Spector begins in 2006, a few weeks after six young Americans about to graduate college have returned, giddy, refreshed, and gossipy from an educational, and eye-opening, Birthright heritage trip to Israel, an experience open to all Jews. Alona (Molly Ranson), who’d fallen for an IDF soldier, plans to return, but a concerned Chaya (Zoë Winters) has gotten the group together to convince her otherwise lest Alona upend her life. (Chaya, in whose home outside D.C. the play unfolds, is the unofficial, and as we will see sometimes unwelcome, mother hen of her peers.) All have prospects of their own: the politics-obsessed Noah (Eli Gelb) has launched one of those new-fangled “blogs” at the dawn of social media. (Changing tech is how Spector connotes changing times throughout.) Izzy (Molly Bernard) is contemplating a law degree. Lev (Hale Appleman) is just contemplating, his head filled with the teachings of Jewish scholars and considering rabbinical school. Everyone has some notion of what to do next except Emerson (Nate Mann), who is drowning his sorrows a little too liberally now that his bandmates have kicked him out of their promising indie act. Spector’s dialogue adroitly captures the strain of a thrown-together group, united mostly by a life-changing experience, trying to keep it light as tensions surface. (When they do it’s into the backyard hot tub they go, as Chaya’s mom Deborah, a cheerful busy body played by Liz Larsen, pops up to crack wise.)

In Act II the group reconvenes a decade later, eagerly awaiting the election of America’s first woman president. Needless to say we’re still waiting, as cracks turn to fissures in that hopeful moment. Alona is set to marry an Israeli, but the rehearsal dinner was marred when one of her uncles said that a vote for Hillary was akin to a vote for an ayatollah. From there everything tumbles, as the group confronts the death of family members, the fallout from a painful divorce, and the dashing of Obama-era dreams. Chaya and Izzy, who find themselves divided over support for Israel in their professional and personal lives (both are enmeshed in politics) skirmish.

David Bengali’s projections were a highlight of Eureka Day, conveying its most outrageous scene. Their use here is initially more subtle until they explode in the third act, set after the Hamas massacre in 2024. One character has died, making the clash between Chaya and Izzy all the more fraught. Everyone else goes to their phones, bringing up evidence of antisemitism, ethnic cleansing in Gaza, the abuses of Netanyahu, and the horrors of Hamas in a dizzying cascade. It would all go slack, however, a collection of position papers, if we weren’t fully invested in these people, and if Spector stacked the deck in favor of any one position. He doesn’t.  The agony of “purity tests” administered by the rising generation is a particular bone of contention for Chaya, who has felt their sting, but Spector gives us the bad news straight. The air explodes, then clears.

What a rich show this is, directed with a sure hand by Teddy Bergman. It had to have taken a lot of shaping to get this right, and everyone played their part to get it to the finish line, as moving an ending as I have seen in its sorrows and hopes. The design is immaculate, with scenic designer Scott Pask making changes to the house over twenty years, Natasha Katz wringing laughs from a backyard light with a motion sensor in the second act, and skilled gradations in looks and styles from Clint Ramos (costumes), Robert Pickens (hair), and Nikoletta Skarlatos (makeup).

As for the ensemble, sublime, all of them, in their deeply flawed, deeply felt humanity: Winters (from Succession, keeping everyone else on their toes while not trying to lose her emotional equilibrium); Bernard (a worthy opponent always spoiling for a fight for her causes); Ranson (who knows the terrain from the equally epic Prayer for the French Republic, searing in her divided loyalties); Gelb (a Stereophonic alum with a yen for Chaya as he bumblingly tries to make peace); Appleman (charismatic, enigmatic); Mann (deftly handling a major third act change); and Larsen (finding something radiant in what looks to be mom shtick). I’m sure this play will have a vibrant afterlife once this production closes in late August, so whether now or in the future anyone concerned with one of the most pressing issues of our time should be sure to seek out Birthright, which covers 2,000 years of Jewish history and asks a plaintive question: “How the fuck did we get here?”

