The Final Episode of Cheers!

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Twenty–five years ago tonight, Cheers! concluded its lengthy run on TV with "One For the Road."

The episode managed to tie up some loose ends rather nicely — and earned a viewership for a series finale that is still second only to the legendary final episode of MASH.

Even Diane (Shelley Long) came back — and it was truly clever the way the show's writers achieved it. Diane, a longtime barmaid and long–winded intellectual, was being honored for her writing by the Cable Ace Awards, and the males at Cheers were tuned in to watch for glimpses of the cleavage of attractive presenters. They were all stunned to see Diane win — especially her on–again off–again beau Sam Malone (Ted Danson) and Carla (Rhea Perlman), her nemesis at Cheers who could only live with what she was seeing by persuading herself that she must be hallucinating.

Subplots included the installation of Woody (Woody Harrelson) as a Boston councilman and Cliff's (John Ratzenberger) desire for a promotion.

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Sam decided it would be a civilized gesture to send Diane a telegram congratulating her on her triumph, never dreaming that she would call to thank him for it. In the course of their conversation, Diane revealed that she was married with three children. Sam tried to top her by inventing a wife and four children.

Then he made his mistake. When Diane told him that he would like her husband, Sam told her to bring him by the bar if she was ever in Boston. He didn't think she would ever show up in Boston, but she did, and Sam had to persuade Diane's replacement, Rebecca (Kirstie Alley), to pose as his wife. It was the only time that Diane and Rebecca appeared together in a Cheers! episode.

It also turned out that Sam and Diane had been lying. Rebecca's former lover interrupted their lunch with a proposal, which she accepted; then they left the restaurant. Not long after that the lunch was interrupted again by the male lover of Diane's husband, who confronted him in the dining room and then stormed out. Diane's husband followed. After the alleged spouses had left the restaurant, Sam and Diane were free to explore the truth with each other — and they decided to get back together.

Their announcement of their reunion was not greeted with enthusiasm by the Cheers regulars, who remembered all too well how things had been when Sam and Diane were together before.

Sam and Diane had second thoughts aboard the plane when Sam thought the pilot was speaking directly to him over the P.A. system, and Diane likewise thought a stewardess was speaking to her. They had a change of heart as the plane returned to the terminal.

So Sam returned to the bar, and Diane returned to Los Angeles — alone.

At the bar, Sam had a memorable conversation with the Cheers gang about love and the meaning of life over some Cuban cigars. When I think of that conversation, even now, I remember Cliff and his assessment of what is really important in life — comfortable shoes.

But I also think of Norm (George Wendt), who told Sam after all the others had left that it didn't what or who one loved as long as it was an unconditional love.

That's an important point — that one must love whatever is most important unconditionally — that was made so effortlessly it took one's breath away.

Or maybe that was the result of uncontrollable laughter.

An Electoral Experiment

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A city councilman seeking a fourth term in office paid a visit to Cheers on this night in 1993 in an attempt to win some votes. It infuriated Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) because, where the other patrons heard inspiring statements, Frasier heard meaningless politician's rhetoric.

And an idea was born in this episode of Cheers! — "Woody Gets an Election." "We could put a chimpanzee on the ballot and garner 10% of the vote," Frasier insisted.

Apparently, no chimpanzee was available so Frasier did the next best thing. He recruited Woody (Woody Harrelson) to run for city council and made a bet with Sam (Ted Danson) that all he had to do was put Woody's face on a poster above a phrase that sounded good (the phrase that appeared on the posters was "He's one of us") but essentially meant nothing and, by Election Day, he would get 10% of the vote.

Frasier also decided to use the campaign as a case study for a paper.

Part of the experiment, of course, involved interviews with the local media. Only a few months before she became a regular on the Frasier spinoff, Peri Gilpin made a guest appearance as a political reporter who came by the bar to interview Woody.

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The interview was like something out of "Being There." Farm boy Woody kept answering the questions from a farmer's perspective, and the reporter put her own preconceived interpretations on his answers.

It didn't take long for Frasier to win the bet. Polls showed Woody receiving 8% in advance of the election, and Sam conceded. Frasier figured he could take down the posters and end the charade.

But then the news broke that Woody's opponent, the incumbent who was seeking a fourth term, had been charged with public drunkenness. Suddenly, the folks at Cheers believed Woody could win.

In fact, Frasier believed it so deeply that he was plagued by nightmares in which Woody had a meteoric political career that landed him in the White House, where he fired nuclear bombs.

And he implored Woody to drop out of the race before he made a mockery of the democratic process. Woody pledged to do so at the Election Eve debate — but his intentions were sidetracked when his wife Kelly (Jackie Swanson) informed him on camera that he was going to be a father.

And the victory was sealed.

On election night, Woody kept thanking Frasier for getting him started, but Frasier, still thinking of his harrowing mushroom cloud dreams, insisted that "no one can prove that."

The opening segment of the episode featured a guest — Spanky McFarland of "Our Gang" fame. Know–it–all Cliff (John Ratzenberger) spotted him sitting at the far end of the bar and told Norm (George Wendt) that he believed the man was Spanky. Cliff sauntered over to him and began talking, in his blowhard fashion, about his love for "Our Gang."

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Apparently, that was all Spanky needed. When Cliff asked him if he was Spanky, he denied it, and Cliff left the bar.

"You are Spanky, aren't you?" Norm asked him.

"Oh, yeah," Spanky replied.

That was Spanky's final public appearance. He died a couple of months later.

Harry the Hat Evens the Score

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Long–time viewers of Cheers! know that the bar's rival was Gary's Old Towne Tavern. The bars competed in all kinds of things, and Gary's Old Towne Tavern always won — and on this night in 1993, Sam's bar was gearing up for what was expected to be a banner St. Patrick's Day — perhaps its best ever.

Even Sam (Ted Danson) expressed confidence that the bar would outperform Gary's on what is arguably the biggest holiday in New England. But Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) reminded him that Gary's had been the big St. Patrick's Day winner for 10 straight years.

Nevertheless, Sam was convinced that his bar could finally beat Gary because he had a strategy — banners, balloons, green beer, Irish music, Carla (Rhea Perlman) dressed as a leprechaun. When Gary (Robert Desiderio) came over, he first offered to call off the bet to save Sam's bar from humiliation. Then, when Sam wouldn't go for it, Gary suggested raising the stakes — "Make it something more interesting than the usual hundred bucks?" — Sam readily agreed, but he didn't tell the patrons of the bar what the new stakes were or what he had committed all of them to do if they lost.

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Talk about humiliation.

When Gary won the bet, they all had to come to the Old Towne Tavern and sing "Getting to Know You" in the buff. Just about everyone agreed that it was a humiliating experience.

Well, except for Cliff (John Ratzenberger). He "found the whole thing quite exhilarating."

But Sam said it was the first time he had ever been naked — and not had fun.

