“The Gin Game” and Other Stuff
Thu., May 15, 11:41 AM
“The Gin Game” was produced on Broadway in 1977 starring Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn. Written by D.L. Coburn and directed by Mike Nichols, it is a well-respected drama. (The stars weren’t too shabby either.) When a television version was suggested, starring Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke – who have their own history of acting and stage presence, both separately and as a team – all three of the major networks refused it. What does that refusal say about the networks? That they have no idea of quality entertainment? That whatever they studied in college didn’t tell them anything about the world? That they think young people won’t watch a play about old people? (That may be the answer, of course.)
It aired last week on PBS. I watched it; it was good. Not the best thing I ever saw, but definitely worth watching. Some people just don’t know their business.
Do you remember Cecilia Chicken? Señor Wences, a Spanish ventriloquist, was a frequent visitor to the Ed Sullivan Show. “Something for the kiddies.” He was pretty entertaining for adults too. Most people remember his man in the box – “Shut the door!” – or Johnny, the little boy whose face was formed by Señor Wences’ own fingers. But I had a special fondness for Cecilia.
Supporting Cecilia on one hand, Señor showed her an egg. “Do you know what this is?” Responded the chicken, “That is my son.” “Really? How do you know?” And Cecilia told him, “I know my business!”
No one is expected to know everything, but you really are supposed to know how to do your job, particularly when you have to deal with customers or the public in general. Let me cite a few examples, both from the news and from my own experience.
I subscribed to Reader’s Digest magazine for thirty years, but I discontinued when I couldn’t get beyond the stupidity. I had ordered a gift subscription for someone who never received it, so I called the subscription department. The girl looked up the subscription and told me, “Oh, the address was wrong, and it was returned.” It was returned, and they never checked back with me? (They don’t check back; they did, however, cash my check.) They had entered the address wrong, and I corrected it.
“Well,” said the girl, “I can send her March and April, but I have no January or February left.” (This was May.) “She doesn’t need those,” I pointed out, “she read my copies. Can’t you extend the subscription into next year?” She didn’t know; this was a gift subscription.
Gimme a break. They are in the subscription business. They issue a new edition every month; this is not rocket science. They are very good at sending out promotions, but they can’t service a subscription. I chose to end mine.
According to TV Guide, television is having trouble finding comedy writers these days. It’s not so surprising, when the top source of entertainment seems to be watching people eat bugs on camera. But I knew comedy was in trouble when more and more so-called comics told a not-funny story and drew a laugh with a vulgarity. To use their own vernacular, that’s a cop-out. If you have any talent for comedy at all, you can figure out a way to make people laugh without disgusting anyone.
Are you familiar with “Our Town,” the play by Thornton Wilder? When it was first produced on Broadway in the 1930’s, it was considered somewhat experimental. There was almost no scenery – chairs when people had to sit, or a ladder to indicate “upstairs.” Since then it has been presented many times in many places, often with more elaborate scenery. There was even a musical version on television in the mid-fifties.
You may know this already; it’s just background. “Our Town” was recently revived for a limited run, and I read a review that described it as somewhat interesting, but questioned why it was so “minimal.” Obviously, it was produced in the style of the original. My point? The world at large may know nothing of theater history, but this writer was representing herself as a drama critic, someone who should have known. Why, she might even have included the background in her review, if she hadn’t been too lazy to research it.
Sister called a supplier recently looking for a specific ink cartridge. Ink cartridges are tricky, but she had the package right there, so she could read off the identification number. It didn’t help; the salesperson couldn’t understand “I, as in Idaho.” He also had trouble with “PM as in Photo Magenta.” He was selling ink. Can you say “I, as in idiot”?
I talk about television executives a lot, because I’m afraid the current crop is just a product of the “vast wasteland.” Like the one who didn’t want to do an anniversary celebration of “Roots,” because she didn’t think it would be interesting? Since it happened before she was born, she had no clue of what an impact that miniseries had.
On the day the U.S. troops reached Baghdad, I happened to be listening to the radio when the network made a connection to one of the reporters there in Iraq. She was actually in Baghdad, but the troops were not within her range of vision. “I know someone said the troops were in Baghdad, but I can’t see them. They’re not here.” Just another case of “it’s all about me.”
We expend all this effort to teach our children to look at the world. Businesses spend huge amounts of money to train their employees to “think out of the box.” And these losers can’t see beyond the end of their noses. Y’know, I don’t care if I never get a responsible job again. Was it Schopenhauer who said, “Against stupidity the gods themselves labor in vain”?