This had to happen and I’m glad it did.  From a personal standpoint, this completes my collection of The Bongos and Bongos-related items on CD.  It’s an album that I’ve enjoyed immensely over the years, since I first bought it at Pier Platters in Hoboken in the ’80’s.  My copy is well-worn, having been played frequently (especially by my then-girlfriend, rest her soul) and it’s been a long time waiting for a clean, digital-age edition to finally be available.  I’m also happy for James and Richard, as these songs are beloved by all who know them and they deserve to be heard again (and hopefully embraced by new, younger fans).  As a collector, I really enjoyed the liner notes that accompany the package and tell the story of the album’s evolution, which add up to youthful exuberance.  But enough opining – here are my takeaways:

“I’ve Got A Secret” is still one of my favorite songs; I’ve seen Richard perform this numerous times, including a blistering version done by The Bongos at Maxwell’s in autumn, 2009.  It’s as catchy a song as one could ever hope for or desire to write – simple, straightforward, hooky and melodic; pop perfection.  And, truth be told, even I still do it on occasion in my acoustic set.  This always screamed “radio single”!

“Flew A Falcon”, which many know from Mr. Barone’s majestic 1987 Cool Blue Halo live album makes its original appearance here.  A confessional of sorts, it’s dramatic, eloquent and mysterious, which makes it all the more enjoyable.

“My Sin” rocks along in a powerhouse fashion – four on the floor steady rhythm that kicks and has you stomping your foot along in time.

“Five Years Old” is a liquid, time shifting piece with Richard’s impassioned vocal delivery.

“Lost Like Me” – the closest to a “traditional” Bongos track on Richard’s side.  I’ve often wondered what this would have sounded like if it had been part of the Cool Blue Halo set, but that’s just personal conjecture.

“Jacob’s Ladder” is an instrumental and is very much of its time, which is what makes it so much fun.  Hypnotic grooves abound!

“Time Will Tell” is James at his pop mastery best; there are so many elements to this wonderful, warm moment; acoustic guitars, a cheerful keyboard frame and nifty harmonica punches.

“Dizzy” is, indeed, the old Tommy Roe hit from the ’60’s and while I wasn’t crazy about the original, James’ delivery feels much more personal – the update sound is probably why I would only listen to this version.

“Angel In My Pocket” is frenetic, taut and definitely has the feel of a “Bongos” track, but it carries you off at 100 miles an hour, which I love, because it’s a jolt.  The guitar figures are absolutely stellar.

“Jamais” is my other favorite on James’ side.  Its quirkiness wrapped in melody is, again, perfection.

“No One Has To Know” is simply beautiful; it’s a perfect ending to this collection.

I’ll bypass the bonus tracks because I want to focus on the original album.  Having said that, this is still a triumphant moment by two gifted and compelling songwriters/musicians.  I think Nuts and Bolts has greater poignancy for me today to listen to in one sitting because of time having passed and it, confessedly, has brought up so many emotions from then to now.  Which says this album still does its job – to move you; make you think – make you feel.

Even forty-plus years later, that’s quite a feat.

HIGHLY RECOMMENDED – essential

Nuts and Bolts is currently available (again)

https://iconoclassicrecords.com/album/nuts-bolts/

I always think of an old Albert Brooks observation: people now spend more time looking at box office grosses and researching whether to see a movie than the movie itself would take. At some point, you just have to say it’s two hours and five bucks, roll the dice. 

The attention we naturally give in a theater where nothing but the screen is visible is in itself a great experience – no matter the crowd size.  There’s nothing better than seeing a great comedy or horror picture in a full theater.  Conversely, catching a matinee with practically nobody else in there is a unique experience that feels like getting away with something.  

At home, things are completely different. Flipping off the TV or changing channels is constantly on the table. Phones ring, doors knock, microwave beeps, dogs or children need something.  It’s hard to really focus on a movie at home, and too easy to turn it off.  

So, walking out is definitely a thing.  And how early you walk out is important. Skipping out at the beginning in a multiplex to see something else is a smart move if you can tell you’re not gonna like it. But quitting near the end when you just can’t take it anymore?  Ouch.  

Over the years, I’ve walked out of movies for noble reasons, ridiculous reasons, technical reasons, and at least once because I was 10 years old, and there was a video game in the lobby.

Kingpin (1996) – Wasn’t my idea to walk out, I was seeing it with my mom and aunt. Mom wasn’t particularly conservative about culture but I think it was the scene with landlady that pushed her over the line. I ended up going back to see it within a couple of days without family.  

The Addams Family (1991) – I was with the same aunt from viewing Kingpin; we weren’t offended by anything in this one, though we weren’t amused by it either. That movie was about tone, and it didn’t get it. We looked at each other with 10 minutes left, both frowning and decided to call time of death on the afternoon at the movies.  

