we're off to see the wizard

Tired of searching through countless channels for something to watch, Mrs. P and I settled on a repeat showing of The Wizard of Oz that was just starting on Turner Classic Movies. Of course we have both seen The Wizard of Oz numerous times, but there is something comforting about watching the venerable film on real-time broadcast television (without commercials) that feels like a 102-minute visit with an old friend. (Honestly, there are some "old friends" that I couldn't spend 102 seconds with... but that's a story for another blog post.)

Cut!

Although it was released 22 years before I was born, I am obsessively familiar with The Wizard of Oz. Most people my age share my familiarity with the film and have fond memories of its yearly showing on television. The reason for its cross-generational "beloved" status, I believe, is the fact that the storytelling moves along at a pretty brisk clip. Unlike the current crop of bloated, backstory-heavy, CGI-laden, three-plus hour films being churned out of Hollywood, The Wizard of Oz wastes not a second of footage. Every scene is meaningful and adds to the flow of the story. Perhaps, this is why so many "Oz-adjacent" movies were failures at the box office. They suffered from too much explanation of a subject with which the audience was already familiar. They were bogged down with unnecessary subplots that added nothing but time. As a matter of fact, in an effort to keep the film concise, a scene was cut from The Wizard of Oz after initial screenings. The producers felt a particular musical number slowed the action down. (This was the notorious "Jitterbug" dance sequence, clips of which are readily available on YouTube.) 

Even though I love The Wizard of Oz, watching the movie with me is akin to watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show at a Saturday midnight showing. I recite dialogue along with the long-dead actors. I comment on the action. I make up on-the-spot, smart-ass jokes and repeat tried-and-true ones from previous viewings... and I question some of the more peculiar and nonsensical things that occur. Yeah, I know that it's about a girl that travels over the rainbow via a cyclone and lands in a full-color world filled with talking scarecrows, green witches and flying monkeys (blue ones, too). That aside, there are lines of dialogue and action sequences that make no sense — even in the context of a fantasy story. I think the fact that it was made in 1939 and included some of the same snappy dialogue that was so prevalent in films of the era is part of the "problem" I have with The Wizard of Oz. But there are other things that, even after zillions of viewings, still don't sit right with me.

How old is Miss Gulch supposed to be? Clara Blandick (who played "Auntie Em") is 63. It can be surmised that she has known Miss Gulch for years. Auntie Em acknowledges that Miss Gulch owns "half the county," however Margaret Hamilton — obviously disguised by theatrical make-up and costuming designed to hide her age — is only 37 years old. And what sort of successful business venture allowed a 37 year-old to "own half the county?" And who owns the other half?

Frank times five.

When Dorothy stumbles across Frank Morgan as "Professor Marvel," the first of five roles he portrays in the film, he rifles through her belongings while offering the young girl a crystal ball reading. I find this very creepy. In true "fake psychic" fashion, he alludes to Dorothy's aunt. "Auntie Em!," Dorothy confirms. The good Professor corrects her, stating that the woman in question is, in fact, named "Emily." How does he know this? Her name is not written on the photo he finds in Dorothy's basket. Her full name could be "Emma" or "Emmaline" or "Embeth" or "Emmylou." Hell, it could even be a nickname for "Melissa" or "Gemma." What does this guy know? He didn't even get the reference Dorothy made about the "crowned heads of Europe" and that's painted right on his fucking wagon!

Jerk.

Once Dorothy gets to Oz, she meets the true villain of the story. No, not the Wicked Witch of the West, but Glinda, the so-called Good Witch of the North. This seemingly sweet and nice, pink-clad fiend is the first citizen of Oz that Dorothy meets... and within seconds, she insults the poor girl. "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?," she innocently asks. Dorothy answers that she is not a witch at all, adding that "witches are old and ugly." Glinda giggles and tells Dorothy that she herself is a witch. An astonished Dorothy, wishing to be cordial to her greeter in this unfamiliar land, says, "I never heard of a beautiful witch before." Glinda replies, "Only bad witches are ugly!" So... if she asked Dorothy is she was a good witch or a bad witch, that means she hadn't quite determined if Dorothy was beautiful or ugly, knowing full well that she was a good witch and therefore beautiful. Glinda still required confirmation of Dorothy's "witch" status because her level of beauty wasn't good enough for Glinda. Later in the film, she makes it snow on Dorothy and her companions to counteract the effects of the poppies designed to put the crew to sleep... knowing full well it would rust one of Dorothy's friends. In the film's conclusion, she announces that Dorothy could have returned home to Kansas at anytime, that she always had the power. When questioned "why didn't you tell her?," Glinda smugly replies "She wouldn't have believed me?" Did you even bring it up and let Dorothy decide? For goodness sake, you told her there was a wizard at the end of the yellow brick road and she believed that! Dorothy begged to go home for nearly two hours and you never, ever mentioned that a couple of clicks on her new shoes could provide that in "two seconds." (Those are your words, Glinda!) It's funny when Glinda's "traveling bubble" shows up in the final scene at the Emerald City, the Scarecrow points and says "Here's someone who can help you." Glinda? Really? She hasn't been helpful yet!

