier heavily burdened by his duty. After all, we can't have a hero who enjoys killing, even killing bad guys. He even invented a guy to don the black hat to complete the black-and-white illusion.

You could hardly argue with the results. In fact, you could say that he is laughing all the way to the bank as the movie continues to set records. From an entrepreneurial vantage point, you could call it a tremendous triumph.

And he was successful in making Kyle the greatest American hero in modern times, so much so that anyone who says anything negative about the movie is quickly pounced upon by fast-food patriots. Even Seth Rogen's seemingly harmless comparison to the movie within the movie of Inglorious Basterds has been met with an incredible backlash, like the one from Dean Cain for example. After reading Cain's tweet, I had the same thought as a lot of people: "Dean Cain's still alive?"

It is people like Cain, and there are literally millions, perhaps hundreds of millions, in this country who I refer to as fast-food patriots. You don't have to be a decorated sniper, or even serve your country in any way whatsoever, just be ready to pounce when someone even remotely says or writes something less than complimentary about this movie or about this war in general. It's an easy and surefire way to make a few brownie points with the public.

The way I see it, however, is that any negativity should not be aimed at anyone who expresses their opinion about the movie that doesn't coincide with the masses; it should be directed at the one who set us all up for these confrontations - Clint Eastwood.

Chris Kyle is a hero just like all of the members of the armed forces who did their parts, large and small, in a conflict where they fulfilled their oaths and did their duties. We don't have to make up stories about who they were as human beings. We don't have to make them physics professors, saints, great dancers, jugglers, organ donors, or whatever. They are heroes for doing their duty -- period.

That's how we pay our respects to them. Clint Eastwood did not even try. And that, to me, makes him unforgiven.

Edgar Froese founder of Tangerine Dream, and Kim Fowley, the music producer/songwriter/professional creep, both died this week. They both had long-lasting careers on the edges of rock n' roll. These two artists couldn't be any more different, yet each had enormously prolific outputs that have influenced culture directly and indirectly. There are excellent obituaries on both men by real journalists. These two careers that cannot be summed up adequately in short order.

Edgar Froese died January 20th of complications regarding pulmonary embolism. He was 70. Froese is known as the founder and constant member of Tangerine Dream. He was one of the architects of electronic music and has a recorded a number of records I love, as well as many I've never heard. While Froese was teetotaler, his output attracts psychedelic enthusiasts from all over the world who lose themselves in the warm, ambient, futurism of his work.



Tangerine Dream made epic records that always felt like they were a search for a cosmic spirituality. Records like Phaedra, Rubycon and Zeit all speak to the corners of my LSD-addled nervous system. There was a cerebral side to the bliss of the 1960s, which Froese embodied. Tangerine Dream, Klaus Schulze and the kosmische bands pointed pop artists, such as my beloved David Bowie, to challenge themselves and their audiences. The 1970s were an expansive time for rock, especially in Europe where both "rock" and "roll" were abandoned in search for something else.

History seems to erroneously agree that punk rock came along and smashed all the prog, disco and more expansive sounds for an austere rock minimalism. It's bullshit, because we know that Tangerine Dream and many others were doing important work at the same time as The Ramones. It seems that this punk revolutionary myth is being corrected over time.

One of the original punks; Kim Fowley died on January 15. He was a very different artist than Froese. Tomorrow, I am going to pick up his autobiography Lord of Garbage to learn more. I didn't know it existed until the obituaries started to emerge. He was 75 and died of bladder cancer.



Fowley has always been interesting to me. I bought Fowley's Frankenstein and The All Star Monster Band in a used record store a number of years ago because the record cover was so cool and looked like of my early short films. He embraced the psychedelic like Froese, yet his version of psych rock was a sinister product of LA. Underneath the California sunshine pop is a mysterious bad trip lurking. Fowley knew that and embraced being King of the Creeps.

"Kim Vincent Fowley" is the last song on his last record Death Trip, and it is a brilliant final statement. It's a song about dying of cancer, not having friends or children, bad credit, not having a car and being a creep. The more you read about him, the more you realize you don't know. He is known for many records with many people under several pseudonyms. He recorded with Frank Zappa, discovered the Runaways, wrote songs for KISS and allegedly discovering Hanson. Then he oddly appeared in a Beyonce video, and n his deathbed, he worked with Ariel Pink on his excellent new record pom pom -- among hundreds of other things you may not know. I tend to obsess on artists who remain interesting as you peel away the layers.

From the New York Times Obituary: "I'm an enabler, a mentor, a catalyst," Mr. Fowley said in an interview with Uncut magazine. "I'm so empty that I don't have distractions. If somebody has substance or has developed something, I have the time for them."

In a bizarre Fowleyesque twist, he had made arrangements for his corpse to appear in a fetish magazine called Girls and Corpses. Due to complications with his widow, it never came to be, but it's a great final work by a legendary media prankster.

These two artists are both products of the great social experiment that was 1960s counterculture. I may be wrong, but I think that they would both be horrified by being forever linked together after dying in the same week. A chapter closes.

"There is no death, just a change of cosmic address," said Edgar Froese.

Postscript: Right before posting this I learned we also lost the great Joe Franklin. Rock has had a tough week. Rest in peace, Franklin, Froese, Fowley and A$AP Yams.

Recently, the Academy Awards nominated the movie Selma for best motion picture, yet many wondered how the academy did not select any of the cast or the director for a 2015 Oscar. People are further questioning how all 20 acting nominees were of European descent or "white." Oscars for the four categories of best actor and actress, along with best supporting actor and actress, have traditionally neglected certain ethnic groups.

This problem is bigger than the Oscars, as numerous people have pointed out that this type of unequal representation in Hollywood is still both problematic and systematic. Even today, people of color are most often cast in supporting roles or as stereotypical characters in movies and on television.

While there are some exceptions, as certain African American men have made headway over the years, women of color are routinely left out of top roles (servants, slaves and mistresses excluding). Even fewer actors and actresses of Latin, Asian, Native American and other non-European backgrounds see adequate representation in U.S. film and media today.

Most of us agree that the U.S. is ethnically diverse and has been for a long time. If we celebrate the various cultures that contribute to our U.S. fabric, then why aren't more of us standing up for those who may not look like us?

If people are serious about changing the racial images presented to us in popular media then maybe it's time to not only speak out, but to move out and boycott non-ethnically diverse films, TV and awards shows. We also need to continue to support movies and television that realistically portrays society beyond stereotypes.

The Men Behind the Curtain

Oscar nominees and winners are selected by members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS), who the L.A. Times reported to be 94 percent "white," 2 percent African American and less than 2 percent Latino in 2012. Also, 77 percent of AMPAS members were male and their average age was 62.

Statistics like these bring into question the legitimacy of the Academy Awards altogether. Given the numbers, it's perhaps unsurprising that Ava DuVernay was not able to gain enough votes for best director of Selma, or that none of the 15 directors, cinematographers or screenwriters nominated for an Oscar this year were female. Only four women have ever been nominated for best director, with one win.

In 2013, AMPAS elected Cheryl Boone Isaacs as the first African American president of the academy (and third woman). Over the past few years, Boone Isaacs says the academy has taken great efforts to become "a more diverse and inclusive organization."

Still, when Latinos and African Americans make up 30 percent of the total U.S. population (17 percent and 13 percent respectively) and the majority in a few states, it's clear the academy will have a difficult time equalizing its membership anytime soon. Why?

First, there are now over 6,000 members in the academy and people keep their vote for life. Even adding several hundred new members over the past few years has only slightly moved the averages.

Second, opening up AMPAS membership has brought in new members who are only about 30 percent female and less than 20 percent people of color. Granted, these are improvements, yet these numbers don't even reflect the current population.

Mathematically, new members will only negligibly alter the overall representation. A year ago, the L.A. Times reported that "the overall academy is still 93 percent white" -- an improvement of only 1 percent with the new recruits.