Sam said he would call upon con man Harry the Hat (Harry Anderson) to help them get even. But Harry declined, saying they could never top Gary.

"Face it, you're a bunch of losers," Harry told them. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. It's your nature, you know? It's the way God made you. You're part of his master plan. If it weren't for you guys, how would we know who the winners were?"

Sam decided to give up competing with Gary. He said he would go over to the Old Towne Tavern the next day to make peace with his rival.

But when he did, a bulldozer came crashing through the bar's exterior. Sam could only watch helplessly.

Back at Cheers!, Gary came running into the bar, swearing to call the cops. Sam wanted to avoid that so he got on his knees to ask Gary to keep the cops out of it. The patrons who had performed naked at Gary's bar got on their knees, too, and Gary pulled out a camera and took a picture.

Gary said it was a setup. He had sold his bar to a commercial developer who had been responsible for bulldozing the bar to make room for a shopping center.

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But it turned out that Harry the Hat had been behind it. He had posed as the developer.

When Sam asked if Harry had destroyed the bar, Harry said he hadn't, but Gary had. Gary arranged for the bulldozer after making the deal with Harry the Hat. Harry had been posing as a land developer — who was going to come up short of funds, as Gary discovered when he tried to cash Harry's check. It bounced, of course, and Gary's bar was in ruins.

When Sam asked Harry how he could repay him, Harry said he already had. Sam soon learned what he meant by that. Harry had taken all the money in the cash register.

To be sure, Harry was an equal opportunity swindler.

Sting's Best

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Sting has been around for more than four decades, going back to his days with The Police, and he has been a solo act for more than three, but many people still don't know his real name. (It is Gordon Sumner.)

Likewise, many people are, sadly, unfamiliar with Geoffrey Chaucer's "The Canterbury Tales," a collection of stories told by a group of 14th–century pilgrims traveling from London to Canterbury to visit St. Thomas Becket's shrine at Canterbury Cathedral. One of those pilgrims was called The Summoner.

The title of Sting's album that was released 25 years ago today, "Ten Summoner's Tales," was a somewhat strained pun on both Sting's surname and the name of that character from "The Canterbury Tales."

The music was a nice change of pace for Sting, whose previous efforts had been largely influenced by the deaths of his parents. "Ten Summoner's Tales" was more upbeat. Of course, it wouldn't have taken much, given how somber those other albums had been.

The title of the album also made it clear that it was made with no concept in mind — and, after hearing it, the listener had no choice but to concede that point — with the exception of the fact that the songs tended to affirm love and morality.

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Of the six singles that were released from the album, my favorite has long been "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You," but I have never spoken of the reason for that until now.

I had heard singles from the album on the radio, but I didn't really listen to the album until two years after it hit the record stores — the summer after my mother died in a flash flood. My father was disabled in that flood. It was a devastating time for the entire family.

My mother's childhood friend, Jane, checked in on my family on a regular basis that summer, making sure we were all functioning, still putting one foot in front of the other and not forgetting to breathe, and I remember buying the CD one day, mostly on a whim.

I put it in the CD player in my car and started listening to it as I drove home. "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You" was the first song that played. I had heard it before, but on that occasion all I could think of was how lost my family would have been without Jane that summer.

I suppose I will always think of her whenever I hear "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You." The song spoke the truth. If I ever lost my faith in Jane, there really would be nothing left for me to do.

The other single from the CD that I like is "Fields of Gold." While "If I Ever Lose My Faith in You" is a pop song, "Fields of Gold" is really more of a ballad.

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Both songs were written by Sting and deserve to be designated as classics on an album that really didn't have many classic songs, but it was more than the sum of its parts.

It had classic contributors — most notably Eric Clapton, who didn't perform on the album but co–wrote "It's Probaby Me" with Sting.

It was the first single to be released from the album, but it was overshadowed by those other two songs.

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It is probaby Sting's best album.

The Need to Know

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"To me, to kill is not the worst thing you can imagine. There is more."

Barney (Jeff Bridges)

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I have never seen the original version of "The Vanishing" that premiered in 1988. I have only seen the remake that was released on this day five years later — and when I saw it, I had no idea it was a remake.

I have heard the remake was thoroughly inferior to the original — which doesn't surprise me since I have yet to see a remake of any movie that I thought was an improvement on the original.

(Speaking of the original, film critic Roger Ebert wrote that it was "one of the most intelligent thrillers I've seen.")

Nothing that I have read suggests that the '93 remake of "The Vanishing" was an exception to that rule — but since I had nothing to compare, I thought it was OK. Not the best thriller I have ever seen but certainly not the worst.

It isn't uncommon for movies to be remade, of course, but "The Vanishing" was an odd exception to the rule. Normally, a remake is done by a different director, but the same man — George Sluizer — directed both.

Weird, huh?

Apparently, the primary sticking point between the two is that the original, which was primarily shown in Europe, was uncompromising in its conclusion whereas the remake seems to have been watered down to suit American audiences' preference for happy endings.

I still haven't seen the original, although I would like to, but I have read comparisons of the movies, and I have concluded that, while I liked the acting in the version I saw, I almost certainly would prefer the original movie. That isn't surprising, either, given that the remake starred Jeff Bridges and Kiefer Sutherland, two actors whose work I admire. It co–starred Sandra Bullock and Nancy Travis. To be candid, I have long believed that Bullock is overrated, but I do like Travis' work.

Bridges played Barney, a chemistry teacher who was obsessed with the concept of free will. He was endlessly plotting to abduct and kill someone, and he conducted numerous trial runs, which always failed.

More than anything it was an intellectual pursuit, a kind of mind game. His character was driven by a memory from his childhood — when he had leaped from a balcony and injured himself. At the time, he knew that most people do not do certain things because that is how they have been conditioned, but he reasoned that there was nothing more than that to keep them from doing those things.

In other words, it was still a matter of free will, even if choosing to do something was sure to lead to an unpleasant outcome like injury or death.

The act of killing another human being, therefore, was also a matter of free will.

Then one day an opportunity just fell into his lap. Jeff (Sutherland) and Diane (Bullock), a young couple on vacation, stopped at an all–purpose roadside convenience store/gas station. Diane went in to get some cold drinks — and was never seen again.

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The audience knew what had happened, of course, but Sutherland did not, and that began his personal quest to find out. It grew into an obsession that Bridges' character would one day use against him.

The audience knew that Bridges had seen the "missing" posters that Sutherland's character kept putting up around town and even expressed his admiration for Sutherland's persistence.

Ultimately he was moved to seek out Sutherland and confess that "I am the man you're looking for." He said Sutherland could learn what had happened to his girlfriend, but Bridges warned Sutherland that he would have to be willing to go through precisely what his girlfriend had gone through in order to learn what he sought.

Jeff balked at that.

"You don't care if she is alive or dead anymore," Barney asserted.

"Yes, I do," Jeff insisted.