When Dorothy meets the Scarecrow, she tells him that the crows in Kansas would be frightened by a talking and dancing Scarecrow. He asks: "Where's Kansas?" Dorothy explains, "That's where I'm from" and the Scarecrow doesn't press her for more information. "That's where I'm from" doesn't answer his question. That was pretty rude! Oh, wait... he doesn't have a brain. Fuck him. He probably forgot the question anyway.

Dorothy's initial meeting with her three traveling buddies in Oz culminates in a similarly melodic song, each specific about what the characters seeks from the Wizard. The Scarecrow and the Tin Man's renditions are seamless with their dialogue and work as a plea to convince Dorothy that they should be included on her journey to the Emerald City. However the Cowardly Lion awkwardly sets his song up with the introduction "I just gotta let you know how I feel" even though they have already decided to take him with them to the Emerald City... but.... he sings anyway.

Why does the Wicked Witch of the West have gripper tape wrapped around her broomstick? Does she use this in case a pick-up game of stickball breaks out on the yellow brick road or among the Winkies at her castle? Are there sporting goods stores in Oz? This is a pretty specialized item to obtain. Sure they have metal buffing services, hay stuffing services and a beauty parlor at the Emerald City, but gripper tape? That's a big ask. They could probably order it, though.

Speaking of the castle, when Dorothy is held prisoner by the Wicked Witch, brave Toto escapes to alert the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion of her location and her predicament. The intrepid trio make their way into the castle and Tin Man begins hacking at the wooden door of the room where Dorothy is imprisoned with his ax. From the other side of the door, Dorothy announces: "Hurry! The hourglass is almost empty?" referring to the timekeeping device the witch left as a reminder of her fate. However, Dorothy's rescuers have never seen the hourglass. How come they don't stop and question: "What hourglass?" You didn't say anything about an hourglass! What are you talking about? Are you still tripping from the poppies? I thought the snow took care of that?" Nope, they just continue to break the door down. When they finally get to Dorothy, not one of them points and says: "Oh! That hourglass!"

In the final scene, Dorothy is saying her tearful goodbyes before she heads back to Kansas with the Wizard in the hot-air balloon he absconded from the Omaha State Fair. She says goodbye to the Tin Man who tells her his new heart is breaking. She says goodbye to the Cowardly Lion who acknowledges that he would have never gotten his courage if it weren't for Dorothy. Then she turns to the Scarecrow and — right in front of the other two — she tells the Scarecrow that she will miss him most of all. The Tin Man and the Lion can hear you, Dorothy! We can all hear you! That is pretty insulting! After all, what exactly did he do that the others didn't? Geez! Worst of all, the goddamn Scarecrow doesn't even say a word! He doesn't thank her for her assistance in getting a brain. He doesn't even say "goodbye." I guess being named "Interim Wizard" went right to his newly-gifted brain!

So, finally, Dorothy is going home. But, Toto jumps out of Dorothy's arms to chase the Oz equivalent of a cat. If you watch carefully, the balloon just doesn't "up and go" without Dorothy. No, the Tin Man continues to unravel the docking rope and barely makes an attempt to pull the balloon back down... even though he is still holding the rope! It is obvious that he selfishly wants Dorothy to stay in Oz. Only he knows why.

I didn't even bring up curious lines of dialogue, like "Here, have some cruellers" or "You're more trouble than you're worth one way or another" and, when Dorothy asks a castle guard if she can have the witch's broomstick after melting their tormentor, he replies, "Yes! And take it with you!" Well, of course, she going to take it with her! She doesn't just want to hold the witch's broomstick, she wants a murder trophy.... like a serial killer.

Oh! And what about that bucket of water! If you know that water will melt you, why are you keeping open buckets of it around your castle? You are just asking for one of your disgruntled employees to dump that bucket on your head after denying a perfectly reasonable vacation request. The witch should have banned all open containers of water from her castle. She knew about the magical powers in her sister's shoes, but didn't think leaving buckets of water all around  her castle was a bad idea.

One more thing.... Where does the red brick road lead to? 

Oh look.... I can watch The Wizard of Oz anytime I want! I think I'll watch it now.

www.joshpincusiscrying.com

favorite waste of time

Oh Jesus! Not another blog about television!