Colonizing Minds

No disrespect to the excellent actors and actresses of European descent nominated for their performances in 2014. Many of them have devoted a life's work to perfecting their craft. Since they were adolescents many took acting classes, studied theater, and looked up to role models holding the Oscar statuette.

Who do young Latina and Asian American actresses have to look up to, having only a handful of nominations over 86 years of the Academy Awards, and never a best actress Oscar presented to them?

The one time a Native American woman graced the stage to accept an Oscar it was Sacheen Littlefeather in 1973. Only it wasn't her award.

That year Marlon Brando rejected his Oscar for best actor in The Godfather and instead used the platform to protest inaccurate depictions of American Indians in film and other Indigenous struggles. Littlefeather took his place at the Academy Awards to deliver this message as president of the National Native American Affirmative Image Committee. After introducing herself, and the reason she was there, Littlefeather was almost booed off the stage before others in the audience applauded her efforts.

Though Littlefeather acknowledged she didn't have time to read Brando's full statement, it was released to the press afterwards. Brando referenced the historical atrocities the U.S. perpetrated against Native American peoples and criticized the film industry for its continuing negative portrayals of American Indians.

Brando's statement read:

It's hard enough for children to grow up in this world. When Indian children watch television... and when they see their race depicted as they are in films, their minds become injured in ways we can never know.

More than 40 years later, how are the nation's children still being injured? Do children of color today have enough positive images of themselves in movies and on television?

"There aren't any Asian movie stars."

Too many times in popular U.S. media, Latinos and Asian Americans are still trapped in stereotypical roles as servants and/or immigrants with over-accentuated accents. Recently, a couple blockbuster films have featured Arabs and Asians, though their characters are being assassinated (at least Seth Rogan called out American Sniper).

The masses rallied behind Sony Pictures to release The Interview in support of free speech. However, it's interesting that people barely turned their heads when the same Internet hack revealed an Oscar-winning screenwriter griping to Sony execs about being asked to write a movie for a lead role of Asian heritage.

"The protagonist is Asian-American... and there aren't any Asian movie stars," complained the screenwriter about the movie. The irony is that there will continue to be few stars of Asian heritage if the so-called best screenwriters aren't willing to write movies for them.

Without top roles there are no opportunities for nominations. This is another way institutional racism works. Will we stand for it or against it?

"Is Hollywood Mexican Enough?"

Latinos won more Oscars in the 1950s and early 1960s than they have over the past 50 years (four total). All have been in supporting roles except one for best actor in 1950.

Ironically, it's been said that in the 1920s the original Oscar statuette was modeled after the physique of Emilio "El Indio" Fernandez, who was Mexican and Kickapoo American Indian. Though there is no physical proof to support this often repeated story, Fernandez's career as both an actor and director spanned five decades and his award-winning films (outside the Oscars) reveal a longstanding Latino presence in Hollywood.

Recently, Chris Rock wrote about the continuing struggles African Americans face behind the scenes in Hollywood, but he also asked: "Is Hollywood Mexican enough?" Pointing out the lack of Latinos in film and on TV, he quipped that "in L.A, you've got to try not to hire Mexicans."

African Americans, Latinos and other actors and actresses of color have a hard time moving outside one-dimensional sidekick and "knucklehead" roles in mainstream movies and television. Like many performers, they must take lesser roles before moving up to larger ones, but how many "shuck and jive" characters do they have to take before they potentially break through the "Hollywood Shuffle"?

Rock explained this dilemma for budding African American performers and plainly stated: "It's a white man's industry." UCLA's 2014 Hollywood Diversity Report looks at the numbers of those in power and supports this sentiment.

Re-casting Racism

Even when Hollywood scripts call for people of color, somehow certain characters still end up getting "whitewashed." Acting roles don't always need to be filled by someone of the same ethnic heritage as the character, but it's questionable how not one woman of color could be found to play Tiger Lily in the new 2015 Pan. And the 2014 Exodus looked like it could have been cast right along with the 1960 Exodus during legal segregation.

Some have argued that movie studios simply want to make money and that "whiteness" sells in theaters, but studies actually show the opposite: diversely cast movies do better at the box office.

Latino, African American and other people of color now make up 51 percent or more of frequent moviegoers in the U.S., which means that Hollywood could be casting them as heroes and heroines in somewhat equivalent numbers and still do well domestically.

It's also clear that international ticket sales now influence film marketing, so realistically Asian and Asian American actors and actresses should be getting roles at much higher rates (and outside of martial arts flicks).

Educating Viewers and Time to Boycott?

Even though films serve the purpose of entertainment, they also serve to educate. If we had more accurate images of U.S. society reflected on the big screen perhaps some people wouldn't be so shocked when characters of color are cast in important roles -- or hold top positions in society.

Having a broader ethnic base of actors and actresses as leading characters will help youth of all backgrounds view diversity and inclusion as the norm, not an anomaly. In this way, diversifying popular media benefits us all.

Certainly, the lack of variety in Hollywood is not the biggest problem in the world today, yet it is a serious issue and one that we can do something about. In the true U.S. tradition of protest we can boycott movies and shows that are discriminatory as a tactic to force change.

Passing along "#boycott" followed by a film's name, a TV show or an awards ceremony -- and acting on it -- can be powerful in numbers. As Common and John Legend's recent Golden Globes acceptance speech for best song in Selma reminds us: "Now is our time to change the world -- Selma is now."

I'd like to follow up on my previous blog post on the Mount Holyoke College controversy surrounding The Vagina Monologues because of the responses I've received. They've run the gamut from praise to condemnation, from thanks for informing the community of an important event in trans history to constructive criticism as well as vicious name calling. Aside from the cliché that if the responses are all over the map, I must be doing something right, the criticisms highlighted some very important points, some of which I had space to make in the first blog post, and some of which I didn't.

The consensus from my fellow actors was that I got it right, so I'm pleased that my memory jives with that of my friends. I also believe I promoted Eve Ensler's position correctly, as she quickly published her own response, to which I was able to link (thanks to editing delays due to the King holiday). I will reiterate that my purpose in publishing that post was to inform the public that Eve Ensler is not transphobic, nor has she been transphobic, and I could document that because I was part of the ensemble cast performance of the first all-trans cast. I've done that, and now to the rest.

Within hours of publication, I was subjected to a Twitterbombing, being described as racist, ageist, elitist and arrogant, and connecting me to a host of questionable LGBT characters. These ad hominem and association-fallacy attacks, what I have called "manufactured strategic outrage," are too often the reflexive response of some activists. A famous African-American activist, Flo Kennedy, classified these attacks as "horizontal hostility," describing members of a community attacking their colleagues, actions which often prove to be self-destructive.

The first rule of politics is "Take nothing personally." Admittedly that is very hard to do, particularly when running for office, because that is a quintessential personal endeavor in our political system. But it is absolutely essential if you're going to maintain your sanity and be able to move forward and create change. The foremost tool of incumbents is psychological warfare, and while electoral campaigning is known to generate personal attacks, general political activism is rife with them as well.

I was accused of being ageist because I was critical of college students. I see constructively criticizing college students as a sign of respect and a refusal to be patronizing, and I hope, for their sakes, that their professors do the same. In my world ageism is visible in the discrimination suffered by middle-aged workers who were laid off after the economic crash and have yet to find new work, because younger workers are willing (understandably) to work for much less. Discrimination is most serious when directed at those with less power; college students, particularly those at elite schools such as Mount Holyoke, have a great deal of privilege and should have the tools and support to be able to handle criticism. I don't believe most want to be coddled.

