Spreading a Little Sunshine

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Ben Clark (Richard Benjamin): I'm getting chest pains. You give me chest pains!

Willy Clark (Walter Matthau): It's my fault you get excited?

Ben Clark: Yes! I only get chest pains on Wednesdays!

Willy Clark: So come Tuesdays.

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If there is a moment that sums up "The Sunshine Boys" — which made its debut on this date in 1975 — for me, it would be late in the movie, when Walter Matthau's character was recuperating from a heart attack.

His nephew Ben (played by Richard Benjamin) was visiting him on a Wednesday, as he usually did, and he suggested to his uncle that he should move into a retirement home across the river in New Jersey.

Matthau's character wanted to know if his nephew would continue to visit him at the retirement home, and his nephew assured him that he would. Why would he think otherwise? Ben asked.

"Well, you know," Matthau said, his eyes glistening, "people don't go out to New Jersey unless they have to."

Those few words revealed so much about Willy Clark; the audience finally understood that he was driven by a fear of abandonment that was rooted in experience. As half of a successful Vaudeville act, he had experienced the abandonment of his long–time partner (played by the one and only George Burns).

Through much of the movie, Willy was a tough guy, but at the very end the audience saw just how squishy soft, how vulnerable he really was.

It was a poignant moment for that character.

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For the most part, I suppose poignance is not what audiences were after in 1975. Furthermore, I presume that those audiences expected — and rightfully so — that a movie starring Walter Matthau and George Burns was bound to have a lot of laughs.

And "The Sunshine Boys" certainly had plenty of laughs. But poignance is what gave the comedy its true meaning.

"The Sunshine Boys" was recognized then and is known today as a comedy, one of the best ever, the story of former Vaudeville partners teaming up again for one night only.

And there was never anyone better for a comedy than George Burns.

There are so many moments in "The Sunshine Boys" that showcased Burns' talent, but my personal favorite has always been the scene where Matthau's nephew (and agent) went to visit Burns to try to persuade him to reunite with Willy in a one–time–only performance of some of their greatest Vaudeville routines.

Burns' character was living with his daughter, son–in–law and grandchildren. When Ben arrived and began making his pitch, Burns interrupted him.

"How old are you?" he asked.

Ben replied, "I'm 34. Why?" Turned out Burns wanted to tell him why he and Matthau split up.

"He called me a son of a bitch bastard," Burns said, then quickly looked around the room. "The kids aren't home from school yet, are they?"

Assured that they were not, he went on to explain that he had been called that simply because he didn't want to do the show anymore.

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Well, they got over their personal issues and got together to do their act again.

And Matthau's previous trauma with Burns poking him in the chest with "the finger" appeared to be playing out again. Yep, everything seemed to be going according to Matthau's fears ... er, expectations.

Of course, there were some good things about their routine — like blonde bombshell Lee Meredith, more eye candy than actress who began her big–screen career as a mostly silent office bimbo in "The Producers" seven years earlier and ended it as a Vaudeville bimbo in "The Sunshine Boys."

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I don't know what Meredith has been doing with herself for the last 40 years, but being in a movie with George Burns and Walter Matthau would be the highlight of most people's careers.

Surprise! Meredith didn't get an Oscar nomination for her performance.

Of course, that really isn't unusual for comedies — even though some of the greatest performances I have ever seen were in comedies.

Nevertheless, Matthau was nominated for Best Actor — but lost to Jack Nicholson for "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest." Burns was nominated for Best Supporting Actor — and won. Neil Simon also received a nomination for Best Adapted Screenplay, and Albert Brenner and Marvin March received a nomination for Best Art Direction.

Four Oscar nominations and one win. Not bad for a comedy.

The Time Mister Ed Met the Dodgers

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Mr. Ed was aired before my time, really, but that doesn't mean I don't enjoy watching reruns of those shows.

One of my favorites was first broadcast 50 years ago tonight — perhaps it is one of my favorites because I am a Dodgers fan, and Mr. Ed was a Dodgers fan, too. Anyway, in the episode that aired 50 years ago tonight, he paid a visit to the Dodgers and their then–manager Leo Durocher, who is often credited with saying "Nice guys finish last."