Very recently, I saw a post on Twitter asking "what's your favorite episode of a television program?" Not necessarily of your favorite television series, but one episode that stands out among every single television program you have watched in your life. For me, that's a wide open field from which to make my selection. I watch a lot of television. Way more than the average person. Way more than the average avid TV watcher. Way more than anyone should be watching.

While I don't have a single favorite show, there are several shows that I hold dear. I really can't pinpoint why I like them. I just do. There's The Andy Griffith Show, a show I can turn on any episode at any point and begin watching... even the later color episodes which are often cited as subpar by even the most ardent Mayberry fan. The characters on The Andy Griffith Show actually evolved as the series made its way through eight seasons. Town sheriff Andy Taylor started off as a conniving, stereotypical Southern "good ol' boy" until his character was transitioned to "the voice of reason" among a town filled with nuts. Eventually, the show took on a very surrealistic Green Acres vibe as it moved into later seasons, with townsfolk residing on one level — one of unpredictable absurdity — and Andy residing on a more level-headed reality. Andy's relationship with his son Opie was responsible for some of the series most tender moments, whereas Andy's interactions with Barney were often maddening. I'm not as fond of Don Knotts as most Andy Griffith fans are. I am pretty sure that Andy doesn't carry a gun because, if he did, he'd probably shoot Barney.

I enjoy The Donna Reed Show as much as I dislike Father Knows Best. These are essentially the same show. They debuted within a few years of each other and each ran for eight seasons. But the kids on Father Knows Best were annoying and the kids on The Donna Reed Show were sweet and endearing. Plus, Donna Reed herself was adorable and, for some reason, given the role of "All-American Mom" after winning an Oscar for playing a prostitute. Robert Young appeared to be constantly befuddled. And Jane Wyatt's put-on voice affectation was like nails on a blackboard.

I like Leave It to Beaver (which I have written about) and Family Affair (which I have also written about), two shows that could be classified as "guilty pleasures," if I felt any shred of guilt for liking these shows. I don't like that label because if I like something, I don't feel the least bit guilty about it. There are shows that I do not like, although I do watch them — like Hazel and I Love Lucy (I love the entire cast of I Love Lucy - except Lucy). I suppose I'm a glutton for punishment.

We want something else!

So... what is my favorite television episode? Well, it's the Season 3 Episode 11 of the long-running Korean War comedy M*A*S*H entitled "Adam's Ribs." I love this episode and I have seen it so many times, I can recite the dialog along with the actors. It's a treat for me to see the scenes unfold, each one a priceless gem in storytelling. This is perfect situation comedy execution — a preposterous premise, an implausible scheme, improbable stumbling blocks and a surprise conclusion. It's filled with classic lines that my family and I have been quoting for years. Plus, it features Wayne Rogers as "Trapper John McIntyre" in a rare co-starring role alongside and equal to the scenery-chewing Alan Alda. Curiously, it does not feature "Frank Burns" or "Margaret Houlihan" and their absence is never explained nor referenced. I could watch this episode over and over again. As a matter of fact, I have. I never tire of it.

It's funny because, although I have seen every episode of M*A*S*H, I don't consider the series one of my favorites. There are a lot of episodes that I do not like. The show, because it ran for 11 seasons, changed and evolved and explored new ground as the years went on... and not always for the better. Some cast changes were good, some were not so good. I like the first three seasons with Wayne Rogers and McLean Stevenson. I liked Harry Morgan as Stevenson's replacement, but I find Mike Farrell's "B.J. Hunnicut" insufferable. I also didn't like the abrupt personality change in Klinger, going from cross-dressing psycho who wants out of the Army to confident, wheeling-dealing company clerk. 

But, watching "Adam's Ribs" is pure pleasure, like a visit from an old friend (well, an old friend that I like). Sure, there are some nit-picky inconsistencies, but there are flaws in every television show. (Jeez! In the Brady Bunch, another of my stalwart favorites, actors are called by their real names instead of their character names, but I hold no grudge.) It's a good, well-written, well-performed 22 minutes of classic television. And it's my favorite TV episode. 

Want to see what I'm talking about? You can watch the episode on a number of streaming services.

What's your favorite? 

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these are a few of my favorite things

Here's a questions almost everybody has been asked at one time or another....

"What's your favorite _______ ?" 

"Color" is usually the word that fills in the blank most often, followed by "food," then "band" then any number of specific categories.

When I was younger, I always had an answer to any "what's your favorite" inquiry that was posed. My favorite color was orange. We had plastic tumblers at my house and I always selected the orange one from which to drink. Eventually, that orange tumbler was placed at my usual seating position at the dinner table without a special request.