"No, you don't," Barney replied. "You're just scared that without the search you won't know who you are. Who is Jeff Harriman if he's not the guy looking for Diane? Can you really walk away from finally knowing the answer?"

After serious deliberation, Sutherland decided he had to know what had happened — which proved the truth of what Bridges' character had told him. "Your obsession is my weapon."

I'll leave it at that — except to note a few other things.

Travis' role was an interesting one — and a big part of the reason why I would like to see the original version of the movie. Travis played Sutherland's new girlfriend.

"In the earlier film, he takes a new girlfriend, who finally leaves him because she cannot compete with the memory of the vanished woman," Ebert wrote. "In this version, his new girlfriend sticks around because she'll be needed for the ending."

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Ebert's position was that the first movie made sense because it remained true to its original premise however ugly it became. The compromised conclusion made a lot of changes necessary in the remake that veered from that premise, resulting in a movie that was, in Ebert's eyes, "laughable, stupid and crude."

"The first movie was existential in its merciless unfolding," Ebert wrote. "This one turns into a slasher movie with a cheap joke at the end."

Now I am willing to concede — without even having seen both movies — that the first version was probably superior to the remake. That isn't much of a stretch for me, really. If you read back over this blog, you will find many times when I have spoken disparagingly of remakes, and I am sure this remake is no exception — although to make such a judgment it really is necessary to see both movies, isn't it?

No, I do not doubt that the original was better — and I hope to see the original someday — but I really don't see how the role of the villain could be played better than it was by Jeff Bridges, who sent a series of chills down my spine simply because he was so clinical in his approach to taking another life. It was the same to him as an experiment in one of his chemistry classes.

Bridges was very effective, even managing to be sympathetic at first. For awhile I kind of liked the guy — even though I knew that, ultimately, he would be the bad guy, which he was.

A creepier villain has seldom been seen in the movies.

The Power of the Will to Survive

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"After 20 years, you analyze a lot. You remember people, heroism. The Miracle of the Andes ... that's what they call it. Many people come up to me and say that, had they been there, they surely would have died — but that makes no sense because, until you are in a situation like that, you have no idea how you'll behave. To be affronted by solitude without decadence or a single material thing to prostitute — that elevates you to a spiritual plane ... where I felt the presence of God. Now there's the God they taught me about at school — and there's the God that's hidden by what surrounds us in this civilization. That's the God that I met on the mountain."

Older Carlitos/Narrator (John Malkovich)

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I think I was in junior high when I read Piers Paul Read's book "Alive" — which was about a Uruguayan rugby team that was involved in an airplane crash in the Andes Mountains in October 1972.

I was mesmerized by the story. The survivors of the crash ultimately had to consume the bodies of their deceased companions like a modern–day Donner Party. They were rescued after spending more than 10 weeks on the mountain.

Like so many others I fixated on that one part of the story when there were so many more uplifting aspects of the story. Fortunately, the movie version, which premiered on this day in 1993, touched on many of them.

It all came back to the power of the will to survive. Human history is loaded with stories of people who probably shouldn't have survived something but did, almost entirely because they decided they simply were not going to die. It wasn't their time yet.

In such a story, there must be some precipitous event that serves as the catalyst for everything that is to come. In this case it was the plane crash, as realistic in its depiction in "Alive" as Spielberg's depiction of the D–Day invasion in "Saving Private Ryan." I was astonished that the re–creation of the crash was not nominated for an Oscar.

("Alive" director Frank Marshall co–founded Amblin Entertainment with Spielberg. Clearly he learned a few things from that affiliation.)

The plane crash took comparatively little time to depict. So did the part about eating the bodies of the dead. The rest of the movie was about the effort to survive, which was much more than the act of eating human flesh.

It was about overcoming the obstacles that were thrown at the survivors. Those obstacles sometimes seemed to be Hollywood creations — like the avalanche of snow that buried the plane in which the survivors sought shelter — but everything in the movie was absolutely true.

Sometimes truth really is stranger than fiction.

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And that, it seemed to me, was the message of the movie.

Not the sensational accounts of having to eat human flesh. True, that was part of the story, but it only took about a dozen minutes of a movie that was more than two hours long. It represented a fraction of the story — and I will readily admit that part of the story is repugnant.

But it wasn't the whole story. Far from it.

Because the movie was a true story (several of the survivors served as technical advisers to the movie production crew), the audience could follow and sympathize with the survivors' predicament and the stages they went through in fully accepting what they had to do, whether they were prepared for it or not.

The survivors of the crash had no training for surviving in a harsh environment. Yes, they were athletic, but in rugby you run a lot. You don't have to wage a life–and–death struggle every day in extreme conditions with limited rations.

Much like the movie "Miracle," "Alive" had little in the name of A–list stars. And that was a good thing. I don't think either movie would have been as effective with all–star casts. They would have been too distracting from the critical choices that the characters had to make — one of which was whether to consume the flesh of their deceased friends and relatives.

True, Ethan Hawke was in the movie, but his was not quite a household name yet. He had been in "Dead Poets Society" with Robin Williams a few years earlier, but he was still nearly a decade away from his first Academy Award nomination.

And John Malkovich was in the movie as well, but he was merely a narrator, an older version of one of the crash survivors. He wasn't even mentioned in the credits.

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But back to the story. There were other obstacles to overcome — for example the mental adjustment that had to be made when the survivors learned the search party they were so sure would find them had been called off. That was a considerable hurdle as well.

And at a certain point they had to accept the fact that, if they were going to be saved, they would have to do it themselves. Some of the survivors would have to try to hike down the mountain to find help.

Those who focused on the cannibalism are as short–sighted as the congressman I once heard criticizing the nudity in "Schindler's List."

"Alive" was about faith and hope — and the determination to survive. And it was a reminder of the old biblical admonition to "judge not lest ye be judged." However much we may think we know how we would act under such circumstances, as Malkovich's character said in the opening narration, "until you are in a situation like that, you have no idea how you'll behave."

It is wrong to judge people who must make those kinds of choices. Frankly, it is wrong to judge anyone for most behavior that is not criminal — especially if the full story is not known. The full story of what happened on the Andes Mountains in 1972 can only be known by those who lived through it.

And that was what the movie was all about.

Discrimination of a Different Color

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"Now, explain it to me like I'm a 4–year–old."

Denzel Washington

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In what is being described as a crowded pre–Christmas weekend for movies, Tom Hanks (possibly the most bankable male star — certainly one of them — of his generation) and Emma Thompson apparently struggled at the box office with their new movie about Walt Disney and the making of "Mary Poppins."

My guess is that it won't be long before the Hanks name will come to the rescue of "Saving Mr. Banks." It's hard to remember a time when Hanks wasn't a huge box–office draw. He had been nominated for an Oscar (for "Big"), and he had been in some other successful movies ("Sleepless in Seattle," "A League of Their Own") by this time in 1993 (and he had had his share of flops, too) — but the bulk of his Best Actor nominations (and all of his victories) were still in the future.