(I don't know if Durocher ever actually said it — or if he was the first to say it. I just know that I often hear it said that he said it, and sometimes I hear it said that he was the first to say it.)

Alan Young, who played Wilbur Post, was about the only series regular — other than Mister Ed himself — who was featured in the episode. I don't think Connie Hines, who played Carol Post, was in that episode. If she was, she didn't have much of a presence in it.

But she never did have much of a presence in the series, to be honest. Ed only spoke face to face to Wilbur — sometimes, he spoke to people on the phone or when there was some kind of barrier between them, like a wall — and their conversations were the foundation for the show.

The actor who played Wilbur's neighbor died a month earlier, and his character had not been replaced. His wife was still on the show for awhile, but she had a diminished role. She usually only showed up when Carol was around, but if Carol wasn't featured in this episode, there probably wouldn't have been much of a reason for her to be seen, either.

The episode was the revival of a dormant theme in the series. In the second season (1961–1962), Mister Ed "met" George Burns and Clint Eastwood. Then, in the 1963–1964 season premiere, he got to meet Durocher and some of the players for his favorite baseball team.

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It's been awhile since I've seen the episode, but, as I recall, Ed was watching a Dodgers game on TV, and he noticed some things that the Dodgers were doing wrong — on the mound, at the plate, in the field — and placed a phone call to the Dodgers to offer some tips (giving his name as Wilbur Post). Come to think of it, I think he made a series of such calls.

Durocher took his advice, it worked, and the Dodgers (who actually did win the National League pennant and swept the New York Yankees in the World Series that year) went on a wild winning streak. In gratitude, Durocher invited Wilbur to visit the team — and maybe provide a few more helpful pointers.

Wilbur, accompanied by Ed, who was his "good luck charm," went to Dodger Stadium. He even got to take a little batting practice.

Really, I believe it's one of the truly funny scenes in American sitcom history. Holding the bat handle in his teeth, Ed stood (on the right side of the plate) while Sandy Koufax delivered the pitch, and Ed drove it into the outfield.

Ed went charging around the bases; none of the infielders challenged him. He turned the corner at third base and headed for home.

"Slide, Ed, slide!" Wilbur shouted out — and, by golly, Mister Ed slid. The terrified catcher climbed halfway up the backstop.

An astonished Durocher said, "That's the smartest horse I ever saw."

"He's not so smart," Wilbur replied. "He forgot to touch second base."

As I say, it's been awhile since I have seen this episode, but, whenever I have seen it, it's been the same for me as it is with a movie I've seen many times before.

I know that scene is coming. But it always makes me laugh, anyway. It makes me laugh in anticipation of it. It makes me laugh when I see it. And I continue to laugh after I've seen it.

It even makes me laugh to think about it when I'm not watching it and I haven't seen it for awhile. Now, that's funny!

Conversations With the Almighty

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"You can love each other, cherish and nurture each other or you can kill each other. Incidentally, 'kill' is the word. It's not 'waste.' If I had wanted 'waste,' I would have written 'thou shalt not waste.' You're doing some very funny things with words. You're also turning the sky into mud. I look down, I can't believe the filth. Using the rivers for toilets, poisoning my fishes. You want a miracle? You make a fish from scratch. You can't. You think only God can make a tree? Try coming up with a mackerel. And when the last one's gone, that'll be that. Eighty–six on the fish, goodbye sky, so long world, over and out."

God (George Burns)

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Considering that there were three colleges in my central Arkansas hometown, I really find it astonishing, as I look back on my childhood, when I remember that there was only one theater in town until I was in junior high — when a modest two–screen theater opened in a strip mall (well, it was mostly a Walmart store with some smaller stores sprinkled around it).

The original theater had been one of those old–fashioned places with a marquee out front, a real lobby and an actual balcony section that one climbed a carpeted stairway to reach. It was the kind of theater you might see in old movies or TV reruns today — but seldom, if ever, anywhere else.

When that two–screen theater came along, it really was the beginning of the end for that old–fashioned theater. In fact, it went out of business a few years later.

But the two–screen theater faced its share of competition, too. Even though the number of movie options available locally had doubled, the city of Little Rock offered far more so that is where the college kids — and the high school kids, too — went on the weekends.

