Responding to an Invitation to Come and Visit Sometime

---

---

Starman (Jeff Bridges): Dutch apple pie with whipped cream. It's wonderful.

Jenny (Karen Allen): For a primitive species we have our points.

---

Voyager 2 was a space probe that was launched in 1977 to explore the solar system. It was actually launched before Voyager 1, but Voyager 2 moves slower and was passed by Voyager 1.

It is an extended mission that has been going on now for more than 37 years.

Each Voyager carried with it a gold–plated audio–visual disc. The idea was that, if the probe was found by an intelligent life form somewhere, that life form could see images and hear voice recordings and music from earth on that disc.

That, essentially, was the starting point of John Carpenter's "Starman," a movie starring Jeff Bridges and Karen Allen that made its debut 30 years ago today.

Unfortunately, "Starman" was largely overlooked when it was showing on the big screen. It cost $24 million to make and took in less than $29 million at the box office, which wasn't really in the same ballpark with the top–grossing films of 1985. That really is too bad because I thought it was a literate, clever and thoroughly plausible story.

Bridges was Starman, one of those intelligent life forms I was talking about. Someone from his civilization came across the probe, found the disc and heard a clear invitation for visitors to come to earth in peace. Apparently, it was decided to send a probe to earth, on which Starman (in whatever form he took — initially, he just appeared to be a blue ball) was riding, acting as some kind of advance scout.

"He, or it, has traveled to Earth in response to the invitation from Voyager," film critic Roger Ebert wrote, "but of course the Air Force treats the spacecraft as a possible invader and shoots missiles at it." Starman's vessel crashed in Wisconsin, near the home of Jenny Hayden (Karen Allen), a young widow.

---

---

He made his way to her home, where she had been drinking and reminiscing about her late husband before passing out. While she slept, Starman the blue ball entered the home and found all the mementos she had spread out in the living room, including a lock of her husband's hair.

Starman used the hair to clone a body for himself, then he used one of several smaller balls he carried with him (each of which seemed to have the power to do remarkable things) to contact his people. He informed them that his vessel had crashed and the terrain was hostile. He arranged to rendezvous with his people at a landing site in Arizona in three days' time.

Jenny had been awakened, and she witnessed him transmitting his message.

---

---

Starman managed to coerce Jenny into taking him to Arizona. At first, she tried to figure out ways to be stopped — or to get away from the Starman. But, at the same time, she was mesmerized. He looked so much like Scott — and he sounded like Scott.

She was torn.

After Jenny saw him revive a dead deer with another of his small balls, the movie became something of a bonding experience between the two. Starman had a rudimentary knowledge of English from the disc, and he learned how to communicate more effectively in the language.

Jenny taught him that humans weren't as uniformly primitive as he first believed.

However, one of humanity's more savage elements, the U.S. Army, was pursuing them with the intention of having a vivisectionist slice up the alien. A scientist from SETI (Charles Martin Smith) was with them, and he played an important role in allowing Starman and Jenny to escape.

Before he did so, he had some questions for Starman.

"Have people from your world been here before?" he wanted to know.

"Before, yes," Starman replied. "We are interested in your species."

"You mean you're some kind of anthropologist?" the scientist asked. "Is that what you're doing here? Just checking us out?"

"You are a strange species," Starman said. "Not like any other. And you'd be surprised how many there are. Intelligent but savage. Shall I tell you what I find beautiful about you?"

The scientist nodded, and then Starman delivered perhaps the best line of the movie.

"You are at your very best when things are worst."

---

---

I thought Bridges had another great line when, as he and Jenny were riding in a railroad boxcar, she asked him to describe the planet from which he came.

"It is beautiful," he replied. "Not like this, but it is beautiful. There is only one language, one law, one people. There is no war, no hunger. The strong do not victimize the helpless. We are very civilized, but we have lost something, I think. You are all so much alive, all so different."

And that really is humanity's great conundrum, isn't it? Well, it's one of them. We like to say that we value diversity, but humans are naturally suspicious of those who are different from themselves in some way. I guess it is a defense mechanism, honed by centuries of evolution.

Many people do not want to be like that and honestly despise that trait in themselves, but it remains a part of human nature — an ugly part, yes, but a part, nonetheless.

In his preparation to play Starman, I've heard that Bridges studied birds and their movements. His reasoning was that an alien would not have human characteristics and, finding himself in a human body, would act with animal instincts. I thought it was effective — and explained many things I did not know before I saw the movie.