On this day in 1993, Hanks' future arrived.

Before "Philadelphia" was released 20 years ago today, no big–screen movie had truly dealt with the many and complex issues — social and political as well as medical — surrounding AIDS.

There had been earlier movies about AIDS, but they mostly seemed to focus on the medical mystery that existed regarding the disease and how one might come down with it. "Philadelphia" took on the issues that anyone with a deadly — and mostly misunderstood — disease must face.

From the start, AIDS patients were shunned like polio sufferers once were. Gradually, their suffering was the subject of movies and TV shows, but there was still a great deal of misunderstanding about the disease, how it was spread, all that stuff, and there was virtually no knowledge of the issues that AIDS sufferers faced — in schools, in the workplace, in the community at large.

"Philadelphia" tried to tell the story of one fictional individual afflicted with AIDS who was dismissed from his workplace.

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Joe Miller: The Federal Vocational Rehabilitation Act of 1973 prohibits discrimination against otherwise qualified handicapped persons who are able to perform the duties required by their employment. Although the ruling did not address the specific issue of HIV and AIDS discrimination ...

Andrew Beckett: Subsequent decisions have held that AIDS is protected as a handicap under law, not only because of the physical limitations it imposes, but because the prejudice surrounding AIDS exacts a social death which precedes the actual physical one.

Joe Miller: This is the essence of discrimination: formulating opinions about others not based on their individual merits, but rather on their membership in a group with the same characteristics.

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Andrew Beckett (Hanks) was a young lawyer in Philadelphia who had just been promoted to partner of his prestigious law firm and had been given a case involving the firm's most important client. He was also gay and had contracted AIDS, but he kept both his sexuality and his medical condition secret from his employers.

Within two weeks of his promotion, the file for this case disappeared, then was mysteriously found at the last minute, and Beckett was dismissed, ostensibly for incompetence, but he believed he was fired because someone at the firm had discovered that he had AIDS, and he went about suing the firm for wrongful dismissal.

To represent him in court, he got Joe Miller (Denzel Washington), a personal–injury lawyer and unapologetic homophobe who at first declined to take the case but later agreed to do so for the money and exposure it offered. An interesting and ironic — and, in some ways, predictable — transformation took place. Miller began to realize that the discrimination that Beckett and others like him faced wasn't any different from the racial discrimination that Miller and others like him faced.

Discrimination is discrimination, whether it is based on race, religion, age or anything else.

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Judge Garrett (Charles Napier): In this courtroom, Mr. Miller, justice is blind to matters of race, creed, color, religion and sexual orientation.

Joe Miller: With all due respect, your honor, we don't live in this courtroom, do we?

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There were complaints from the gay community and elsewhere about some aspects of the movie. Some of the complaints focused on a perceived tendency to compromise on some harsh realities in order to appeal to a wider audience.

I'll give you an example of the kind of thing I mean.

I'm not gay, but I have friends who are, and some of them — in fact, many of them — have encountered the most resistance from those from whom support was expected — family and friends.

Hanks' character was fortunate in that he had a large, supportive family — "I didn't raise my kids to sit in the back of the bus," his mother (Joanne Woodward) told him — but many gay people have suffered the sting of the rejection of parents and siblings. Whatever the reason for it, that kind of rejection is painful, and I honestly felt that director Jonathan Demme kinda copped out on that one.

But Demme didn't entirely shy away from showing the pain of isolation brought on by the stigma of AIDS. It was most vividly illustrated when Hanks initially visited Miller, his one–time courtroom adversary, in search of legal representation and left rejected.

That scene was even more poignant when it was combined with Bruce Springsteen's haunting (and, eventually, Oscar–winning) song, "Streets of Philadelphia." I've never been the Springsteen fan that many of my peers are, but I have always admired that song.

Neil Young, another songwriter favored by those of my generation, shared the award with Springsteen.

Hanks received his second Best Actor nomination (and his first Oscar) for his performance in "Philadelphia."

Washington wasn't even recognized with a nomination from the Oscars. He had been nominated three times before — winning Best Supporting Actor for "Glory" — and, as of 2013, he has been nominated for Best Actor four times (winning in 2002 for "Training Day") — but he received no recognition for his work in "Philadelphia."

Neither, for that matter, was Jason Robards recognized for his work. Robards was one of my favorite actors, as is Mary Steenburgen (who played the law firm's legal representative in the suit), but neither was nominated by the Academy.

There were others who made memorable contributions for which I suppose it was a given that they would not be nominated for Oscars.

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Possibly the most memorable was the performance of Ron Vawter as an associate at the firm. His character testified after Hanks' character collapsed in court and was taken to the hospital for what apparently was the last time.

Vawter's character said he didn't know that Hanks' character had AIDS, but he had suspected it. He was asked if he had ever mentioned his suspicions to Hanks. He replied that he had not, that he had not even given Hanks a chance to talk about his condition. "I think I'm going to regret that for as long as I live," he said.

There was irony in his words (even though they weren't his words but words he had been given by the script writer). Vawter was suffering from AIDS and died of a heart attack while flying from Zurich to New York less than four months after the debut of "Philadelphia." He was 45.

Frasier's Obsession

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Obsessive personalities always seem to make the best comedic characters, and Frasier was one of the most obsessive characters TV has ever seen.

Twenty years ago tonight, in a first–season Frasier episode, Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) obsessed about something that most of us probably have obsessed about at one time or another — death.

It began with a little misdirection. Frasier's father (John Mahoney) skipped his doctor's appointment because he didn't like his doctor, and Frasier found out about it so he insisted on taking his father to another doctor, and Niles recommended one in his building. After they got there, the doctor was a no–show, and they were about to leave when they found out that the doctor had dropped dead.

From that point, Frasier was obsessing. The doctor was roughly his age, and Frasier simply couldn't get that out of his mind. He did all kinds of research and generally made a nuisance of himself. He gathered the family together to go over things that would be important only in the event of his death — like the distribution of his possessions, his funeral and burial plans and the discovery of the body.

To ensure that there would be no unseemly quarrels over his belongings, Frasier wanted each member of the family to put their names on sticky notes and attach them to the objects they wanted.

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Martin (John Mahoney): This is crazy. I'm not going to start putting my name on your stuff.

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer): Dad, what happens if I die tomorrow, you and Niles end up in an argument about ... well, that African mask, for instance?

Martin: It'll never happen. Niles, you can have it.

Niles (David Hyde Pierce): I don't want it.

Daphne (Jane Leeves): Well, don't look at me. I throw a towel over that thing when you're not home.

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He had a heart–to–heart conversation about his fears with his father, who told him a story from his experience as a policeman, and Martin was helpful — up to a certain point.

Ultimately, though, Frasier found that he could only put his mind at rest by visiting the grieving widow and asking her certain questions. They might be painful questions to answer, but, damn it, he had to know!

