here we are now, entertain us

I like to watch movies. I like to watch movies with my wife and I like to watch movies alone. Sometimes, I have to do both of those because I don't always share the same tastes in movies with my wife. Recently, I have watched a few recent releases that — in a million years — Mrs. Pincus would not have sat through. One was a fairly graphic horror movie. I know from past experience that Mrs. P has little tolerance for horror movies. I still remember her watching Creepshow through fingers protectively threaded across her eyes and asking how much longer will this go on. The recent movie I watched would have had her exiting the room after the opening scene. I watched another recent release that would not have held her interest at all. It was a very slow build-up until the story started to come together. So, I have — more or less — become the official movie screener for the Pincus household. I will chose a movie for the two of us to watch, based on whether or not Mrs. P will like it. I will happily admit that I'm not always right.

Recently, I suggested a made-for-television movie called A Carol for Another Christmas. It was originally broadcast in 1964 on ABC. It was only shown once until it resurfaced a few years ago on the  Turner Classic Movies network. I thought it was a good choice for us to watch. It was written by Rod Serling and Mrs. P is a long time fan of Twilight Zone. It featured well-known actors like Sterling Hayden, Ben Gazzara, Eve Marie Saint, Peter Sellers, Robert Shaw and Pat Hingle. So, we settled in to watch. It turned out to be a long-winded, smack-you-over-the-head, message-filled piece of anti-nuclear propaganda that was produced, in part, by the United Nations. It was a tedious, repetitive, preachy, self-righteous 84-minutes that seemed twice as long. As we watched, I could sense that Mrs. P was getting "antsy." Fifteen minutes in, her full attention was given to her cellphone. That evening's entertainment choice was a bust on my part. I vowed to be more discerning in future suggestions.

Last night, we interrupted our usual evening's viewing of cartoons (our cable provider recently began carrying MeTV Toons, a 24-hour network devoted to the cartoons of our youth) to watch a movie. I selected a movie that I remember watching years ago. I asked my wife if she had ever seen it. She was unsure. So, we watched.

The movie in question was a 1968 theatrical release called The Night They Raided Minsky's. It was an early production from the pre-All in the Family partnership of Norman Lear and Bud Yorkin. The film had a very interesting and chaotic journey to the big screen, even before a film frame of celluloid was shot. It was based on a 1960 novel about the bygone days of burlesque in New York City. Tony Curtis was originally cast in the lead, but friction over the script caused him to walk. A young Alan Alda was considered as a replacement, but he was locked into a role on Broadway. Jason Robards was tagged just a few weeks before shooting was to begin. Mickey Rooney, then Joel Grey, were pursued for the second lead, but other bookings prevented them from taking the role. British comedian Norman Wisdom was cast despite being relatively unknown to American audiences. Joey Faye, Eddie Lawrence, Dexter Maitland and Bert Lahr — all former burlesque performers — rounded out the cast. Lahr, however, was practically on his deathbed, have been diagnosed with terminal cancer just prior to production. The cast was supplemented by solid performances from Denholm Elliot, Joseph Wiseman, Harry Andrews, Forrest Tucker and Elliot Gould in his motion picture debut. At the forefront was the adorably waif-like Britt Ekland as the object of everyone's affection. William Friedkin, fresh off his directorial debut at the helm of Sonny & Cher's 1967 hippie indulgence Good Times (and several years away from The French Connection and The Exorcist) was tapped to direct. Friedkin, who shot forty hours of footage for the project, had a vision for the final product that differed from Lear's, Yorkin's and the "powers that be" at United Artists. After working — unsuccessfully — with respected film editor Ralph Rosenblum, Friedkin moved on to another project. He called The Night They Raided Minsky's "the biggest piece of crap he was ever involved with." Rosenblum took a full year to recut and reimagine the movie with no input from the director. He introduced period stock footage. He reshot some scenes with a body double substituting for Bert Lahr, who had died during production. Rosenblum's version — which Friedkin had nothing to do with — was released to surprisingly positive reviews. It boasted the biggest budget for a film shot in New York City at the time. Its paper-thin plot, continuity errors and seedy look are all forgivable, as The Night They Raided Minsky's offered a frozen snapshot of a bygone and nearly forgotten period of entertainment history. The film — a complete work of fiction — was a love letter to the bawdy side of vaudeville and — according to the opening narration — the origin of the strip tease.

Mrs. P and I watched The Night They Raided Minsky's. It was uneven. It was creepy. It was funny. It was enjoyable. The cast was stellar, if somewhat slightly above the sitcom-level script. The full-length classic burlesque skits that were showcased was like watching a documentary, sometimes overshadowing the main plot of the movie... whatever it was. There was a love triangle of sorts. There was a shifty plot to humiliate a staunch moral advocate. There was an overbearing gangster. There was an angry Amish patriarch searching for his wayward daughter. There was a lot going on and sometimes the story was interrupted for the sake of a barrage of risque jokes. Despite the spot-on performances from Norman Wisdom, Joseph Wiseman, Jason Robards and Britt Ekland, the true stars of The Night They Raided Minsky's were the ladies who formed the disinterested, going-through-the-motions chorus of the burlesque stage. Everything came to a head in a very raucous climax and a very sit-com-y ending. 