It was effective enough that Bridges received an Oscar nomination, but he lost to F. Murray Abraham ("Amadeus"). It was the movie's only Oscar nomination.

Telling Harvey Milk's Story

---

---

"I know that you cannot live on hope alone, but without it, life is not worth living. And you ... and you ... and you ... gotta give 'em hope."

Harvey Milk

---

Harvey Milk was a social pioneer.

In these days of general acceptance of same–sex marriage, it is probably difficult for some people to imagine a time when homosexuals not only did not enjoy the same rights and privileges as heterosexual citizens, but most also felt they could not be open about themselves with their families and friends — and, with no legal rights to speak of, there was no reason for them to tell their employers the truth, either.

That is why the title of an Oscar–winning documentary on Milk mentioned his times, not his life. A documentary examining a public life that is lived separately from a person's private life can afford the luxury of focusing on that person's life achievements as well as the times in which he/she lived. When one is a pioneer, the times are much more important — because he/she changed them or was changed by them, more likely the former.

Milk became the first openly gay supervisor in San Francisco. Folks who knew him early in his life probably would have been surprised by how he turned out. He was not a gay activist as a young man, nor was he interested in politics. He grew up in New York, served in the Navy and opened a camera store in San Francisco.

So his political identity was not separate from his personal identity. He was perceived as a gay politician, and he was referred to in the media as the "first openly gay supervisor." But he soon made it clear he was motivated to be an advocate for all his constituents, not just his gay ones.

One of the interesting observations in the movie described Milk's first campaign — and, I suspect, his later ones were much the same — as a microcosm of the city's population, with gays working next to straights, men working with women, young working with old, all with a common purpose and, I suspect, a common expectation.

His metamorphosis into a social activist can be seen in "The Times of Harvey Milk," which premiered 30 years ago today — nearly six years after Milk's death. It was directed by Rob Epstein and narrated by Harvey Fierstein.

---

---

Anyone under 40 would have no memory of Milk — but that is precisely the demographic group that really needs to see this documentary. Most of those people have grown up believing in equal treatment for all, which is good, but they need to understand that America has not always lived up to its creed. An historical context is necessary in any kind of empowerment movement — racial, religious, sexual — so the mistakes of the past will not be repeated in the future.

That same group has grown up or is growing up with a mental image of San Francisco as bursting at the seams with gay residents. Its gay population may always have been a little larger than the gay population in most American cities, but in the early 1970s, gays merely represented a fraction of the city's population. That demographic group was definitely growing, but it was simply one more group in the San Francisco melting pot. Milk's election was historic, and it forever changed the perception of San Francisco in the nation at large.

I think Milk was successful — and seemed to have outgrown "the movement" in the months before his death — because his emphasis was on people — of all kinds. Gay, straight, male, female, black, white, young, old. Perhaps he got into politics because of his sexual orientation. But, after his election as city supervisor, and maybe even before, he realized that his constituency extended beyond the homosexual community and that, if one group is denied something that is permitted to others, truly equal treatment does not exist, and everyone is demeaned.

I'm inclined to think Milk's transformation happened before he was elected — when he earned the honorary title "Mayor of Castro Street." On Election Night 1977, when Milk won in his fourth try, he was asked if he would be a supervisor for all the people. "I have to be," he replied. "The problems that affect this city affect all of us."

A year later, it was the sad duty of Dianne Feinstein, then the president of San Francisco's Board of Supervisors, to announce the killings of Milk and San Francisco Mayor George Moscone in November 1978. If you're planning to watch this documentary and you don't know what happened to Milk, you'll see footage of Feinstein making the announcement during the opening credits.

So I guess I'm not letting the cat out of the bag by telling you that. The rest of the movie, after all, is built upon the presumption that the audience knows what happened.

I felt that two of the most powerful parts of the movie were news footage — of the mournful but peaceful candlelight vigil that filled San Francisco's streets the night of the murders and the angry mob that filled those streets several months later when former Supervisor Dan White was convicted not of premeditated murder but of voluntary manslaughter, thanks in large part to what became known as the "Twinkie defense."

The former did the city proud; the latter did not. In the movie, it was alleged that, if Moscone had been the only victim, White would have been sent to prison for life. "But he killed a gay," one person said in the movie, "and so they let him off easy."