I've been thinking about that because it was 35 years ago today that "Oh, God!" — an amusing and thought–provoking comedy starring John Denver and George Burns — premiered on American movie screens. And that, in turn, reminded me of the first time I saw that movie.

Even with two screens in my hometown, it generally took many months for new releases to get there. If you wanted to see the latest hits while they were still hot, you had to go to Little Rock.

(The duplication of screens did speed things up some, as I recall. When I was a child, it wasn't uncommon for it to take a year or more for a hit movie to come to my hometown. After the two–screen theater opened, the wait was cut to about six months.)

Anyway, I recall one weekend when Karen (my high school girlfriend — I've written about her here before) and I had been through a rather stressful period. I don't remember what the cause of the stress had been, only that it had been stressful.

Karen's father suggested that we go see a movie, and he specifically suggested that we go see "Oh, God!" I suppose that wasn't surprising. Karen's father was a philosophy professor (and son of a Lutheran minister) — not to mention something of an admirer of screen comedians of Burns' generation. "Oh, God!" was a hot topic at the time. It was getting good reviews, and he thought it would be just the thing to lift our spirits.

But the thing I remember is that he kept calling it "Oh My God!" at the dinner table that evening, producing some muffled snickering at his mistake from Karen, her brother and sister and me.

(I guess, with OMG being such a popular acronym today, he might be regarded now as being ahead of his time.)

During that meal, however, he persuaded Karen and me to take the 30–minute drive to Little Rock to see the movie that evening — and we did.

And it certainly did lift our spirits.

AllMovie.com's Brendon Hanley writes that "[t]he movie's surprising charm owes a lot to the understated comic timing and charisma of vaudeville legend George Burns in the title role."

There was much truth in that. Burns, with his curmudgeonly appeal, would have been my choice to play the Almighty. He had the kind of demeanor I would like to think God has.

Like in the scene in which, after being urged by Denver to perform a miracle to prove his identity, God makes it rain inside Denver's Pacer (if you aren't old enough to remember the Pacer, consider yourself lucky).

When Denver observes that it is raining only in his vehicle, Burns replies, "Why should I spoil everyone's day?"

The premise of the movie, in case you've never seen it, was that God needed a messenger to spread the word that he was alive and he had provided the people of the earth with everything they needed.

His choice to serve in this capacity was an assistant manager of a grocery store.

Like most people probably would, Denver's character asked, "Why me?"

"Why not?" Burns asked. "Life is a crap shoot, like the millionth customer that crosses the bridge gets to shake hands with the governor. You thought I picked you because you're better than everyone?"

"I'm not?" Denver asked.

"You're better than some but not as good as others," Burns answered, "but you crossed the bridge at the right time."

I also thoroughly liked watching Teri Garr in the role of Denver's long–suffering wife who has questions about her husband's stability but stays with him in spite of it all.

(I would have enjoyed watching Garr, anyway. I first saw her in "Young Frankenstein" a few years earlier, and I thought she was cute.)

Denver actually was a pleasant surprise for me. I had been a fan of his music for awhile. I even saw him perform in person once. But I had no idea he could give such a plausible performance in a movie.

Denver's music was featured in several movies, both before and after his death in 1997. He also made several guest appearances on TV shows. But it really is a shame that he never starred in another movie.

His performance in "Oh, God!" offers glimpses into what might have been in store for us if Denver had chosen to share his acting talent with us more frequently.

He had a look of boyish wonder on his face in the rain–in–the–Pacer scene that thoroughly enhanced his straight–man line: "It's just like Noah's ark!"

"Same thing," Burns replied. "Without the smell."

Earlier, when Burns appeared before Denver and told him that he wanted him to be his messenger, Denver protested as many people probably would, "I don't even go to any church."

"Neither do I," replied Burns.

"Oh, God!" was quite a hit — and, as hits often do, it inspired some dreadful sequels that should have served as cautionary tales — but clearly, in many cases, they have gone unheeded.

As did Burns' parting line to Denver.

"[N]ow and then," Denver says, "couldn't we just talk?"

"I'll tell you what," Burns says. "You talk, I'll listen."