What Frasier did not know before going to the widow's home was that the dead man had been Jewish, and his relatives were sitting shiva. In layman's terms, as one of the mourners explained it to Frasier, it was a Jewish wake.

And that set up one of my favorite dialogue exchanges in the entire run of the Frasier series.

Upon his arrival, Frasier remarked that he hadn't expected the widow to have so many guests. The mourner smile and said to Frasier, "You're not Jewish, are you? This is our version of a wake."

Frasier could understand that so he stood by the table and looked around, stopping to look under a cloth draped over a mirror. A woman approached him from behind and asked if she could help him.

Frasier told her he thought there was a painting underneath the cloth. He said he had speculated that there might be an unveiling later.

The woman smiled. "You're not Jewish, are you?"

Apparently, Frasier decided the straight–forward approach didn't work so well the first time so this time his reply was "No, no, my ex–wife is, though, and thus my son is, which makes me sort of, well, I guess you could say ... No, I'm not Jewish."

The woman smiled again. "We always cover mirrors at a shiva so those grieving don't have to be concerned with their own appearances."

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Frasier eventually made his way over to the widow, whom he hoped to ask questions about her late husband's health and lifestyle. But Frasier changed his mind when he realized that she was struggling with her own issues regarding her husband's death.

She asked Frasier what he would say to a caller who said he/she couldn't get over why someone died. Frasier said his only answer was that life is not fair.

"All we can do," he said, "is live for the little joys and surprises life affords us. You can't live your life obsessing about death."

The widow smiled. "You're not Jewish, are you?"

In these times of excessive political correctness, I feel compelled to say I am not anti–Semitic.

I am a writer. I appreciate good writing.

And that is good writing.

An Important Movie

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"Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world."

Talmud

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In reality, there probably was no one who would have seemed less likely to be a hero before World War II than Oskar Schindler.

He was a German businessman and Nazi Party member, greedy, arrogant, a womanizer who lived an opulent life in Poland away from his wife in Germany. At first, he hired Jews to work in his factory because, with their wages set by the Nazis, they cost him less than Poles. That evolved, with the assistance of his accountant (Ben Kingsley), into Schindler's unrestricted use of his factory to protect an estimated 1,100 Jews from deportation and probable death.

It took nearly half a century for Schindler's story to be brought to the big screen. Appropriately, it was Steven Spielberg, perhaps the most popular filmmaker of his time, who told the story to a mostly ignorant world. Many people will tell you it is the greatest movie ever made. The American Film Institute didn't go quite that far. I'm not sure if I would go that far, but I would certainly rank it in the Top 10. It ranked "Schindler's List" eighth on its Top 100 list.

Schindler (played by Liam Neeson in the movie) was AFI's 13th–greatest movie hero — and Amon Goeth (played by Ralph Fiennes) was AFI's 14th–most villainous villain (the highest–ranking nonfiction villain on that list).

And, in the 20 years since its initial theatrical release on this day in 1993, "Schindler's List" has been used countless times as a classroom learning tool.

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When you look back at Spielberg's career, you can see certain patterns in his work, as you can with just about any great director, I suppose.

In "Schindler's List," you can see a technique to which Spielberg would return a few years later when he made "Saving Private Ryan" — the vivid re–creation of a harrowing wartime event. In "Ryan," it was the re–creation of D–Day. In "Schindler," it was the liquidation of the Kraków ghetto.

Both scenes were lengthy — and painful to watch but necessary for the viewer to get a taste of what the participants must have experienced. Spielberg himself remarked that he felt more like a reporter than a filmmaker when he made "Schindler's List," as if he had been witnessing the actual events, not re–creating them for a movie.

By the time "Ryan" hit the theaters, you could see how much Spielberg's technique had matured. It was still in its infancy when he made "Schindler's List," but, even so, it packed a punch.

I don't think it is an exaggeration to say "Schindler's List" may well be the most important movie made in my lifetime. I guess it has almost become a cliche for someone to say that a movie project in which he or she was involved was important, but it really does fit "Schindler's List."

The interaction between Schindler and his accountant was one of the things I found especially remarkable.

Under far less extreme circumstances, it was the kind of partnership that usually succeeds in the business world. Schindler was the big–picture guy; Itzhak Stern was the nuts–and–bolts guy, the details guy. Both brought skills to the enterprise that were essential to its success.

But, in the intense atmosphere of the Holocaust, success and failure were entirely different.

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I already admired Ben Kingsley's work. A decade earlier, he starred in a movie that really was an important movie, "Gandhi."

Until "Schindler's List," though, I didn't have the same kind of admiration for Liam Neeson. He had been in several movies by this time — I even saw him in one or two — and I was favorably impressed, but I didn't think of him as an important actor until I saw "Schindler's List."

After I saw his scene late in the movie where he spoke of how many more lives he could have saved if he had sold his watch or his car, he became an important actor in my eyes.

I remember the first time I watched "Schindler's List" on TV. It was shown with no commercial interruptions — on NBC, I think, and sponsored by the Ford Motor Company. As I recall, Spielberg spoke at the start of the movie and at the end. In one of those segments, he said that he had been asked if he would permit his children to watch "Schindler's List." He said he wanted all of his children to watch it when they were ready.

That was the kind of thing, Spielberg admitted, that each parent had to decide because children mature at different rates, but he said that, as a general rule of thumb, he wouldn't let young children watch it. But a child in junior high or high school probably could understand the material and ask thoughtful questions after the movie was over. Young children might be traumatized.

I thought that was a reasonable — as well as responsible — thing for him to say.

Consequently, I was astonished the next day when a lawmaker from Oklahoma complained about the nudity in "Schindler's List," and accused Spielberg, NBC and Ford of acting irresponsibly. I wondered if the lawmaker even bothered to watch the telecast. If he had, I thought, he might have realized that the Nazis used nudity as a weapon against the Jews, not as a means of their own arousal. It was an example of the Nazis' cruelty.

Truly, some people can't see the forest for the trees.

There was another element of "Schindler's List" that is worth discussing. I speak of the little girl in the red coat. In real life, she must have stood out in the crowd just as she did in the movie — made almost entirely in black and white — if the little girl ever really existed.

My understanding is that the girl in the red coat was fictional, that she was symbolic of how high–ranking officials in democratic countries like the United States did nothing to prevent the Holocaust even though they were aware of it like "a little girl wearing a red coat, walking down the street."

In fact, though, there was a little girl in a red coat in the Kraków ghetto, and for a time it was thought that the girl in "Schindler's List" either was inspired by her or was a minor dramatization of her story. Her name was Roma Ligocka, and she was remembered by many who were there for that red coat she wore.

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In the movie, the girl in the red coat apparently died. I say "apparently" because the camera does not show her actual death, but it does show her limp body, identifiable only by that coat. It was a powerful moment in the movie, and it marked the beginning of Schindler's personal transformation.