I understand the raw emotions that surrounded these events, and that allegation may very well reflect the majority opinion in San Francisco at that time, but I thought the makers of the movie did no one a favor by giving voice to unsupported slander of the jury.

---

---

"The Times of Harvey Milk" received an Oscar for Best Documentary.

The Myth About Mozart and Salieri

---

---

"All I wanted was to sing to God. He gave me that longing and then made me mute. Why? Tell me that. If He didn't want me to praise him with music, why implant the desire? Like a lust in my body! And then deny me the talent?"

Salieri (F. Murray Abraham)

---

All that Antonio Salieri, an 18th–century Italian composer, wanted to do was make music praising God.

But he wasn't a great composer. He was enough of a music lover to know how far off the mark he really was — and how close to that same mark his rival, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, was. And Salieri resented Mozart for that.

At least, it was that way in Peter Shaffer's 1979 play. Whether it was that way in reality is anyone's guess two centuries after the fact.

Personally, I don't have to guess — at least when it comes to Mozart's talent. I am convinced that Mozart is the greatest composer who ever lived. He's been a favorite of mine since I was a boy, frankly. I guess it goes back to when I was taking piano lessons in elementary school. To encourage me, my grandmother gave me a music box in the shape of a bust of Beethoven. When you wound it up, it played Beethoven's Minuet — a nice enough piece, but it just has that marble–bust sound to it. Stiff, virtually lifeless, by the book.

When I was taking piano lessons, I was assigned to learn a couple of the easier pieces written by Mozart, and, for me, there was really no comparison. I liked Beethoven well enough, but Mozart became my favorite when I was about 7 or 8. My musical tastes have expanded a great deal since that time, but I still love Mozart's work, and I am constantly meeting people who feel the same way.

It has long been rumored that Salieri was responsible for Mozart's death at the age of 35. Mozart himself may have been the origin of these rumors via letters he wrote to his father complaining about obstacles being thrown in his path, obstructing his access to prestigious posts or commendations, and speculating that the Italians were to blame.

For centuries, there has been a rivalry between the music communities of Italy and Germany. Germans like Mozart and his father resented what they believed was special treatment that Italians received from European nobility; when Mozart struggled in Vienna, the Italians were the most appropriate scapegoats.

"You know those Italian gentlemen; they are very nice to your face!" Mozart wrote once to his father.

One of Mozart's biographers contended that the rivalry between the two (if there was one) could have begun when the two were candidates for a position teaching music to a princess, and Salieri was selected, apparently because he was known to teach singing as well as music.

---

---

That episode was re–created in Miloš Forman's "Amadeus," which premiered on this day in 1984.

Apparently, Mozart did not take that setback well, and it added fuel to the stories of a rivalry between Mozart and Salieri.

There is no other evidence that I have found, though, that indicates Salieri was a threat to Mozart. In fact, there seems to have been little, if any, acrimony between them. They appear to have regarded each other as friends and colleagues and supported each other's professional efforts.

But, after Salieri died about 30 years after Mozart, some fictionalized accounts of their relationship that promoted the myth of rivalry were published. Then Shaffer revived the rumors with his play, which was the basis of the movie.

Now, as I say, I have always loved Mozart's music. I thoroughly enjoyed "Amadeus," and, after I saw it, I did something I rarely do. I bought the soundtrack — in cassette so I could listen to it in my car — then I replaced it with the CD version about 10 years later.

But what I found particularly amazing was that, although very few adult Americans listened to classical music, that soundtrack was, for a time, one of the best–selling albums in the country. It reached #56 on Billboard's charts, making it one of the most successful classical recordings of all time.

I gave a copy to my mother for Christmas that year. Of all the Christmas gifts I gave Mom in her life, that may have been the one she liked the best.

The movie itself wasn't quite a blockbuster. It made nearly $52 million, but it cost $18 million to produce.

"Amadeus" was intriguing in that it gave a different twist to the rivalry idea. In "Amadeus," Salieri (F. Murray Abraham) was the victim of the charmed Mozart (Tom Hulce), who, when he composed, seemed to be doing little more than "taking dictation" from God.

---

---

That may have been the key to it. Instead of presenting Mozart as some kind of stuffy, marble–bust figure from the recesses of the past, he was portrayed in the movie as more of a contemporary sort, a freewheeling 18th–century flower child, you might say, to whom things just seemed to come too easily.