Ninety-eight minutes later, Mrs. P and I were entertained. And I don't think she looked at the clock once.

Well, maybe once.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

I met Britt Elkand in 2016. She was very sweet.

i think i'm in trouble

Last week, I wrote about baseball. The week before, I wrote about being an instigator on the internet. This week, I combine the two.

I spend a lot of time on the internet, specifically Facebook. On any given day, I get a lot of suggestions to join various Facebook groups based on my interests or something I may have clicked on or something I searched for on Google or something I discussed with my wife or even something I may have just thought about. You know how the technology has advanced in those algorithm things.

Because I have shown an interest in baseball, primarily my hometown's team, I get a lot of suggestions to join Facebook groups that are devoted to all things Philadelphia Phillies. In an effort to entice me to join, I get to see a post here and a post there from the particular group — sort of a "free preview" as though it was a weekend of free HBO MAX. In typical "Josh Pincus" fashion, I feel compelled to leave smart-ass comments mostly for my own amusement, but also hoping they will cause the algorithm to immediately reject such unwarranted — and unwanted — behavior. So far, it hasn't worked, but I am still mildly amused.

The once-dominant Phillies have hit a late-season snag. After a rocky start, the Phillies turned things around, riding high and defeating opponents left and right... until they didn't. While they still hold a substantial lead over the other teams in the league, the gap has begun to narrow as the season winds down to its final weeks — weeks that will determine who moves on to the coveted post-season. With a glimmer of hope for ending this nasty slump, the Phillies scored a whopping 11 runs on the Kansas City Royals on August 24. The Phils' offense was on fire with bats a-swinging, including catcher J.T. Realmuto knocking two over the outfield wall and racking up 7 RBIs. Every starter in the Philles line-up recorded a hit. Well... almost everyone. Poor Alec Bohm, the Philles usually-stellar third baseman, couldn't hit nuthin' despite five times to the plate. At the end of the evening's contest, the Royals retreating to their clubhouse with their collective tails between their legs, the fraternal assembly that is the current Phillies roster, hung around to congratulate their efforts. Photographers captured a tender and intimate moment as first baseman Bryce Harper, who went 1-5 with an RBI in the game, threw a brotherly arm across the sagging shoulders of Alec Bohm in a gesture of camaraderie, consolation and compassion for his beleaguered teammate. A Facebook group called A2D Radio posted the image with the single word caption "THIS!". Hell, it didn't even need a caption. Everything you needed to know about the team bond these players have for each other was apparent in this photo. Harper's Jesus-like expression of benevolence. Bohm's sadness and frustration with just a touch of hope at the words of his colleague. The dimly-lit, slightly out-of-focus, slightly off-center composition. It was all there. I didn't even need the thirteen hashtags A2D thought were necessary. The initial post generated 41 thousand positive reactions as well as 276 comments, most offering some sort of variation on the "I love this team!" sentiment.

I say most offered a positive comment. Most, not all. Let us not forget about one Josh Pincus, the internet's favorite redheaded stepchild who was only put here to be the cynical smart-aleck that you have come to know and love... or loathe... whichever the case may be. 

Among the outpouring of love, I commented: 

Yeah. I did that. Yeah.... I know. But it made me laugh and that is what is most important. Jeez, it even garnered 32 reactions — granted three of them were angry. But, as they say, there's no such thing as bad publicity. Honestly, I was just making a joke. I'm always making a joke. Some are funny. Some are not. I know that. Depending who you are, none of them are funny, but I can't help that. We each have our own taste in humor. Personally, I don't find Sebastian Maniscalco to be funny, but I think Andy Kaufman was hysterical. I love the Marx Brothers but Laurel and Hardy do nothing for me. I understand that my sense of humor isn't for everyone and I will happily admit when one of my jokes bombs. Just like I'm sure you'll happily admit when one of my jokes bombs.

And then along came a wave of folks who were only too happy to tell me exactly how funny they thought my comment was. On a scale of 1 to 10, they found it to be not funny at all.

I was told, in no uncertain terms, to:

• get my head out of the gutter
• grow up
• grow the fuck up
• come out of the closet (After all, where would the internet be without a homophobic slur. One thing you can say about Facebook, it is consistent.)

In addition, I was informed that "one day I would make a friend," that I'd "probably start gooning all over [my] living room" (I didn't understand that one.) and that I had made a "douche bag remark." (That one I understood.) I was questioned with "Dude? Really?" and "Are you 10?" All in all, it was a funny diversion until I got bored and looked for the next post just begging for a "Josh Pincus" comment.

Will this make me stop making comments on the internet? Are you kidding? Does the Pope shit in the woods? (Oh, you know what I mean.) No sir. This is only the beginning. I am on a mission.