But Ligocka did not die in the Holocaust. She survived and lives today in Munich. She is Roman Polanski's cousin.

A Secret Identity

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Mrs. Doubtfire (Robin Williams): [reading a letter] "Dear Mrs. Doubtfire, two months ago, my mom and dad decided to separate. Now they live in different houses. My brother Andrew says that we aren't to be a family anymore. Is this true? Did I lose my family? Is there anything I can do to get my parents back together? Sincerely, Katie McCormick." Oh, my dear Katie. You know, some parents, when they're angry, they get along much better when they don't live together. They don't fight all the time, and they can become better people, and much better mummies and daddies for you. And sometimes they get back together. And sometimes they don't, dear. And if they don't, don't blame yourself. Just because they don't love each other anymore doesn't mean that they don't love you. There are all sorts of different families, Katie. Some families have one mommy, some families have one daddy, or two families. And some children live with their uncle or aunt. Some live with their grandparents, and some children live with foster parents. And some live in separate homes, in separate neighborhoods, in different areas of the country — and they may not see each other for days, or weeks, months ... even years at a time. But if there's love, dear ... those are the ties that bind, and you'll have a family in your heart forever.

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Robin Williams has been a wild man ever since I first became aware of him. He was almost certainly a wild man before that.

The first time I remember seeing him was in the role of Mork — originally as a guest on Happy Days, then in a recurring role on the Mork and Mindy TV show, a Happy Days spinoff. Maybe he did some things before that. I don't know.

But I've seen most of his movies since then, and there's always that kind of frenzy about him. Well, almost always.

The exception, perhaps, was "Mrs. Doubtfire," the movie that was released 20 years ago today. There was still a lot of that hyper dialogue in his performance — some of it must have been the result of a good director (Chris Columbus) simply letting Williams go on one of his improvisational rants. That was, after all, what the moviegoing public paid money to see.

But "Mrs. Doubtfire" was different. Mrs. Doubtfire was a strict but sweet and caring Scottish nanny. In every life there should be a Mrs. Doubtfire.

Thing is, Mrs. Doubtfire was already in the lives of Sally Field and her three children — because Mrs. Doubtfire was really Williams, Field's ex–husband. Williams' character was an affectionate father, but he was not much for discipline nor did he set a particularly good example for his children so he was limited in the time he could spend with them.

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Daniel (Robin Willilams): Did you ever wish you could sometimes freeze frame a moment in your day, look at it and say, "This is not my life?"

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The only way he could spend more time with them was to assume another identity so he could get the job of housekeeper — and he had to stay in character.

He couldn't be discovered or he would lose the job for sure — and possibly the time he was allowed with his children in his true identity.

That could be pretty challenging, especially when he was with his ex–wife and her new beau (Pierce Brosnan) not as Daniel the ex but as Mrs. Doubtfire.

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Of course, there were several narrow escapes before his cover was finally blown, but that was a big part of the movie's charm. Anyway, by then, some really unexpected changes had occurred.

I felt the conclusion of the movie didn't compromise. Williams and Field did not get back together — in a happily–ever–after movie, they would, but not in "Mrs. Doubtfire." Field put a little of her pride on the shelf and allowed Williams to spend more time with his children. It was a good lesson, reinforced by Mrs. Doubtfire's closing monologue (with which I began this post) on love and family and distance, for children from divided families.

When I was growing up, I knew several children whose parents were divorced, and some spent their childhoods hoping their parents would get back together. None ever did. Sometimes they do, as Mrs. Doubtfire said, but quite often, they don't. "Mrs. Doubtfire" always kind of reminded me of "Tootsie."

The stories weren't the same, of course. The lead character in "Tootsie" was not motivated by the desire to spend more time with a family. He cross–dressed because he was an abrasive person who couldn't find work as an actor.

In the process, he learned things that made him a better person.

Something similar happened, I think, to Robin Williams' character in "Mrs. Doubtfire." He learned things that made him a better parent — and led to a different kind of love story.

'Carlito's Way' Was Routine and Recycled

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After I saw "Carlito's Way" — the movie that was released 20 years ago today — I concluded that the movie's star, Al Pacino, simply added a Spanish accent to the same character he had played in the "Godfather" movies, especially "Godfather III."

Pacino's character, a Puerto Rican drug–dealing gangster, was doing time (decades of it) in prison but was freed after only a few years on a technicality, thanks to his unscrupulous attorney (Sean Penn, who, I thought, bore a striking resemblance to Art Garfunkel in "Carnal Knowledge"). Upon his release, he decided to get out of his line of work as soon as he had accumulated enough money as the manager of a club owned by his lawyer to retire to the Caribbean.

But, like Michael Corleone, he couldn't escape his past.

In the interim, he rekindled his relationship with Gail, a stripper played by Penelope Ann Miller, and agreed to help his attorney, who had been coerced into helping a convicted mob boss (from whom the lawyer had stolen $1 million) escape from prison. Cocaine seemed to course through every relationship and every act in the story, which was to be expected, I guess, especially in the environment of the '70s, but the intriguing part was that Carlito actually did manage to keep his nose clean — until his lawyer talked him into helping with the prison break (and the murder the lawyer planned to commit).

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After being brought in for interrogation, Carlito heard a tape of his lawyer agreeing to sell him out. From that point, it was a race to see if Carlito and Gail could escape.

I felt it was a B–level story, average if not mediocre, with a mostly A–level cast. The personnel was too good for the material but never quite rose above it. That wasn't for lack of trying, and I will concede that Brian de Palma's direction helped, but I had seen enough of his earlier movies to recognize some of his signature filmmaking tricks.

De Palma had been making movies for 25 years when he made "Carlito's Way," and he had grown comfortable with certain camera angles and other techniques he relied on to manipulate the emotions of the viewers.

It's never been a secret that, as a young director, de Palma was influenced by the movies of Alfred Hitchcock. In recent years, he has said he outgrew that as a director, but I'm not convinced. When he began saying that he was past his Hitchcock phase, it was after "Carlito's Way" was in the theaters, and I definitely saw some Hitchcock–inspired moments in that one. Someone who had seen several of his earlier movies could recognize his touch; those who had not seen many of his movies were probably impressed and apt to rate the movie highly.

Clearly, at least in "Carlito's Way," de Palma was also influenced by Bob Fosse — particularly Fosse's closing sequence in "All That Jazz" in which the lead character hallucinated as he died. Some folks probably thought it was a creative touch, not realizing it was recycled.

But I found it to be, in many ways, a routine re–telling of the gangster's tale — and of de Palma's movies in general.

A Real History Lesson

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Twenty years ago today, I was baffled by the timing of the debut of "Gettysburg."

1993 was a good year for the movie to come out. You see, as a student of American history, I knew that the actual battle occurred 130 years earlier — in July of 1863 — and the famous address that Abraham Lincoln gave at the dedication of the Gettysburg cemetery was in November of that year.