His wife (Elizabeth Berridge) was more practical about some things, but she was, in essence, a flower child, too.

When I saw Berridge on the big screen, I had one of those moments when I was convinced I had seen her somewhere before. I just didn't know where; consequently, it turned into an extended moment of brain wracking that made me miss a few things on the screen.

She was a new face to a lot of folks in those days. I've looked her up online, and it seems she was in two other movies and a soap opera before she was in "Amadeus." I don't think I ever saw the movies, and I have never been a fan of soap operas so I probably mistook her for someone else.

Berridge wasn't the first pick to play Constanze. The first choice was Meg Tilly, but she got hurt and had to pull out. Berridge and Diane Franklin were flown to Czechoslovakia, where filming was under way, to audition for the part. I have heard that Berridge was chosen because Franklin was considered too pretty to be an innkeeper's daughter. Well, that's what Berridge says on the Director's Cut DVD of "Amadeus."

Frankly, I liked Berridge in the part. I don't know if Franklin was prettier, but Berridge just seemed right for it.

A word of advice: If you haven't seen "Amadeus" but would like to — and I certainly encourage you to do so — I recommend watching that Director's Cut. There were several things about the movie that I never understood until I saw the Director's Cut.

---

---

"In a film of grand gestures," wrote Roger Ebert, "some of the finest moments are very subtle."

Ebert was right about that, especially in the way he chose to illustrate his point — by observing shifts, some of them barely perceptible, in facial expressions.

Ebert focused primarily on Jeffrey Jones, who played the emperor, and I have to admit his moments really were superb.

Emperor Joseph is one of my favorite supporting characters of all time — even if Jones did not receive recognition in the form of an Oscar nomination.

But Ebert had some things to say about Abraham, too.

"[W]atch Abraham's face as he internalizes envy, resentment and rage," Ebert wrote. "What a smile he puts on the face of his misery! Then watch his face again at Mozart's deathbed as he takes the final dictation."

At the time of the Oscars, Hulce and Abraham were both nominated for Best Actor. Abraham won, which at the time I didn't think was right. The movie was about Mozart. Shouldn't the actor who played Mozart win?

I must confess that, at the time, I still hadn't seen the movie. I saw it after the Academy Awards. I don't recall now whether it had finished its run and was brought back to theaters after it won eight Oscars, including Best Picture, or if it was still showing in (or just getting around to) the Little Rock market. Either one certainly is possible.

Whichever it was, I went to see it some time after Abraham received the Best Actor Oscar.

When I had seen the movie, I had to admit that Abraham deserved it.

"Amadeus" won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Director and Best Actor. Shaffer won an Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay.

And "Amadeus" picked up Oscars for costumes, makeup, art direction and sound mixing. In fact, Dick Smith, who died recently at the age of 92, won the Oscar for makeup.

It was recognition that was long overdue. A brilliant makeup artist, Smith did the makeup for such classics as "Little Big Man," "The Exorcist" and "Taxi Driver" as well the Oscar–winning makeup for "Amadeus."

Who Ya Gonna Call?

---

---

Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd): I tried to think of the most harmless thing. Something I loved from my childhood. Something that could never ever possibly destroy us. Mr. Stay Puft!

Peter Venkman (Bill Murray): Nice thinkin', Ray.

Stantz: We used to roast Stay Puft Marshmallows on the fire at Camp Waconda ...

Venkman: Ray has gone bye–bye, Egon. What you got?

Egon Spengler (Harold Ramis): Sorry, Venkman, I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought.

---

I was saddened by the news about three months ago that Harold Ramis had died at the age of 69.

And I was dismayed by the rumors that a "Ghostbusters 3" was in the works.

Because I am one of those people who believes that a "Ghostbusters" movie without Ramis wouldn't be — couldn't possibly be — as good as either of the first two.

The first one made its debut 30 years ago — on June 7, 1984.

I don't know how reliable those rumors are, but it just wouldn't be right to try to recapture the magic — even if Dan Aykroyd and Bill Murray return.

It really wasn't a matter of Ramis being so integral to the story. He wasn't my favorite Ghostbuster.

But the key is that the three of them were a team. In his review of the movie, Roger Ebert described them as "smart graduate students who are in on the joke."

They made it possible for "Ghostbusters" to achieve something special, Ebert wrote — a successful "head–on collision between two comic approaches that have rarely worked together ... (1) a special–effects blockbuster, and (2) a sly dialogue movie."