And that mission is to make me laugh. Me. Not you.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

keep telling that same dumb joke 'til we both think it's funny

I have always loved watching stand-up comics. I remember how cool it was staying up late to see Don Rickles or Buddy Hackett of The Tonight Show. Watching them deliver a few minutes of anecdotal shtick and spotting Johnny Carson in the shadows, bent over his desk in hysterics, always made me laugh. I enjoyed The Ed Sullivan Show and his knack for mixing up-and-coming comedians with the respected names of the field. George Burns and Jack Benny shared a stage with George Carlin and Richard Pryor. Even though the humor was from opposite ends of the spectrum, it was all funny.

When I got older, I was able to go to see comedians in local clubs. My favorite was "The Comedy Works," a cramped, narrow room two flights above a Middle Eastern restaurant (aptly name "The Middle East") in the historic district of Philadelphia. For under ten bucks, you could see an emcee, three warm-up comics and a headliner of some note. At different times over several years, I saw Bob Saget, Jackie "The Joke Man" Martling and Tom Wilson (a year or two before he went on to play "Biff" in the the Back to the Future trilogy). One night in the early 80s, the billed headliner was Richard Jeni, fresh from a few appearances on The Tonight Show. Before Richard took the stage, a young man performed... and he had the entire place rolling in the aisles with laughter. He was so funny that everyone missed parts of his routine because they were unable to be heard over the laughter. When poor Richard Jeni began his act, no one was paying attention. Everyone was still laughing and talking about the young man who had preceded Mr. Jeni. The young man was named Eddie Murphy.

The Comedy Works also featured an "Open Mic" Night. At these mid-week, marathon shows, patrons paid just a few dollars to sit and watch a combination of club regulars trying out new material and amateurs taking a stab at a possible career path. I went to "Open Mic" nights often with my friends. Most nights were pretty uneven with average Joes delivering poorly written, unfunny material. Their few minutes in the spotlight seemed like hours and their embarrassment was palpable. Then a pro would take to the stage and bring the meager audience back to life before the next human anchor would drag the waning crowd down again. After attending a few "Open Mic" Nights, I was persuaded by my friends (my drunk friends) to make an onstage attempt at stand-up comedy with words of encouragement like, "You're funnier than these assholes!" Not one to balk at a challenge..... who am I kidding? I balk at a lot of challenges. But, in this case, I answered the call. Over the course of five months, I observed everything that went on around me and wrote down everything, hoping something would be funny. When the big night came, I stocked the audience with friends and family. The show started at 9. I went on at midnight. By this point, the audience was hammered. I could have read the Yellow Pages aloud and got laughs. Honestly, I did not bomb, but I never made a return engagement, labeling my one-and-only foray into the world of stand-up as "Mission Accomplished" (and not in the George W. Bush sense).

I love watching comedians on TV, but lately I have been disappointed by the recent crop of comics. It seems to me that a great many are just not funny. Or ones that were funny are no longer funny. My biggest complaint is the way comedians are presented. There's an audience filled with people sitting and waiting for a funny person to come on stage and be funny. It is implied "This is a comedian, therefore, he is funny and you must laugh because that is what you do when you see a comedian." Then, they proceed to go on for an hour and offer five, non-consecutive minutes of funny material. But, if you watch the reaction shots, the audience is hysterical for the duration.

In the last few years, I've been to comedy clubs in Philadelphia, where I saw one funny headliner and a gang of lame warm-up acts. Ben Bailey, the host of the TV game show "Cash Cab," was very funny, but the supporting acts elicited crickets from the audience. Emo Phillips (admittedly an acquired taste) was great, but the opening comics were awful.

I have seen recent stand-up specials by Jim Gaffigan, a comedian I once thought was really original and very funny. He is no longer funny and his "I'm fat" shtick is repetitive and not amusing. I have seen Patton Oswalt, whose last special started and ended with a bang but the forty-minutes in the middle were totally forgettable. I watched Demetri Martin, who I thought was very funny — but not for as long as his special's entire running time. I saw Norm MacDonald, who I thought was surprisingly good, but I can't remember any part of his act. I saw T.J. Miller, who I loved on HBO's "Silicon Valley," but I couldn't make it past the first five minutes of his painfully manic and unfunny performance. Recently, Mrs. Pincus and I watched Ellen DeGeneres's new Netflix special — her first in sixteen years. I always liked Ellen's irreverent routines on Johnny Carson's show and previous specials, but this one was disappointing. It was very uneven and her overarching premise of "now I'm rich" wore thin after a while.

Other comedian's specials have been recommended to me, but I have to admit, I am a little gun-shy. I don't want to invest an hour of my time watching a comedian who is not funny. They have one job —to make me laugh. Instead, many have become preachy and introspective and unnecessarily philosophical. You wouldn't go to a dentist and sit in the chair to have your shoes shined, would you? (Wait, the way some people fear dentists, perhaps that is a poor analogy.) I guess I'll have to scroll endlessly through the selections on Netflix, HBO and other entertainment offerings to find that elusive comic that will just simply make me laugh.

Or maybe I'll just watch the old-timers on YouTube. Although, they're sometimes not even as funny as I remember.

Hmmm.... maybe it's me. 

Now that's funny!

www.joshpincusiscrying.com