But the movie made its debut in October, which has no connection to the Battle of Gettysburg at all.

That's quibbling, I suppose, because, other than the timing of the release of the movie, I have few complaints about it. I was already familiar with the story of that three–day battle, and the movie was faithful to the events.

I've been studying American history nearly all my life. I don't remember now whether I gravitated to a study of history on my own or if someone influential in my life introduced me to it and encouraged my interest in it. Maybe it was the stories of heroism and valor that drew me to history.

There were plenty of those at Gettysburg.

Over the years, I have grown excited about the release of a movie that was about some dramatic time in history, but most of the time I have been disappointed. For whatever reason, many filmmakers seem to feel a need to embellish stories that need no embellishment.

Not so with director Ronald Maxwell's "Gettysburg." That was a wise decision. The Battle of Gettysburg needed nothing added to it. It was the bloodiest battle of the American Civil War. There was plenty of drama to be found in that fact.

But it was once you went beneath the surface that you found the real drama, and Maxwell touched all the right buttons.

The film focused on the most noteworthy figures from that battle — Robert E. Lee (played by Martin Sheen), James Longstreet (Tom Berenger), Joshua Chamberlain (Jeff Daniels) — whose individual stories told the bigger story of the battle.

I remember when I first saw this movie — on cable — and decided, after I had seen it, to give a tape of it to Mom for Christmas. After she saw it, she asked me if the Chamberlain character had really existed, and I told her he had.

Chamberlain was a college professor from Maine whose unorthodox battle strategies produced an astonishing Union victory on Little Round Top — and may well have altered the course of both the battle and the war.

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I'll never forget the look on Mom's face when I explained to her that the Chamberlain story, as presented in "Gettysburg," was absolutely true. None of it was made up.

Mom probably heard the story of Chamberlain and his bayonet charge on the second day of the battle, but it slipped her mind. She knew about Pickett's Charge, of course. Everyone — or nearly everyone — has read about that in their history books.

But the odds against Pickett's Charge were quite long — the Union had captured the high ground much earlier in the battle, and the Confederates who executed the charge had to cross an open field for more than a mile. They were sitting ducks for a barrage of Union fire. By the time of the charge, the outcome was already known.

It was different the day before at Little Round Top. The Union held the high ground then, too, but it was reeling from some setbacks, and the Confederates had a real opportunity to succeed with a flanking maneuver. Chamberlain's troops held off the Confederates as long as possible, then, with ammunition running low, Chamberlain ordered the charge.

As I say, had it not been for Chamberlain, the battle and the war might have been lost, and history would have been changed.

"Gettysburg" was the kind of historical movie I'd like to see more frequently — a good, solid history lesson delivered by a top–notch cast and a director who understands that the story alone is worth the price of admission.

Taking Short Cuts to the Truth

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"Short Cuts," which premiered 20 years ago today, is one of my favorite movies of the 1990s, in large part because it combines the work of two people (writer Raymond Carver and filmmaker Robert Altman) I admire — not to mention the talents of an all–star cast.

Several of Carver's short stories were woven together in a narrative about roughly two dozen southern Californians whose lives intersect in often random ways before, during and after an earthquake.

As I say, the links between the stories are often random — and maintaining them is tenuous at best — but they are plausible enough to give some credibility to some already credible (if selfish) human foibles.

In one subplot, Andie MacDowell and Bruce Davison play the parents of a young boy who is about to have a birthday. His mother orders a special cake that requires a lot of extra work on the part of the baker (Lyle Lovett).

But the cake isn't picked up, and the baker, seething with rage, begins making harassing phone calls to the home. He doesn't realize that the reason the cake wasn't picked up is that the young boy for whom it was intended was hit by a car and lapsed into a coma.

He also doesn't know that Lily Tomlin, distracted by her problems with husband Tom Waits, was the one who struck the boy. She offered to take him for treatment, but, having been instructed by his mother not to take rides from strangers, he declined, insisting that he wasn't hurt, and walked home, unaware of how seriously injured he really was.

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The boy eventually dies, and the drama in the hospital set the stage for grandfather Jack Lemmon's monologue on fidelity, which just might have been the greatest dramatic performance in a career that included "Days of Wine and Roses."

In another subplot, three friends (Fred Ward, Buck Henry and Huey Lewis) go on a fishing trip and discover the body of a woman in the creek. They decide not to report their finding until the weekend is over — so as not to disrupt their plans.

In yet another, a new mother (Jennifer Jason Leigh) earns money by performing phone sex. Her husband, Chris Penn, doesn't like it, but he knows they can use the money.

Sex, of course, is a recurring theme. Amateur painter Julianne Moore and and her husband, played by Matthew Modine, prior to the arrival of some dinner guests, discuss for the first time her infidelity with another guest at a party a few years earlier.

The audience can only imagine, from what the two say to each other, what happened. Moore and the other guest were chosen to go get more liquor for the party but found that it was too late at night and most of the stores were closed. Modine's suspicions were aroused when the two were gone so long. Turned out the guest had propositioned Moore and, in an inebriated state, she accepted.

Apparently a simmering yet previously unexpressed issue for Modine, Moore is startled when he brings it up and spills her drink on her skirt. She takes off the skirt and tries to remove the stain, exposing the fact that she is wearing no underwear.

The husband observes it and, introducing yet another previously unexpressed (and unresolved) issue into the conversation, accuses her of trying to be like the subjects in her paintings, who always seem to be naked.

She ultimately confesses to him, but she attempts to excuse her infidelity by pointing out that she was intoxicated — and the man did not ejaculate.

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These were short stories originally, not one long novel, but I often wondered if Carver regarded them as parts of a whole. He died about five years before "Short Cuts" was released, and I don't know if he ever had a hand in the planning of the movie — or if that really began after he died.

It's just one of those things I wonder about, and there is no — excuse the pun — short cut to the answer.

A New Beginning for Frasier

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Frasier: Six months ago, I was living in Boston. My wife had left me, which was very painful. Then she came back to me, which was excruciating. On top of that, my practice had grown stagnant, and my social life consisted of hanging around a bar night after night. You see, I was clinging to a life that wasn't working, and I knew I had to do something, anything. So I ended the marriage once and for all, packed up my things and moved back here to my hometown of Seattle. Go Seahawks!

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I suppose it was inevitable, when Cheers! took its bow in the spring of 1993, that there would be at least one spinoff the following fall.

And there was — Frasier, which premiered 20 years ago tonight. That was fine with me. I always thought Frasier was the most amusing character on Cheers!, and I thought the spinoff would give us some more time to explore his personality.

It did.

In my book, it is the best TV comedy of the last two decades. And it set the bar quite high for itself in the pilot episode.