I was accused of being insensitive to persons of color because I challenged a description of Eve Ensler as racist for using the death of Trayvon Martin as an opportunity to raise money for the feminist cause. I agree that efforts such as that, like the efforts of all non-profits that use tragedy and crisis as fundraising opportunities, including those in the national and local LGBT communities, are crass and disrespectful, which is why I don't do that in my political work. There are moments when one should just put her causes aside and show her solidarity. But it isn't racist and shouldn't be used to burn bridges. This calling me a "racist" was truly stood on its head when I was later accused of being disrespectful to college students because "they decided against performing a rich white lady's play." Reducing Eve Ensler (this is a real example of reductionism, unlike the use of "vagina" in the play) to a "rich white lady" is an ad hominem attack and can itself be considered racist. Just imagine how you might feel if someone called Selma a "rich black lady's film" because Oprah was a producer.

Then there was my reference to Calpernia Addams, who was a co-director of the performance and the reason it was performed. Calpernia is a friend, and while she and I vigorously disagree on the role of drag queens in the transgender community (she spends her professional career in the entertainment industry), we do so respectfully and don't let it impact our friendship. There was once a time when Democrats and Republicans could disagree and remain friends socially, and when professionalism was common, but these activist attacks today reflect a much less civil culture. I don't think that reduces me to a "Mr. Wilson" character yelling at kids to get off the lawn. For those who don't get the Mr. Wilson reference, they probably also didn't get the pop culture reference in the title, which was honorifically referring to the students by referring to Art Linkletter's TV program back in the '50s.

I was also criticized for mentioning Calpernia, in spite of her being the historical linchpin of my thesis about the history of The Vagina Monologues, because of comments that she and others made in reference to my blog post. I believe most columnists and bloggers understand that they are not responsible for the comments of others, and attacking me because of others' comments is nothing more than guilt by association.

This piece wasn't about "respecting your elders." Had the students done their homework, there would be no issue. Had they said the play is too essentialist for their tastes, they could have generated an interesting debate about second- and third-wave feminism, which is important particularly because, as I mentioned, there are second wavers still active in claiming they'd like to exterminate all trans persons. For all I know, students on other campuses have navigated this issue quite successfully, and we don't know it because they handled it without controversy.

There is the important issue of recognizing the consequences of one's actions, which came up in my comments about trans men and Planned Parenthood. I don't care if one wants to talk about "pregnant persons" rather than "pregnant women," or "reproductive rights" rather than "women's rights." Planned Parenthood and NARAL aren't, in the most literal sense, "women's organizations," primarily because there are many men who support the work as well. Do trans men have the right to criticize their language as exclusionary? Of course. Do the organizations have the right to reject the claim? Yes. The point was made to me that no one would be harmed by using more inclusive language. That's the crux of the matter about consequences. Women's bodily autonomy is still an explosive and divisive issue in this country. Millions of women are at risk as a result of the actions of those who not only oppose abortion rights but also the use of contraception. Millions of women, yet only dozens of trans men. Demanding a change to the language may be seen as selfish and a distraction to the mission, and those who oppose women's autonomy may grab hold of it to tar the entire progressive movement, and feminism in particular. We don't need more of that in this climate. The more rights women have in our society, the more rights pregnant trans men will have. They needn't be explicitly recognized for that to happen. The same holds for anti-discrimination language. All trans subtypes needn't be publicly recognized for all to be covered under the category of "gender identity and expression."

Finally, though I listed a number of specific issues here, I want to repeat that I sense that the underlying problem is the reflexive lashing out due to a sense of personalization, which leads to feelings of victimization. Many, if not most, trans persons have been victimized over the course of their lives. I certainly have, and many times. But I've learned to think of myself not as a victim but as a survivor and use that as a source of empowerment. When I feel like responding in the moment, I step back and let my thoughts sit and cool off. Playing the victim card, in whatever manifestation -- race card, ethnic card, gay card, etc. -- simply doesn't work in the larger battle of changing hearts and minds. Our successes are evidence of that. Let's learn to channel what Orlando Figes called, in reference to one of the revolutionary parties in 1917 Russia, the "formless revolutionary spirit of students" and continue to build on the good, and do so in the spirit of what my good friend and trans leader Diego Sanchez recently said with respect to engaging and educating allies, patiently, constructively and respectfully:

"It takes time and trust to enact and honor a Treaty of the Heart among allies."

I thank my interlocutors for engaging with me offline, educating me and listening, and allowing me to speak critically.

At $200 Million and counting, American Sniper has touched a nerve and set off a national debate on who is real and who is fake. After being maligned by journalists, morning anchors, and bloggers, the Fake Baby from American Sniper is telling his side of the story. And yes, he did it in one take.

Media tie-ins are well known to power titles up the ranks of the Digital Book World Ebook Best-Seller List.

And this week, the Bradley Cooper film adaptation of American Sniper drives two separate editions of the book into the No. 1 and No. 22 spots of this week's top 25.

That's in a week when thirteen of the week's best-sellers--a majority--are either the subject of a movie or TV program or are part of a series that is.

The top ten best-selling ebooks of the week ending January 24:

1. American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U.S. Military History by Chris Kyle; Scott McEwen; Jim DeFelice (HarperCollins) -- $5.99

2. The Girl on the Train: A Novel by Paula Hawkins (Penguin Random House) -- $9.09

3. Gone Girl: A Novel by Gillian Flynn (Penguin Random House) -- $4.99

4. Unbroken: A World War II Story of Survival, Resilience, and Redemption by Laura Hillenbrand (Penguin Random House) -- $4.99

5. Big Little Lies by Liane Moriarty (Penguin Random House) -- $3.99

6. Dark Places: A Novel by Gillian Flynn (Penguin Random House) -- $2.99

7. Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail by Cheryl Strayed (Penguin Random House) -- $6.15

8. All the Light We Cannot See by Anthony Doerr (Simon & Schuster) -- $11.99

9. The Maze Runner by James Dashner (Penguin Random House) -- $1.99

10. The Escape (John Puller Series Book 3) by David Baldacci (Hachette) -- $10.12

See the rest of the top 25 best-selling ebooks this week.

Tomorrow night is the end of an era. A very sweet era. Parenthood, the show that has captured us for six seasons is bidding its adieu.

I love the show. With passion.

Because it is the perfect blend of heart and the aching humor that is a too true testament to the realness of this life.

Because it nails the pain, perfection and glory of our day-to-days every single time.

Because the characters love each other and define not only what family is, but what it, by my total estimation, should be.

Because I laugh. I cry. And sometimes my husband does too. Even though he would never, ever admit it.

The characters are phenomenally whole individually but unfailingly rise to greater heights when together-as family should.

This show is amazing... it's ability to capture your heart with the too-true realness of life while making you laugh along the way celebrates the beauty of life, family and parenthood like no other. Watch it now!

Christina blows my mind every episode. It is true, I have a substantial crush on Monica Potter. Yet beyond my swooning heart lies an incredibly powerful woman who has struck and won multiple battles on this earth. Though her power isn't what wows me. It's that she still smiles, that she gives her best for her kids-every single day, and that she loves her husband not despite, but because of, the harsh realities of life.

Her husband Adam, owns my love for the singular reason that he always, always acts towards the best for his family. Always. Integrity defined.

Adam's commitment reaches not only to his wife and children, but to his family of origin, as seen in his love for his brother, Crosby. These two guys have had a rough road. Crosby is a mess. But our hearts melt for him anyway, and not just because he is played by Dax Shepard. We love Crosby because he tries. Always tries to do the right thing. Is this not all of us?

This example of brotherly love is the most gorgeous thing I could hope for my children. No greater gift to walk through this life with than a sibling who is your tried-and-true friend. I love them.

I'll be honest, I think Lauren Graham could poorly play a serial axe murder, and I'd still stand on the sidelines, cheering her along. Her portrayal as Lorelei in Gilmore Girls earned her a free pass for life in my book. However, no free pass is needed for her character, Sarah. Sarah is not one of my favorites, but I love her. I love her because she is real. She knows too well that life hurts, and while she remains daunted by this truth at times, she is no longer lives in fear of pain; she has already been through it. Also, long ago she decided she was going to be a really, really good mom. And she is. What gorgeous character strength.