---

---

It was that style of rapid–fire dialogue that I found so appealing in The West Wing TV series.

I don't think the TV series' creator, Aaron Sorkin, was involved in "Ghostbusters," and I don't know if he was influenced by it. In fact, that really isn't something I thought about until The West Wing went off the air.

There may, in fact, be no connection at all. Probably isn't. But it was the smart, witty style of dialogue that I found appealing — not unlike many of the screwball comedies of the '30s and '40s.

Come to think of it, screwball might be just the right word to describe "Ghostbusters." But that isn't a bad thing. Quite often, the best things — and people — in life are at least a little bit screwball.

It always helps to have a great supporting cast, preferably one that isn't there just to fill the time between costume and scene changes, and "Ghostbusters" had an excellent supporting cast.

---

---

Sigourney Weaver played Dana/The Gatekeeper and Rick Moranis (in one of his first movies) was Louis/The Keymaster. Dana wanted nothing to do with Louis, but, when she was possessed by a demon named Zuul, she was drawn to Louis, who was possessed by another demon named Vinz Clortho.

And thus the subtext of the story ...

The fictional Mr. Stay Puft Marshmallow Man (who resembled the Pillsbury Doughboy and the Michelin Tire Man) was a stroke of pure genius. He looked so much like the kind of character that would be dreamed up on Madison Avenue that I'm sure many folks left theaters in the summer of '84 scratching their heads trying to place him and his product from their own childhoods.

It was a clever movie and a lot of fun to watch.

The Release of Springsteen's Seventh

---

---

"Come back home to the refinery
Hiring man says 'Son, if it was up to me'
Went down to see my V.A. man
He said 'Son, don't you understand now'
Had a brother at Khe Sanh fighting off the Viet Cong
They're still there, he's all gone"

Bruce Springsteen

---

Bruce Springsteen is one of the most popular performers of all time, and he released his seventh — and most successful — album, "Born in the U.S.A.," 30 years ago today.

"Ten million copies later," writes David Hinckley in the New York Daily News, "Springsteen had graduated from star to supernova."

"Born in the U.S.A." was a considerable shift in tone from Springsteen's previous album, "Nebraska," which I always felt was the darkest of his recordings. It was pretty well received by the critics but lacked the kinds of musical touches that would make it commercially successful.

That wasn't the case with "Born in the U.S.A." The music was more upbeat — even though the subject matter wasn't always as light as it may have seemed on the surface — as Springsteen began to use a more radio–friendly sound.

It had seven hit singles, including the title track, which, briefly, was used (without Springsteen's permission) by Ronald Reagan during his presidential re–election campaign.

---

---

"America's future rests in a thousand dreams inside your hearts; it rests in the message of hope in songs so many young Americans admire: New Jersey's own Bruce Springsteen. And helping you make those dreams come true is what this job of mine is all about."

Ronald Reagan
Sept. 19, 1984
Campaign stop in New Jersey

---

The fact that Reagan referred to "Born in the U.S.A." as a "message of hope" gave it away as a cynical attempt to capitalize on the popularity of a performer. "Born in the U.S.A.," which has often been mistaken (even at the time) for being patriotic, dealt with the negative side of the Vietnam experience.

(Reagan called the Vietnam War "a noble cause" during the 1980 presidential campaign.)

Reporters who covered Reagan's 1984 campaign were almost immediately skeptical that the president had ever listened to Springsteen, much less a particular song, and demanded to know his favorite Springsteen song. After a long delay, Reagan's campaign responded that his favorite Springsteen song was "Born to Run," which was released nearly nine years earlier.

I don't think Reagan mentioned Springsteen or "Born in the U.S.A." again. His opponent in that campaign, former Vice President Walter Mondale, erroneously announced that Springsteen had endorsed him but corrected the claim when Springsteen disputed it.

Personally, I liked "Born in the U.S.A." (the song and the album), but, if I had to select my very favorite song from the album, it might be "Cover Me," which Springsteen actually wrote for Donna Summer.

---

---

Springsteen's manager decided he should record it himself, though, which he did, and it was a huge hit in the summer of 1984.

Oddly, though, considering the time in which it was recorded, "Cover Me" had no official music video.

Or I might choose "Glory Days."

"Glory Days" was released as a single about a year after the release of the album. It was the fifth hit single from the album, but it was recorded in the spring of 1982 during the first batch of "Born in the U.S.A." recordings — which, technically, made it one of the oldest songs on the LP.