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer) had relocated from Boston (the site of Cheers!) to his hometown of Seattle all the way across the country after splitting up with Lilith. He had given up private psychiatric practice to be a radio psychiatrist for a steady stream of anonymous callers (usually played by unseen celebrities — the callers in that first episode were actress Linda Hamilton and actor–director Griffin Dunne).

On this night 20 years ago, TV viewers were introduced to Frasier's immediate family — his father Martin (John Mahoney), Martin's dog Eddie and Frasier's younger brother Niles (David Hyde Pierce) — and someone else who joined the family unit, his father's physical therapist, Daphne (Jane Leeves).

And viewers met Roz (Peri Gilpin), Frasier's somewhat reluctant producer who, as viewers learned in a later episode, was pressed into service when Frasier's initial producer (unseen) bailed on him.

That unseen angle was kind of a signature of the show's creators, David Angell, Peter Casey and David Lee. Frasier's original producer was a minor, one–time–only character. An ongoing unseen character was Niles' first wife, Maris.

Maris always reminded me of Norm's wife on Cheers! — never seen but so familiar to viewers that they could easily describe her from what they had been told.

Maris wasn't mentioned much in the first episode, but viewers were introduced to her, anyway.

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Niles: I thought you liked my Maris.

Frasier: I do. I like her from a distance. You know, the way you like the sun. Maris is like the sun. Except without the warmth.

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Most of the story lines that would serve as the foundation for the series' 11–year run were clearly established in that first episode — except for Niles' infatuation with Daphne. That story line was born in the coming weeks.

All the other recurring themes were there. Frasier's father moved in with him, bringing his dog, and the clash of the generations was established. So was Frasier's ongoing feud with Eddie — whose desire to engage Frasier in staring matches was an early and ongoing source of material.

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Frasier: No, not Eddie!

Martin: But he's my best friend.

Frasier: But he's weird. He gives me the creeps. All he does is stare at me.

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When Daphne came in for her job interview, her psychic abilities were revealed.

In her first psychic moment with the Cranes, she correctly pegged Martin as a former police officer.

But she missed the mark on Frasier. She thought he was a florist.

"Well, it comes and goes," Daphne observed. She then confided that her psychic tendencies were strongest "during my time of the month."

Then she said sheepishly, "I guess I let a little secret out there."

"Well, Miss Moon," Frasier said as the interview came to a close, "I think we've learned everything we need to about you — and a dash extra!"

I was thoroughly entertained by the series' pilot 20 years ago tonight, but I don't think I would have predicted that it would last more than a decade.

I guess what really hooked me was the ending. Frasier and his father had been at each other's throats, and Frasier had complained that, in spite of everything he tried to do, his father had never shown any gratitude or appreciation.

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Later, when he was telling the tale to Roz, she taught Frasier an important lesson. Roz told him the story of actress Lupe Velez, who committed suicide in 1944.

As I wrote a few years ago, Roz's version of events might not have been exactly what happened, but her point — that even if things don't go as one plans, they can work out, anyway — was well taken.

And, before the final credits rolled, Martin finally did say "Thank you" to Frasier.

It wasn't what Frasier had hoped for, but it was a successful hurdle in the obstacle course of his relationship with his father — and audiences were entertained (and often moved) by the evolution of that relationship in the years ahead.

The Softness of The Firm

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Mitch McDeere (Tom Cruise): I know it's weird, but if we follow the law, it just might save us.

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As I have mentioned here before, my parents were devotees of the mystery genre — books and movies (and similar things, like stage plays and TV shows).

Well, the past tense applies only to my mother. My father is still alive, and he still enjoys a good mystery.

I inherited a taste for some of my parents' preferences. I enjoy Hitchcock movies, for example, and I like Agatha Christie novels. But, in the spirit of full disclosure, there are some things I've never really warmed up to. Dad likes John Grisham novels (I don't know if Mom ever read one); I've never really developed a taste for them.

Consequently, I cannot explain why I went to see "The Firm," a Tom Cruise movie that was based on one of Grisham's best–selling novels and made its theatrical debut 20 years ago today. But I did. And I actually enjoyed it.

I can't say I watched it because of Tom Cruise. I have never been a Tom Cruise fan.

And it wasn't because I read the book and couldn't wait to see it on the big screen. I haven't read many Grisham novels in my life, but I know "The Firm" was not one of them.

Besides, I've heard the movie took considerable liberties with the story.

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Perhaps it would have been received better if it had been true to the book. As it was, I found it hard to have much sympathy for Cruise or his wife (played by Jeanne Tripplehorn, who I honestly thought would see more of an upsurge of her visibility in movies than she had after appearing in 1992's "Basic Instinct," in which she played a rather small role as a police psychologist and Douglas' mistress.

(Tripplehorn's career, however, seems to have gravitated more to TV roles of late.)

In "The Firm," Cruise and Tripplehorn played a young, struggling couple in Boston, where Cruise was finishing his law school studies. Like generations of college students before them, they had lived a frugal lifestyle while Cruise was in school, but, upon his graduation, they were swamped with lucrative offers from law firms.

The most appealing offer came from a firm in Memphis. It was almost an offer that Cruise couldn't refuse, and he didn't.

But it wasn't long before Cruise and Tripplehorn came to realize that there was a big catch. Essentially, they had to sell their souls to the firm, something that Cruise was initially willing to do, but Tripplehorn was not.

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One of my favorite scenes was when Cruise was being prepared by The Firm for his bar exam. Various associates were assigned to help him with different aspects of the law, and each enunciated the clear talking point — "No associate has ever failed the bar exam."

The obvious comparison that was made at the time the movie was showing on the big screen was that it was like the body snatchers tale told in "The Stepford Wives" — if memory serves, there were even references to "The Stepford Wives" in the movie itself — but I thought it was more reminiscent of "Rosemary's Baby," with Cruise being welcomed to the family of The Firm with open arms.

The Firm's corruption became clearer and clearer, and Cruise and Tripplehorn finally took steps to extricate themselves.

The movie itself was, I thought, overlong and a bit anticlimactic. But, whatever shortcomings the story had, I thought the acting was first rate. Cruise and Tripplehorn were strong in their roles — as were supporting actors like Gary Busey, Holly Hunter, Wilford Brimley, Hal Holbrook and Gene Hackman.

Of them all, I felt Hackman gave the best performance. As a burned out senior lawyer, he managed to do what only Gene Hackman could do with such a role — he made the character sympathetic. It was not a sympathetic role. I have no idea if it was treated as one in the book, but it took someone like Hackman to make it so in the movie.

The ending of the story did tie in with the bar exam, but I won't tell you how. Might as well let that be a surprise if you never saw the movie, but I'll warn you: it was hard for me to work up a great deal of interest by the time the movie ended. The supporting cast was good, as I said, but I just didn't feel as invested in the ending as I expect to feel when I see a good drama.

I don't consider that a failing of director Sydney Pollack or of the cast with which he worked, but something was missing. I expect he did the best he could with what he had.

"The Firm" was just too soft.