Julia has been harder for me to wrap my head around, though I've softened to her in more recent seasons. Yet my lack of warmth entirely fails to translate to her husband Joel. I imagine I will go weak in the knees for Sam Jaeger for the foreseeable rest of my life because of his role. Joel screwed up; we all do. He's a good guy.

While Camille is another I'm not sold out for but have grown to appreciate, her husband Zeek is THE STUFF OF THIS WORLD. He is not only the soul of his family, he is the show. Think about what Parenthood is all about -- loving your family and being there for them while finding yourself in the process. This is Zeek, a gruffy old man with one of the kindest hearts, ever.

This grandfather is the definition of family love. One of the gruffiest older dudes I know... yet he wins my heart EVERY TIME. Tell me you love Zeek too? The heart... the heart! It kills me...

Drew, Amber, Max (brilliant, brilliant child actor), Hank, Jasmine, Jabbar... who could you not love? These characters are all rich and lovely and add shine to a show that is already dazzlingly shiny. In fact, the only character I cannot cheer is Sydney. Savannah Paige Rae is dear, but I already have my own whiny kids at home.

I sob that I don't want it to end. My husband reminds me that all good shows must exit while the iron is still hot. The mature part of me wants to accept this. The other parts of me want to script hate letters to NBC.

All Parenthood fans know that the Bravermans are the true originals -- of a family who loves, cares, laughs, and knows how to throw an impromptu dance party like no other.

Watch them! The gorgeous Braverman empire.

Regardless of the war the wages within, the tissues will win out. I can't say what exactly what will happen in tomorrow night's episode when the gorgeous Braverman curtain is called, but I know it will involve a mountain of soaked kleenexes-each wet with the bittersweet joy of a show that has nailed the heart of this life.

Well done, Parenthood. Well done.

Maybe it was because his mother's name -- like my mom's -- was Anna.

Or maybe it was because he loved the talk show format, or that he was unconventional, marching to the tune of his own sound bite. Or that he collected playbills, memorabilia (a Greta Garbo shoe and a Jack Benny violin), and sheet music. Or because I'm the Queen of Reminiscence, and he was the "King of Nostalgia." Or that he was the grandson of Jewish immigrants. Or that he had moxy, introducing himself to George M. Cohan as a teenager. Or that he loved silent films, Hollywood's Golden Age, Mack Sennett's Bathing Beauties, and jazz music. Or maybe because he loved to interview both the A- and D-listers.

But whatever the reason, I was a Joe Franklin fan. I 'd always wanted to be a TV host -- growing up in the 1960s with a family of talk show watchers. I became one too and joined my parents in their Bell Park Gardens, Queens living room with Mike Douglas, Merv Griffin, and Dick Cavett. But my all-time favorite? The double broadcast threat of radio and TV master Joe Franklin.

But Joe's skills soared way beyond the interview. And, after all, why narrow oneself to a single profession, when you can spread out? Literally. Joe's office was a tad chaotic, but to me, that simply reflected an open-minded style. In an age of niche and specifics, Joe Franklin stood out as an inter-disciplinary guy. But hey, why not be a Renaissance Man, a Joe of all Trades? As a writer/commentator/musician/ watercolorist/comedienne and talk show host, I salute Joe for spreading himself thick. A skits writer (The Kate Smith Hour); restaurateur; connoisseur of golden-age classics; author (Up Late; Classics of the Silent Screen); DJ; actor (Broadway Danny Rose), talk show host, and music programmer (selecting records for Martin Block's legendary radio show Make Believe Ballroom), Joe was ahead of his time. A trailblazing preservationist, he worked to preserve early silent films that were disintegrating into nitrate dust.

WIth apologies to Proust, Remembrances of Things Past is a jog down the streets of 1960s, featuring The Joe Franklin Show. At the age of 10, I was listening to his Memory Lane show on WOR-TV Channel 9. It was 1963, and I remember both watching Ed Sullivan introduce The Beatles and Joe Franklin nurture Jackie Mason. I was hooked. I wanted to be both a comedian and a talk show host.

Joe Franklin interviewed bizarre combos of guests, from celebs like Fred Astaire and Salvador Dali to Ed Sullivan-ish plate twirlers, blending Ronald Reagan and The Dancing Dentists. His eclectic mix intrigued me. After all, why should the stars get all the attention? And how could they become stars if they didn't get a shot? As a performer and unknown comic with a strange linguistic skill (talking backwards), I remember the thrill of being offered a spot on Arsenio, after submitting a home video. Ditto for The Steve Allen Show.

Joe Franklin gave many creative thinkers and artists a start, from rocket scientists to rock 'n rollers, from Barbra to Woody. For many, he was not only the King of Nostalgia, but the King of Exposure. Frankly, it seemed Franklin was intuitive; he felt the chemistry between opposites, like the anthropological mixture of Margaret Mead and a guy who whistled through his nose. Unlike the modern day Jimmy Fallons and Jimmy Kimmels, Joe Franklin booked his own guests. He simply had no use for talent coordinators. It took a gallant, non-egotistic soul like Joe Fortgang Franklin to shine the spotlight on the interviewee. Now, like mentor Joe, on my own radio show, I let the guest glow.

Ironically, on a glow-y, snowy January 1, ushering in 2015, I finally met Joe Franklin. I thought it would be a great way to start out the year, since Joe's long-running show won him the Guinness World Record for Longest Running Continuous On-Air TV Talk Show Host. He was the Grand Marshall of a rather offbeat New Year's event at NYC's Metropolitan Room's 60-hour record-breaking marathon -- which made the Guinness Book of Records for the longest variety show ever. A perfect match.

In a connect-the-dots world, the owner of the Metropolitan Room broadcasts a show just prior to my own radio talk show. I happened to be sitting catty corner from Joe's booth, so I asked him politely if we could take a picture; he was the epitome of old world gentlemanliness. He graciously suggested I could call him if I needed anything ("I'm still listed"). In a complete non-sequitur, he then asked how I stayed so thin. What more could a girl want?



When he got up to the mic, I felt an immediate connection. I resonated with his straightforward style. Unlike today's comics and hosts sporting jeans and casual sportswear, Franklin wore a jacket and tie. His deadpan humor spoke to me, evoking Henny, Rodney, and the old Catskills comedians. Amidst a particularly grim spell of world news gloom, he was a ray of sandpapered sunshine. His delivery was impeccable: "I've been on stage since The Dead Sea was just sick!"

Often criticized for my sentimentality (poring over old Polaroids, home videos and Valentines Day greeting cards from my Mom and Dad), I found my match in Joe Franklin. On-air, he waxed nostalgic about Errol Flynn, Marilyn Monroe, Eddie Cantor. On stage, he remembered the way they used to put pictures of missing children on milk cartons, and described his new cause: putting pictures of missing transvestites on half-and-half cartons. Crediting Bob Hope, he made a toast: "Here's to our wives and sweethearts, ... in hopes they never meet!" He segued gracefully into a description of baldness: "if you're bald in the front it means you're a thinker, if you're bald in the back it means you're a lover, and if you're bald in the front and back it means you THINK you're a good lover!"

As I left the Metropolitan Room, just like Joe, I play a jazz standard theme song on my radio show -- Stan Getz' Moonlight in Vermont. Joe Franklin's TV show theme music? Another standard of jazz, a ragtime piano version of 12th Street Rag. In a final stroke of irony, Joe Franklin died, 23 days after New Year's, as in a silent film, at the age of 88, the very number of keys on the piano he so adored.