"Glory Days" climbed to #5 on the charts and was one of the top hits in the summer of 1985.

---

---

And it did have its own music video.

Actually, in spite of the fact that it was released in 1984, "Born in the U.S.A." was the top–selling album in 1985. It spent 84 weeks on the Top 10 albums chart. The album spent four weeks at the very top of the charts, sold 30 million copies worldwide and was nominated for four Grammy Awards, winning one. It took only a month for the album to be certified platinum.

In 1984, as CD technology was emerging, "Born in the U.S.A." also became the first CD to be made in the United States.

It was a trail–blazing album in many ways.

Not Necessarily the Best There Ever Was ... But Close

---

---

"I guess some mistakes you never stop paying for."

Roy Hobbs (Robert Redford)

---

I don't know if "The Natural" was particularly inspirational. Its subject matter, after all, was probably the kind of thing that most kids have been fantasizing about forever — being the best at something.

Sometimes those dreams come true. More often, they do not.

I thought of my own boyhood dreams when I saw "The Natural" not long after it premiered 30 years ago today. I wasn't very athletic when I was younger, but I fantasized about it. Who wouldn't? When you're an awkward teenager, any scenario in which your buddies hoist you on their shoulders and parade you around in triumph — and all the girls want to be with you — is as valuable as one of Walter Mitty's daydreams.

(Come to think of it, Mitty's heroic fantasies usually ended unhappily, just short of achieving his goals.)

When I see "The Natural" now, I am more inclined to think of Roy Hobbs' perseverance, his dedication to his dream, his desire to follow that rainbow wherever it led — even though he had been, to use his own word, "sidetracked."

I guess he summed up his heart's desire when he was talking about how differently his life had been than he had expected. If he had begun his major–league career when most players do, in their 20s, he speculated that he could have rewritten the record book. "And then when I walked down the street people would've looked and they would've said, 'There goes Roy Hobbs, the best there ever was in this game.' "

It's corny, I know, but sometimes you need some corn. What happened to Roy Hobbs is the kind of thing that can happen to people in any walk of life, especially when they get blindsided by something beyond their control. It's worse for an athlete, I suppose, because an athlete's window of opportunity is so brief. People in non–athletic walks of life can afford to be more patient; the clock ticks loudly for a sidetracked athlete.

Roy wasn't bitter. He was a little wistful at times, but it just made him more determined to make the most of the time he had left.

---

---

Apparently, movie critic Roger Ebert wasn't impressed.

"Why didn't they make a baseball picture?" Ebert wanted to know. "Why did 'The Natural' have to be turned into idolatry on behalf of Robert Redford?"

That wasn't the way I saw it then, nor is it the way I see it now.

But Ebert felt that audiences knew too much about Hobbs' character and not enough about the other people on screen. "I'd love to get to know Pop Fisher (Wilford Brimley), the cynical, old team manager," Ebert wrote. "Robert Duvall, as the evil sportswriter, Max Mercy, has had his part cut so badly that we only know he's evil because he practically tells us. Richard Farnsworth, as a kindly coach, has a smile that's more genuine than anything else in the movie. But you have to look quick."

There were some things about Hobbs that we didn't know — like where he had been for 16 or 17 years

OK, it's a Robert Redford movie. I didn't have a problem with that. His was the bankable name in 1984, even though his star was falling while Glenn Close's was rising. (In case you never saw the movie before, Close was Redford's childhood sweetheart in the movie.)

Redford was the reason why people paid to see that movie. And pay they did. "The Natural," which was made for $28 million, took in nearly $48 million at the box office.

I've seen many movies that were focused on a single character — seemingly to the exclusion of everything else. I thought "The Natural" handled that better than most. It had a pretty good story. Most such movies do not. And, unlike Ebert, I had no quarrel over the amount of screen time everyone else got.

The young Roy Hobbs ran into problems with a mysterious woman (played by Barbara Hershey) he met on a train. In a sense, isn't that every man's story? Well, not every man, I suppose, but many a young man has fallen from grace because of a pretty face.

And Roy Hobbs fell hard. He dropped out of sight for years, finally resurfacing as an older man trying to break in with a struggling baseball team.