My favorite food changed as I grew up, but I always had a specific favorite. As a kid, my favorite food was Frosty-O's cereal with Dudley Do-Right on the front of the box... not the one with Chumley, Tennessee Tuxedo's dimwitted sidekick. There was something cheerful and compelling about the cartoon Mountie's smiling visage on a bright green background that made me want to consume bowl after bowl of those little sugar bullets. And I could happily — and effortlessly — eat bowl after bowl of Frosty-O's and never get sick of it... until, I course, I got sick of it. As a teenager, my favorite food was pizza. My father was convinced that I could eat pizza for breakfast, lunch and dinner... and, quite possibly, he was right.

When I was in high school, everyone knew I was the guy who loved Queen. My bedroom was plastered with giant posters of the British band, as was the inside of my locker. I bought their albums as soon as they were released and I would sleep out for tickets when a concert tour was announced. I knew every lyric to every one of their songs. I studied every Queen-related article in every publication, absorbing a plethora of trivial tidbits like a sponge. Actually, my obsession had its rewards. In the summer of '82, there was a street vendor on Philadelphia's famed South Street who sold the original Chipwich, an innovative frozen novelty comprised of a slab of vanilla ice cream between to chocolate chip cookies with the exposed edge of ice cream covered in more chocolate chips. He had a sign hanging from the giant branded umbrella that shaded his branded cart which read "Rock and Roll Trivia." When questioned, he explained that if a customer could answer three questions about any rock band, he would award them with a free Chipwich. I was game because who couldn't use a free ice cream sandwich?!? Of course, I chose to answer three questions about Queen. The Chipwich guy eyed me up and down as he prepared to deliver the first of three guaranteed stumpers.

"What is Brian May's guitar made from?," he asked, a smirk spreading across his face. He folded his arms across his chest and waited for me to throw my hands in the air in surrender.

I looked him right in the eye and answered in my best smug voice, "A chair and some wood from his fireplace." The Chipwich guy was dumbfounded. His eyes widened and his jaw literally dropped open. He reached into the freezer compartment and extracted a cellophane-wrapped treat. "I'm not even going to ask you the other two questions.," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, "No one knows that! You get the Chipwich!"

My favorite movie was The Wizard of Oz until I saw James Cagney push around the Dead End Kids in Angels with Dirty Faces. Then, when I was thirteen, my more sophisticated tastes were piqued by Phantom of the Paradise. That became my favorite movie. It remained my unwavering favorite for five full months when Tommy took its place at the top of my list. Then, my mother introduced me to Singin' in the Rain and that became my new favorite. I experienced a similar streak with television shows. First, I was enamored with Milton the Monster, then Underdog. Then, I moved on to The Brady Bunch, then The Partridge Family. Of course, I graduated to more meaningful, well written, programs like Hill Street Blues and ER as I got older. After the cancellation of those two shows, my interest in currently produced television shows dwindled. I found myself not wanting to follow an ongoing story line and not wishing to keep track of a specific cast of characters. Instead, I watched reruns of old shows, readily available on a number of cable networks.

But now.... now, I really don't have any favorite anything.

Sure, there are foods that I like and bands that I like and movies that I like, but I wouldn't designate any of them as "my favorite." If I was asked, "What food could you eat for the rest of your life?," I'd say Mexican food.... or Chinese food.... or my old stand-by — pizza. But I don't think any of those would qualify as "my favorite." With very few exceptions*, I will eat nearly anything that is put in front of me, because I know it will not be my last meal.... until it is. But, I don't have a favorite food.

I go to a lot of concerts and I listen to a lot of music. While I still have a soft spot for Queen from a purely nostalgic standpoint, there is no band I would say is currently "my favorite." Yes, I like a lot of bands, but I really don't have a "favorite."

The same goes for television and movies. I like some movies. I don't like some movies. I watch a lot of reruns of television shows that were popular when I was a kid and I watch very few of the current crop of new programming. Yes, I do have an affinity for the old Andy Griffith Show and the new Marvelous Mrs. Maisel — but "favorite?" Nahhhhh.... not really.

And I no longer require the plastic orange tumbler be placed at my table setting.

Note: A discussion, prompted by the idea of this blog entry, produced this list of Mrs. Pincus's favorites: 
Movie: Gone with the Wind
Band: Grateful Dead 
Color: Pink (Although I could've sworn it was "purple." The record has since been set straight.)
Food: Hamburger
Dessert: Hesh's Bakery Birthday Cake (Sadly, this is no longer available, as Hesh's closed its doors in 2014 after 54 years in business. Duplicating that cake and its legendary icing has proven difficult by other Philadelphia bakeries — despite their claims.)

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*Some of those exceptions are meat, tomatoes and coconut.