Race relations can be a touchy subject. Only a very perceptive filmmaker could tackle the topic and be remotely successful. It would require a writer/director to be smart, balanced, sensitive and able to see both sides of the issue. The characters would almost need to be extensions of our opinions and thoughts, so everyone has something in the game. On most of those levels, this very shallow, poorly conceived and developed film, which is based on a true story, is a well-meaning misfire.


(Photo courtesy of Relativity Media)
Kevin Costner and Octavia Spencer co-star in the melodrama Black or White.

A white middle-aged Los Angeles attorney, Elliott Anderson (Kevin Costner), can't get over the loss of his recently deceased wife. He's turned to the bottle. His life is empty, except for the daily embrace of his biracial granddaughter Eloise (Jillian Estell). Elliott is content to raise Eloise, but he is inept when it comes to school schedules and child-rearing responsibilities. His wife did all that stuff. Eloise lives with her granddaddy because her mom, his daughter, died in childbirth and her dad Reggie (Andre Holland), a drug addict, is MIA. Cue the stereotypes.

Mike Binder is an actor/writer/director (Reign Over Me): a jack-of-all-trades filmmaker. He worked previously with Costner on The Upside of Anger, and his screenwriting hasn't progressed. The characters are poorly drawn. The dialogue is never memorable, unless Elliott is calling Reggie the "N" word. (And note that black characters do not use derogatory terms when referring to white characters. Really?) The premise is decent but the execution is preposterous and plays out like an afternoon soap opera. This kind of lopsided storytelling doesn't play out in real life. File it in The Help category.

Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Compton, Reggie's family wants a little more sharing time with Eloise. In fact, the matriarch of the family, Rowena (Octavia Spencer), has decided to take Elliott to court. She is an entrepreneur who works out of her garage. Her nephew Jeremiah (Anthony Mackie), a successful lawyer, will handle the custody battle. Between bottles of Jack Daniels, or whatever alcohol is handy, Elliott and his law firm partners prepare for a fight. He also, to his credit, has hired a black math tutor for Eloise; Duvan (Mpho Koaho, TNT's Falling Skies) is a brainy, wizard type who Elliott also turns into his "Man Friday."

Supposedly the story is based on Binder's own experience co-raising a biracial child. Judging by what's on view, he seems to know a lot more about rich white people than he does about black people. Maybe he should have hired someone like Duvan to tutor him on black culture before he went down this path. The animosity between Elliott and Rowena is a joke. They hate each other, but he allows her family to come over and use his pool. Does that happen during most custody battles? Prepare to suspend your disbelief. It's an action you'll have to do over and over again if you stick with this movie until it ends 120 minutes later.

Kevin Costner has had his golden moments in film: Dancing With Wolves, Field of Dreams, Open Range. This is not one of them. He must be a teetotaler in life, because he is not a convincing drunk. Nor does he find any way to make any sense out of the pompous Elliott character. Think back to Costner's appearance at Whitney Houston's funeral. It's that same grandiose persona. Granted Octavia Spencer can bug her eyes out with the best of them, but her interpretation of the grandmother, who wants her grandbaby home, makes no sense. It's a tough character to play, because it is so poorly written. She was far better in Fruitvale Station, where she played a distraught mother in a way that let you know she is an Oscar-caliber actress.

Jillian Estell is a gorgeous little girl; she should be shooting commercials. But her acting is stiff. She is no Quvenzhané Wallis -- not at all. Andre Holland brings no inner complexity whatsoever to the pathetic Reggie role. No depth. No extra dimension. Nothing. The supporting actors who play Elliott's partners and staff are solid, SAG-card holding thespians and they turn in a strong day's work. The one actor who seems to rise above the fray is Anthony Mackie as the smart lawyer who is embarrassed by his deadbeat cousin.

The film's musical score is surprisingly rich and beautiful, thanks to jazz musician Terrence Blanchard, whose composing credits also include Red Tails, Inside Man and Love & Basketball. If the rest of the movie was up to his high standards, it would have been brilliant. The other tech elements (editing, set design) are fine but nothing stands out -- except Rowena's clothes, which look liked they were pulled of a costume rack and not bought in a department store.

Black or White may have good intentions, but what they are, are not obvious from what's on view. The burden of failure rests on the writer/director who hasn't a clue how to portray black families; can't get a seasoned actor to play a believable drunk; and mixes drama, melodrama and comedy (court scenes with a sassy judge and Rowena cause a chuckle) together into an unaffecting mélange.

Black or White doesn't work on a sociological level. Does it set race relations back? Not really. Does it give us any new insights? None. Is it entertaining? Somewhat, more like a stodgy extended episode of Days of our Lives than a hip exploration like The Young and the Restless.


Visit NNPA Syndication Film Critic Dwight Brown at DwightBrownInk.com.

The late Robin Williams. It sounds like an oxymoron. How could anyone so energetically quick-witted ever be late? The same could be said for Joan Rivers who was so ahead of her time, she kept reinventing herself to keep up. This past year, we lost them both, certainly before we were ready to let them go, their deaths made all the worse because they were preventable. But that's what was so shocking; no one ever expected their timing to ever be off.

As the old year rolls out and awards season rolls in, "In memoriam" segments pay tribute to their careers with flashes of their faces among the famous fallen. But how can that ever do justice to the people they were, or tell the tale of two trailblazers? The Emmys tried, accompanying their segment with the fitting song "Smile." ("Smile, though your heart is breaking...") Like its author, the iconic comedic genius Charlie Chaplin, Robin could do it all, whatever the screen, stage or genre. His stand-up was uproarious, but he was just as funny sitting down. While other talk show guests would promote performances, for Robin, the promotional appearance was the performance. (A compilation of his manic monologues would rival Michael Jackson's This Is It for posthumous popularity.) The way he'd get carried away, propelling himself out of his chair for spontaneous comic bits, swept us up with him.

Joan also exercised her creative muscles in multiple media, as so many inventive souls do. She didn't just break the glass ceiling, she shattered it and then glued it back together. She rose from writing topical jokes for The Tonight Show to becoming its first female guest host, ultimately becoming the first woman to host her own late-night talk show (a feat still unaccountably rare). She directed a feature film, Rabbit Test, from her own screenplay, and in the male-dominated genre of insult comedy, she was the queen of cutting comebackers. She even designed a costume jewelry collection which featured a "statement necklace"; even her accessories spoke up. How tragically ironic that, in an effort to repair her vocal chords, the woman whose catchphrase was "Can we talk?" would suddenly be silenced.

It's indicative of how accessible Joan and Robin were to us, that we refer to them by their first names. You didn't have to meet them to feel like you knew them. In reality, they talked and we listened, but the way Joan applauded the audience as she entered a set, signaled the reciprocity. She often punctuated her caustic jibes with a well-placed "you don't know!" or an "oh, grow up!" making us part of the conversation.

Robin reserved his incisive satires for politicians, dictators and egomaniacs, always exposing the absurdity of their ignorance while deconstructing their arrogance. His culturally savvy, brilliant routines spun everyday experiences into joyous life-lessons, but he also understood the effects of evil. When Steven Spielberg was filming Schindler's List on location in the death camps of Europe, he would phone Robin in San Francisco at night. "Just do five minutes for me," he'd plead, so that he could put the recreated horrors of the Holocaust from his mind long enough to get some sleep. Without missing a beat, Robin would unfurl a waterfall of soul-cleansing humor, enabling Spielberg to close his eyes before facing the next day's filming. But who was there to do five minutes for Robin?

While Robin spoke candidly about his addictions to drugs and alcohol, he understandably never mentioned his war with depression. It's an ironic condition for a comedian. How can someone whose job is to bring joy, confess to such crushing sadness? Some wish he would have outed more of his medical demons. Like Rock Hudson and Michael J. Fox, he could have helped others, they reason, while raising awareness and funding for treatments. But who are we to say who should be the face of a disease, when it's not our face to wear?