He didn't know all the intrigue behind the scenes. He didn't know that Pop Fisher, minority team owner in addition to being its manager, had made a deal with the principal owner. If the team won the pennant, Pop got the team. If the team didn't win the pennant, the principal owner got all of Pop's shares. Winner take all.

Hobbs' arrival complicated things. The team was well on its way to losing the pennant, but Hobbs turned things around to the point where the principal owner had to bribe him to play badly. He wouldn't do it, promising to "hit away."

I think this is where Ebert really objected. Redford, apparently bleeding and in pain from his stomach injury, hit the dramatic home run that won the pennant — and ran around the bases amid a shower of sparks from the stadium light fixture he blasted with his mighty shot. OK, it was a little over the top.

It was "cheap and phony," Ebert wrote.

"Either he hits the homer and then dies, or his bleeding was just a false alarm," Ebert explained. "If the bleeding was a false alarm, then everything else in the movie was false, too."

---

---

Yes, except that this is the movies, not real life. A lot of things happen in the movies that are implausible in real life.

I admit, Ebert had a point when he observed that Close was "the childhood sweetheart who doesn't hear from Roy after an accident changes the course of his life. Then she turns up years later, and when she stands up in the bleachers she is surrounded by blinding light ... In the few moments she's allowed alone with Roy, she strikes us as complicated, tender, and forgiving. But even the crucial fact of her life — that she has borne this man's son — is used as a plot gimmick."

OK, Close did have a kind of beatific look on her face when she was around Redford later in the movie. I didn't really notice it when they played young lovers, but it was noticeable when they were reunited roughly 20 years later.

See, I was a child of the Nixon years. Pat Nixon always had that kind of look on her face.

Are there things about the movie that I would have done differently? Sure, but it was what it was. And, for what it was, I thought it was good. Maybe better than good.

It belonged on a list of the best sports movies. There are sports movies that I like more — the ones that deal with actual events and people (like "Eight Men Out" and "Miracle") are my favorites — but the fictional ones can be pretty good, too, and "The Natural" told a pretty good story.

Making a 'Splash'

---

---

Allen (Tom Hanks): Freddie, the woman learned how to speak English in a single afternoon.

Freddie (John Candy): She could probably speak English already. I think she was in shock from bein' arrested, y'know?

Allen: Well, now, what about that, huh? What about a woman showing up naked in a public place, Freddie?

Freddie: Well, I'm for it, of course.

---

"Splash," which premiered 30 years ago today, was a thoroughly endearing movie.

How could it not be? Its cast — Tom Hanks, John Candy, Daryl Hannah — was young and fresh, at least in most eyes.

So, too, was its director — although "fresh" probably wasn't the best word for Ron Howard, who had been a star of two wildly successful sitcoms in the years before becoming a director. He was young, though. He had just turned 30 a week before the movie's premiere.

Hanks was in his 20s and not yet the huge box–office draw he would shortly become. Since "Splash," he has been nominated for Oscars five times, winning two.

---

---

Candy, who played Hanks' brother (and would die almost 10 years to the day after "Splash" hit the theaters), was older than both Hanks and Howard and had appeared in several movies before but wasn't exactly a household word.

Hannah was the youngest and freshest face in the movie. Only 23 years old, Hannah had been in half a dozen movies but had never had the kind of exposure that "Splash" brought her.

Neither Candy nor Hannah have been nominated for Oscars, but Howard certainly has — twice, with one victory to his credit. Neither of his nominations, though, came for his work on "Splash."

As Madison the mermaid, Hannah was the object of Hanks' affection — and of the desires of countless males in the audience.

None of them were recognizable the first time the audience saw them. Hanks' character was only 8 years old and on vacation with his family near Cape Cod. He wound up in the water with a young girl, who, it was later revealed, was actually a mermaid.

Their encounter couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but the young Allen was smitten with the young Madison, and it was something he never forgot.

His story of seeing the young girl was dismissed as a hallucination, and perhaps his character believed that, but it influenced his future relationships.

The movie accelerated to the present day (1984), finding Allen and his brother Freddie (John Candy) running a fresh produce business together.

Despondent over a breakup, Allen departed for Cape Cod and wound up in the sea again — and, again, he encountered Madison, all grown up, who saved him. He managed to lose his wallet, which Madison found and took to a sunken ship at the bottom of the sea, where she pinpointed his location on a map.

(It didn't occur to me when I watched the movie that a sunken 18th– or 19th–century ship wouldn't have a map of modern–day Manhattan ...)