Robin may not have even known which disease he was facing. Reportedly diagnosed with Parkinson's, an autopsy revealed he was suffering from Lewy body dementia, a related brain affliction with symptoms including progressive degeneration of cognitive and physical functions. Its onset must have seemed insurmountable. (Perhaps a thrashing from Stephen J. Hawking would have given him hope.) Perhaps it's not our place to judge someone else's losing battle.

"Dying is easy, comedy is difficult." So goes the oft-quoted epitaph, attributed to the actor Edmund Gwenn, who played the Miracle on 34th Street's jolly Santa. But for Robin, the converse may have been true. Comedy, for him, was as easy as breathing. To lose the mental acuity that defined him may have been the more difficult death. If his thoughts were anything like his full-throttle improvisations, it's hard to imagine Robin finding solace in that storm of inner turmoil.

Joan's life was also touched by suicide. Her husband and manager, Edgar, killed himself, leaving her in financial debt with a young daughter to raise on her own. It was then she contemplated canceling herself, like her pioneering program. (Her eponymous The Late Show: Starring Joan Rivers would have become a double-entendre.) Instead, she renewed herself to success, winning an Emmy for a daytime talk show, and bringing Melissa with her into the TV limelight. But Limelight, as Chaplin's movie of that title muses, can be a precarious place.

In the play Amadeus by Peter Shaffer, composer Antonio Salieri, moved by an opera's melding of many voices, singing in contrapuntal longing, notes: "What was evident was that Mozart was simply transcribing music completely finished in his head. And finished as most music is never finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment. Displace one phrase and the structure would fall." Witnessing Robin's genius for comedic composition was like riding an operatic roller coaster; his synapses firing on all cylinders, voice rising and falling with a thousand inflections. Scintillating routines would emanate from his whole being in bursts of brilliance, just as Mozart gave birth to entire divertimenti in his head before committing a single note to paper. "It's hard to imagine unstoppable energy stopped," mourned Meryl Streep. But Joan wanted her funeral to be a celebration of show business life. "I want Meryl Streep crying in five accents," she wrote in one of her twelve books. It's enough to make us think of the ones unwritten. Robin's memoir would have been both insightful and outrageous, a riotous tome to fit his mantra of "pushing parameters" which for Joan was also a way of life.

Like Joan, Carole Lombard, who also suffered a tragically untimely death, swore like a sailor. But as the golden goddess of 1930s screwball comedy, she knew her way around a verbal fence: "In a straight role, you react as you would in life. In a comedy, you have to do the unexpected." Both Joan and Robin did just that. Still, it's no surprise Robin would win an Oscar for Good Will Hunting. So much contained energy simmering beneath the surface made him a compelling presence in dramatic parts, the suppressed outburst adding poignancy or menace. (It almost felt like he should win something just for not bouncing off the walls.) Still, the lack of respect of modern Oscar voters for comedy is no joking matter, as they annually favor melodramas punctuated by faux blood and glycerin tears. But great comedic timing cannot be faked. While some actors can cry on demand, it's much harder to make people laugh on demand (see Preston Sturges's Sullivan's Travels), especially if you make them laugh so hard, they're crying.

In recent years, Academy Award voters have taken to doling out Best Actress accolades to beautiful women who play ugly characters, giving them extra points for camouflaging their glamorous gene-pool-jackpot, dermatologically enhanced looks with facial prosthetics and regrettable grooming. In life, Joan played that role in reverse. Though never ugly, she didn't think of herself as beautiful and wore her insecurities in her routines. "Don't dish it out, if you can't take it" never applied to Joan, who disparaged herself to a cleverly brutal extreme. Funny in their time, her early potshots at her physique now seem uncomfortably misogynistic. ("Oh, boo-hoo!") But Joan evolved and, in a remarkable reversal, she perennially walked the red carpet with the "beautiful people" ("wink, wink") only to look down at them from her high-Fashion Police-perch. In the end, she'd turn her tongue-in-cheek critiques into a comedic coup d'état.

We should have seen it coming. The TV movie The Girl Most Likely To, which Joan co-wrote (with Agnus Gallin), is a prescient dark comedy in which an ugly duckling (Stockard Channing) is transformed by plastic surgery into a looker, and takes revenge on all those who tormented her. The flick now plays like a self-fulfilling prophecy for Joan who never stopped mining her fine art of self-deprecation. For her profile's picture on the matchmaking website J-Date, she posted a photo of Nicole Kidman with a circle/slash through it. Using the "ideal date" slug to slam cheap suitors, she wrote: "The only way I'm going with you for a walk on the beach is if you own the beach." My own equivalent would be a meeting in front of a museum's Rembrandt self-portrait. That way I'm guaranteed to see at least one Renaissance man on that date. That a variation on Joan's joke springs to mind illustrates just how relatable her humor was.

Unrealistic expectations in romance were a leitmotif in my article "A Tobor the 8th Man Valentine," recently nominated for a National Arts & Entertainment Journalism Award. (That honor came in the category of Best Profile, an award in itself, given the guy's a cartoon superhero robot - the hat-trick of fictional.) The awards, like so many others this season, were dedicated to Robin who shot to stardom as the alien Mork - a sort of Tobor on speed - in TV's Mork and Mindy. It was apt casting for the antic actor who could amp himself up on a dime, then morph sweetly bashful with a blink. But no screen, large or small, could contain him. Like a genie in a bottle, he needed a bigger playground. One was finally uncorked for him in Aladdin, wherein his vocal gymnastics and imaginings were released in a burst of cinematic stream-of-comedy fireworks. For the most animated of comedians, Aladdin was the quintessential showcase, and the Genie was his ideal avatar.

In some ways, Joan's avatar was her cosmetic-surgically remade self. Like Madonna, she was constantly reincarnating herself with new looks and new shtick. She wasn't just a performer, she was performance art, a living sculpture of her latest persona. "At this age, I am my work," she famously said (referring to her jam-packed schedule) in the biographical documentary, Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work (an eponymous triple-entendre - Joan always upped the ante). Whether garbed in suits or plumes, she was naked in her candor. Encouraging people to fulfill their creative identities, she proclaimed, "If you don't do what you want today, you're a fool." And Joan was no fool. She spoke volumes by chairing the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, but also empathetically supported the Elton John Aids Foundation and a food charity for infirm shut-ins. Robin's forays into philanthropy included co- hosting (along with Rabbit Test star Billy Crystal and Whoopi Goldberg) the phenomenally successful Comic Relief to benefit the homeless, while his repeated tours with the USO brought much needed comic relief to America's troops.

Both Robin and Joan knew that, in a world of terrorists, trauma, financial hardships and upheaval, humor is an indispensable tonic to our troubles. There is empirical evidence (both in astrophysics and the behavioral sciences) that laughter lives on long past the vibrations of its initial chuckle. It permeates our biorhythms, giving hearts something to beat to, and circulates from person to person. In laughter therapy, it's been observed that smiling sends electronic signals to the brain, stimulating endorphins, dopamine and even oxytocin ("the love hormone"), which relieves anxiety, boosts immunity, and lowers cortisol ("the stress hormone"), as befits "the best medicine." And it can be re-gifted. Happiness gurus encourage gratitude exercises. Like Peter Pan's flying lesson, they exhort us to "think happy thoughts." Smile at three random people, they say, and since it's catching, the smiles will work their way back to you. To that end, laughter shares a gift with great sex; you feel instantly bonded to the giver, connected through your common humanity, becoming one with your fellow audience members howling in the aisles. Those that gift us laughter, lengthen and improve our lives, and in turn, we are grateful to them.