Then she made her way to land, where she strolled onto the Statue of Liberty grounds in what might be the movie's most memorable scene. When she was on dry land, she walked on two legs. When she returned to the sea, she reverted to her half–human, half–fish form.

Madison was arrested for indecent exposure. She was clearly guilty (as you can see from the picture at right, she had nothing to hide), and she was handed over to Allen, whose contact information was found in the wallet she carried.

She learned to speak English by watching TV in Allen's apartment, and she took her name from a New York street sign. She had great taste. She ate lobster — shell, too — when they went out to eat. (That made for some noteworthy dinner conversation, I'm sure.)

I thought it was a delightful movie to watch. Wish I had seen it on the big screen, but I didn't see it when it first came out, only after it was released on home video.

Critic Roger Ebert wasn't quite as impressed as I was. Oh, he liked the comely Hannah just fine as the mermaid, but he thought the casting was off in the male roles. He thought Candy and Hanks should have been reversed.

Hanks, he wrote, was "conventionally handsome and passably appealing, and he would do in a secondary role." Candy, on the other hand, was "the large, shambling, Charles Laughton type who has such a natural charisma that he's funny just standing there."

---

---

Maybe Ebert was right. With Candy in the lead role, it might have been funnier. It might have been more slapstick.

But I liked it the way it was. It had a nice blend of comedy with fantasy and romance.

Candy did demonstrate before he died that he was capable of dramatic (or semi–dramatic) acting, too, playing the role of lawyer Dean Andrews in "JFK."

Perhaps he could have kept "Splash" from being a totally slapstick movie, but I think Hanks made sure that it was a movie that could be interpreted on more than one level.

And that, I think, is what it deserved.

Michael Jackson's Pepsi Commercial

---

---

When one mentions the name Michael Jackson, so many things come to mind ...

... His unparalleled success as an entertainer. He was known to be one of the hardest–working folks in show business,

... His general influence on pop culture — not only through his music but also through his dance style and fashion,

... The public's fascination with his — sometimes commendable, other times distasteful, always volatile — personal life,

... Even his untimely death.

He has been an endless source of fascination for decades. And Michael Jackson continues to fascinate. Even today, nearly five years after his death, there are many things about Jackson that compete for the public's attention — including milestone anniversaries of important dates in his life.

One of which is today.

It was 30 years ago today that Jackson suffered second–degree scalp burns when pyrotechnics went off accidentally during the filming of a Pepsi TV commercial at the Shrine Auditorium in Los Angeles.

Most people would agree that was a bad way to start a new year, but, within 3½ months, Jackson was on top of the world again.

He had recovered sufficiently from his injuries to appear at the White House where President Reagan presented him with an award for supporting charities that assisted people who had abused alcohol and/or drugs.

His Victory Tour that year was a huge success. Jackson donated his $8 million revenue from the tour to charity — and Pepsi had agreed to a $1 million out–of–court settlement of his lawsuit.

Jackson donated the entire settlement to the Brotman Medical Center in Culver City, Calif. Brotman now has a burn center that bears Jackson's name.

Remember 'Where's the Beef?'

---

---

Thirty years ago tonight, an iconic TV commercial made its debut.

It was titled "Fluffy Bun," and it showed three elderly ladies looking at a very large hamburger bun, ostensibly served by a prominent (but unnamed) fast–food outlet. "It's a very big fluffy bun," they all agreed.

But then they lifted the top half of the bun to reveal a tiny hamburger patty.

"Where's the beef?" demanded 81–year–old Clara Peller. The commercial promoted Wendy's hamburgers.

I was astonished at the popularity of the commercial. It was funny, but I never thought it was anything remarkable.

It was one of those instances where a commercial becomes symbolic of its times. I don't know if it is possible to explain why, other than to say it was a perfect storm of circumstances and media.

Like the title of the movie "Groundhog Day," which has come to be synonymous with the notion of spinning one's wheels, the commercial's punchline took on a life of its own; today, if someone asks "Where's the beef?" that person probably isn't inquiring about the nearest hamburger joint. Instead, it's most likely a comment on the substance (or absence thereof) of a person, place or thing.

In 1984, the original commercial spawned a series of popular followup commercials, each featuring Peller and her catchphrase, and she became a media sensation.

Later that year, Democratic presidential nominee Walter Mondale used the catchphrase in his unsuccessful campaign.