The last movement of Beethoven's 9th Symphony begins with a recap of the major themes from the three movements that came before it, leading into his "Ode to Joy." Similarly, when we look back at those we've lost, we replay the major themes of their movements, bringing them together to see how each one informs the whole. Through the looking glass of their lives, we see our own, as we analyze their paths to joy, where they went wrong, which hurdles they jumped and how they survived, in an effort to stave off our own mortality. As we start the New Year with a smooch, we put our best lips forward to ring in what dreams may come. Robin and Joan lived their dreams and, in so doing, they fulfilled Robin's exultation (written by Tom Schulman) in Dead Poet's Society - they made their lives extraordinary. If laughter is the music of our lives, then scoring it is the comedian's calling. "When it works and it's right, it's amazing," reflected Robin, on mating the perfect joke to its ideal audience - his ultimate high.

Both Robin and Joan had more gifts to give and we feel deprived by the loss of them. But we celebrate the souls they shared while they were with us. Their very productivity makes us realize, the more they did, the more they could have done that we'll miss, and the more we should do while we can. In the life-or-death arena of stand-up comedy, when one succeeds, they'll say "I killed out there." When they fail, they'll say "I died." But Joan and Robin never died, because the laughter they gave us lives on. They were that good. Now that the heavens get their best material, the twinkling stars are laughing themselves silly. And we can't help but look up and smile.

For more comic relief, celebrate the screwball comedies of Preston Sturges, read a Tobor the 8th Man Valentine, or take a playful look at screenwriters looking for love. To start the New Year with a movie kiss, go here. For more on Michael Jackson and Madonna, go here. For love at first sight in the films of Charlie Chaplin and Sturges, go here. For more on the author, follow Devra on Twitter @devramaza and visit DevraMaza.com.

Photo credits:Robin Williams portrait, Joan Rivers roast, Robin and troops, microphone, courtesy of AP; Joan stand-up, courtesy of Pix Inc.; Robin as Garp, courtesy of Warner Bros.; Robin with Johnny Carson, Joan with Oprah Winfrey, courtesy of NBC; Robin stand-up, courtesy of Reuters; Joan portrait, Stockard Channing as The Girl Most Likely To, Robin as Mork, courtesy of ABC; Joan red carpet, Joan mirror, Robin winks, Robin points, Joan points, Robin and Joan, Joan heart/flowers, courtesy of Getty Images; Joan jewels, courtesy of W; Aladdin's Genie, courtesy of Disney; Robin blue stand-up, courtesy of Startraks.

Spread the joy: What's the funniest joke you ever heard or the biggest laugh you ever had? Tell us in Conversations.

Consider this -- two of the best performances of the year center around the smallest of movements, the quietest asides, the slightest shift of the eye.

I'm talking about Bradley Cooper in American Sniper and Julianne Moore in Still Alice -- both actors who illuminate their profession by absolutely disappearing into these Oscar-nominated roles. So much so that you suspend belief and forget you are watching two of the most familiar faces in film today.

This is as much about what they don't do as what they do, the elimination of extraneous gestures, acty-tricks and star turns -- performances transformative in their sheer physicality. A military sniper and a woman with early onset Alzheimer's -- these characters become real as both actors successfully transcend their well-known visages to inhabit the role. No mean feat considering each took on the additional task of portraying an established person (one real, one fictional) from widely-read books and broke through that barrier as well. Becoming the other.

Both seem to have zeroed in on the skills it takes to use stillness to establish fully realized characters, back stories and inner dialogue, using a physical shorthand and sheer presence that defies dialogue. Less is so much more here.



It's all in their eyes. As Chris Kyle, Bradley Cooper's sheepdog geniality, tree trunk torso and teasing, gentle Texan drawl coalesce once he looks through the lens-like scope of the gun. In one shot his eye is magnified like an aperture into the film itself before he gently squeezes the trigger. His eyes are the American Sniper; every time he aims to shoot they identify the very soul of this film. When there is a sudden noise back home -- a lawnmower or an automotive drill in a garage -- the obvious move would be a jumpy startle; instead, Cooper's eyes focus inward like a snake, ready to strike. He barely moves, his face just goes within. I've never seen anything like it -- he does it twice. And it's in his eyes that we see the anguish for lives taken even as he steadfastly denies the cost.



Julianne Moore's eyes literally lose their light right in front of us. Clear, responsive, both warm and sharp, the face of her Alice, a talented professor, twinkly wife and doting mother of three becomes fixed and ever more blank as her wasting disease progresses. The first time she becomes disoriented while jogging to the steps of the Columbia University library her eyes cloud and withdraw with the only special effect being of her own making. As she continues to lose then hunt for words, names, faces, recipes, the bathroom -- we watch her face slacken, her body stumble, and her gaze literally turn within. She is lost but remains right with us to show us where she going -- in and out of the lonely blankness that is her new identity. This is a finely calibrated mastery of expression that culminates in the final scene where she emerges from her own disappearance to speak and recognize love. Still Alice.

These actors are not only taking on complex characters but huge issues as well -- the exacting violence of war, the tragedy of fading away into the lonely static of Alzheimer's. Both use their bodies to supreme effect: Cooper's bear-like agility as he zeroes in for a clean kill, Moore's metamorphosis into a dazed child who clings to her husband as he orders her frozen yogurt.

Allowing the audience to fully realize the people they are playing -- a transformation so brilliant and absolute as to be seamless. Bravo.

There is a story that Elijah Muhammad would often tell about a mule that was chained to a tree for many, many years. Finally, when the mule was unchained, he still didn't leave the tree's side. You may already know where I'm going with this: When I was a young record guy, I would go to Hawaii and hang with the chairmen of various media companies (mostly music). Sure, the hotel suites were a bit expensive, but there I was, hanging with some of the most exciting people in the entertainment business (many of them have now become some of my longest friendships). Even though we are talking over 30 years ago, I never got to see a sign that said "Whites Only" -- real or imagined. The fact is that good business relationships in communications businesses are mostly built outside the shared workspace. If you want to make lasting connections, you too will have to go outside of your comfort zone and make new friends.

I guess about 29 years ago -- before I could even afford it (and for the record, this place is still expensive to me!) -- I would go to St. Barth's during the holidays, because I knew that was where a lot of the record, fashion and film executives would vacation. If that was where a lot of the successful people with common interests were hanging out, I was going to crash that party -- and eventually throw the party. (The last 17 years I have thrown the best party on the island.) Many of them I got to know personally before they even knew what kind of businesses I was trying to create. In fact, I didn't always know either! Who would have thought I would meet David Rosenberg and we would build a multi-hundred-million-dollar-valued financial-services company? Many of these friendships have been some of the most rewarding relationships in my lifetime. I have so many examples of my success through honest integration that it would take a huge manuscript to go into all of them here, but I will provide a few examples: The truth is that Aerosmith didn't seek out Run-DMC; we went to them. It was a white kid from NYU, Rick Rubin, who later became the co-founder of Def Jam, who saw the potential of the Beastie Boys. I built clothing companies with Syrian Jews from Ocean Parkway, Brooklyn. I had at least 20 different licenses with 20 different families. I couldn't guess how many Shabbat dinners I had. I got so close to that community that I almost moved to Ocean Parkway. (That is a joke, kind of; Kimora was having so much fun and making so much money with Baby Phat that she actually was looking at houses there.) I then introduced these friends to Jay Z and Nelly. We went on to build, conservatively speaking, over $8 billion in business.

Years ago a young video director called our mutual friend Brian Grazer and told him about my idea to remake The Nutty Professor. The next thing I knew, I was the only black guy riding around in a golf cart on a major movie set. I guess that job was not reserved for white guys only after all? Funny thing is that neither Brian nor I realized that no African Americans were making $60-million pop movies at the time. It was just two friends making a fun movie. And by the way, the young video director was Brett Ratner, who is now funding one of my movies.

When I returned to Hollywood last year, I was met by two lifelong friends: Richard Plepler, CEO of HBO, and Emma Watts, President of Production at Fox. Immediately they wrapped their arms around me and were open to partnering with me on new film and TV projects. I have known Richard for over 25 years, since before he became the power broker he is today. We spent many hours on beaches and at parties. I went to his wedding, and he came to mine. Emma Watts I have known since the days when she was my intern. Over the years our friendships strengthened, mostly outside work. Within just a few months of being out here in Hollywood, Richard trusted me and kissed me into a project with Steve McQueen directing that -- fingers crossed -- is soon to get an order for a full series by the coolest TV network in history. Emma could be a day or so away from green-lighting a new film project that I am producing -- fingers crossed again. These kinds of relationships can take decades to nourish and often lead to amazing opportunities for both parties involved.

As we all know, segregation is alive and institutionalized in Hollywood. The Los Angeles Times recently reported that the membership of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences is 94-percent white, and that is just the film industry.

The music business is light-years ahead of the film industry in this regard, because the artists collaborate, and they have helped insert people of color into the infrastructure. We certainly shouldn't put the burden on the creatives of Hollywood to do this work, but as an agent or manager of these careers, it's your job to integrate. After all, how many black managers start to develop and cultivate black artists only to lose them when an artist becomes popular? In these cases, the artists have been convinced, rightly or wrongly, that the current manager or agent does not have the resources or relationships to take that client to the next level.

If you are a promoter who has been given the "black comedy" night, make the leap and be inclusive in your casting. There are funny Asian, Latino and white people out there. Put them on your stage. You are not doing your comedians any favors by having them play in front of only African Americans on Chocolate Sundays or Terrible Tuesdays. Why limit them to being seen by only one 10th of America's population? My own weekly comedy show is just as likely to present Kevin Hart, Dave Chappelle or Mike Epps as it is to welcome Sarah Silverman and tons of other non-African-American comedians. My HBO show Def Comedy Jam launched many, many careers because the stars were seen by everyone. If they were limited to only black households, most would still be flying under the radar.

None of this is meant to belittle the hugely profitable, underserved African-American audience that can be accessed by blacks telling black stories. But again, if you are trying to reach a bigger audience, this roadmap is my recommendation.

The question for you is: Who is going to be your Richard Plepler or your Emma Watts? What relationships are you cultivating now that will blossom into lifelong friendships and partnerships? As the minority-majority population becomes more of a reality, Hollywood has to go through a metamorphosis. I would guess that most smart executives know this and are looking for the kinds of partnerships that will keep them relevant. This is the fourth or fifth time I have witnessed a resurgence of black film and TV. We must seize this opportunity and break down the tough walls of segregation in Hollywood. Remember that as we push for change, we must also be the change.

Charles Poekel's debut feature, screening this week at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival, offers a melancholic slice-of-life look at a Brooklyn neighborhood holiday staple: the open-24/7 Christmas tree stand.


Kentucker Audley in Christmas, Again / Photo courtesy of the filmmakers

When you live in New York City, there are certain hallmarks that signify the beginning of the holiday season, chief among them the singular smell of the Christmas tree stands that pop up like clockwork every Thanksgiving. For the next four weeks, New Yorkers mostly take them for granted, but once in a while, you might cross the street just to inhale the evocative scent, reminiscent (if you're lucky) of childhood, family and warmth.

After 25 years in New York, however, I must admit I'd never stopped to think about the people who work these stands, in what must be a thankless seasonal gig that requires a sacrifice of one's own holiday for the public's nonchalant pleasure. Never, that is, until I saw Christmas, Again, Charles Poekel's debut feature film, borne of a perhaps unprecedented dedication to research. You see, Poekel was so intrigued by the way his Brooklyn neighborhood symbolically adopted the tree salesmen, bringing them hot coffee and the occasional muffin, that he opened his own tree stand in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, which he's been running now for five years.

In a method-like attempt to develop a screenplay about the experience, Poekel wrote as he worked the stand, hired a staff and bought a trailer that serves as respite (and sometimes temporary housing) for the sales team year after year. And eventually he made his movie, incorporating actual local customers (and their tendencies) into the script. The result is a quietly vérité-ish study starring the fine young actors Kentucker Audley (Ain't Them Bodies Saints) and Hannah Gross (I Used to Be Darker) as a damaged and lonely young pair who slowly find in each other the potential for redemption. It's a lovely film, with bright spots of happiness that give the pair something to hope for.

After premiering at Festival del film Locarno, Christmas, Again had its North American launch this week at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival. (The film is also one of the initial selections of the 2015 New Directors/New Films slate in New York City this spring.) I caught up with the director and his two stars in Park City, where we talked about the top-notch production (with Sean Price Williams as DP and Robert Greene on editing duty), shooting on location in New York City, and the touching fragility of the main characters Noel and Lydia. These are definitely three to watch.

Shortly before his tragic death, we had the great fortune to interview American sniper Chris Kyle. His brutal honesty and unwavering sense of good and evil were remarkable, and at times haunting, and remain with us to this day. Chris engaged us in a conversation like no other, recanting the horrors of war, the heroism of our soldiers, and why he was able to sleep soundly at night as the most lethal sniper in U.S. military history.

With the blockbuster popularity of American Sniper, we thought we'd share our interview with our readers. We look forward to hearing your feedback.



Next: Our conversation with Taya Kyle in the aftermath of her husband's murder.

Largely forgotten by history, Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley, Jr. squared off in a series of crackling debates on ABC in 1968, which scored high ratings, got the country talking, and left both men forever scarred.


Photo courtesy of the filmmakers

When you read the description of Best of Enemies, which had its world premiere this week in the U.S. Documentary competition at the 2015 Sundance Film Festival, "hilarious" is not the first word that springs to mind. But indeed, the thrilling film, which chronicles the unprecedented televised debates during the 1968 presidential conventions between Gore Vidal and William F. Buckley, Jr. -- who disagreed about virtually everything -- is chock-full of one-liners and bon mots that would make any stand-up comedian green with envy.

Before 24-hour news channels, with talking heads debating (we use the term loosely) issues of the day ad nauseam, Americans received their news from stalwart network anchors and reporters, whose crisp delivery and just-the-facts journalism was respected and consumed en masse. Polarized (and polarizing) outlets did not exist; there were CBS, NBC and ABC, and everyone tuned in each night.

In the summer of 1968, ABC (at the bottom of the ratings pack) decided to take a gamble during the presidential conventions, replacing the expected gavel-to-gavel coverage with a nightly debate between two towering intellectuals from opposite sides of the political spectrum: Vidal on the left and Buckley on the right. The men, who happened to despise each other, were given very few guidelines; no topic was off-limits. Audiences tuned in, ratings soared, and the debates became more and more heated, eventually ramping up to an explosive climax during the Democratic Convention in Chicago. (To give away more would be to spoil, but suffice it to say, it's jaw-dropping, even by today's standards.) Both men would remember (and regret?) the moment for the rest of their lives.


Photo courtesy of the filmmakers

As we become more and more a people divided (Fox News enthusiasts, progressive diehards), choosing news outlets that preach to our particular choir, Best of Enemies is both prescient and revealing. These debates were, in retrospect, the blueprint for every political news show that has followed, from Buckley's own Firing Line to The McLaughlin Group to Crossfire to every Sunday morning news panel, not to mention every random weekday show on cable news. (Unfortunately, the debates are not available, aside from the bootleg copies that inspired the directors to dig into ABC's archives. But with any luck, that will change.) It's a fascinating look at our collective history, and to the directors' credit, it's highly entertaining at the same time. Did we mention how funny it is?

Directed by Morgan Neville (the Oscar®-winning director of Twenty Feet From Stardom) and Robert Gordon (Grammy® Award-winning writer and filmmaker), Best of Enemies has deservedly been one of the breakout hits at this year's festival in Park City. The film--just acquired by Magnolia and Participant--should be an art house hit during its planned theatrical release. We caught up with the two directors on Main Street to discuss the impetus for making the film, how incredibly relevant the Vidal/Buckley debates are today, and the whirlwind nature of a Sundance premiere.