The Lemon Sisters (1990) – This walkout was kind of accidental. The movie hung together so poorly that there was no sense of where we were in the story. So I went to go to the bathroom thinking there was 20-30 minutes left.  Upon leaving the restroom, my girlfriend was there in the lobby with everyone else. She said the movie just kind of ended.  

The Replacement Killers (1998) – A somber Chow Yun Fat action movie with Mira Sorvino in it for something. I think we quit about 30 bored minutes in so we could see something else. We slipped into Sphere which wasn’t great but still an upgrade.  

Holmes & Watson (2018) – This was bad from the start. It really hurt as a huge Ferrell, Anchorman, Talladega Nights guy but I just felt embarrassed to be in the theater. I don’t think I even got to another movie in that movieplex, there was a barbecue place nearby, and that was good enough.  

Laserblast (1978) – By far the worst movie on this list, print ads made it seem like a Star Wars ripoff, if only. Just low budget small town desert setting confusion. My sister took me in her Pinto, and we left soon after.  The Ford Pinto was the cherry on the 70s sundae.

Don Juan Demarco (1994) – Totally different circumstances, there were technical difficulties there with a high-pitched squeak, which sounded exactly like a tea kettle. In all of his scenes, it seemed like Marlon Brando was actually listening to a tea kettle boil over and responding to it. We got our money back at the box office window, and there was no point to see anything else because it could not have been as funny as doing Brando impressions of him listing various flavors of tea, which we did for the next three hours 

U-Turn (1997) – Somehow, Oliver Stone made lurid violence completely boring. I was solo for this one, and I know I left early because it was before it even ran into whatever incest storyline was apparently in there.   

Bean (1997) – Something that I kind of liked as a light, PBS comedy that felt like a comic strip on television, while on the big screen was way too loud and mugging.  Just a garden-variety feeling of: I gotta get out of here, this is embarrassing.   

Man in the Moon (1999) – Maybe the best movie I’ve walked out of, I liked it a little more watching on the small screen at home. With 15 minutes left, I walked out only because I had to pee, but while I was at the urinal, I was reminding myself how annoyed I was by all of the stilted biopic dialogue and just walked to my car.  

The Robe (1953) – I was at a kids birthday party around age 10 and his very religious family took the whole group to see this crucifixion of Jesus in a “revival”. Looking back, I still wonder: what the fuck were they thinking, taking a bunch of other people’s kids to see a crucifixion movie?  The same question my mom angrily asked the next day. About 75 minutes into this one, I found a video game console in the lobby. Great choice by me. 

Funny About Love (1990) – A lame Gene Wilder movie I was seeing with my girlfriend in Indiana on a great cross country trip. The only thing I remember about it was a weird cameo from the Knicks’ Patrick Ewing.  What really hurt was when we were walking out I saw that another theater in the multiplex was showing Goodfellas, which had just come out and I had not seen yet. I am not normally a volatile boyfriend, but I was pissed    

The Real McCoy (1993) – So that’s one in Montana with my friend Steve, and we instantly found the jewel heist setup really boring filmmaking. Another early rip cord to switch to another movie, which was the Stephen King adaptation Needful Things, which was a lateral move.  

Blues Brothers 2000 (1998) – I loved the original so much but I imagine this was just because I hated the drop off. The music was still OK but all of the timing was off, and Macaulay Culkin is a junior Blues Brother?  I distinctly remember, leaving during the “Funky Nassau” number, despite my fandom of Paul Shaffer.  

Suicide Squad (2016) – We took my girlfriend’s son Edward and his friends to this for a birthday party; how bad could this superhero movie be?  I wasn’t gonna pull the group out of this, but I left a little over halfway in and just took a walk instead. Pointless. To this day, Edward is impressed that I walked out of a movie.

Sometimes I love falling asleep to one of these if I’ve seen it a bunch of times; I find the talking soothing and the lack of explosions easy to sleep with. But when I’m paying attention outside of the bedroom, these conversation films are more compelling to me than most heist films, road trip pictures, action comedies, horror movies, and certainly the worst of the superhero-saving-the-world movies.

What IS a “People Talking in Rooms” Movie, Exactly?

It’s not as easy to pin down as one might think. Yes, a courtroom drama is a lot of talking but it doesn’t qualify. When you think about it, rom-coms are two people doing a lot of talking, but the action and tension is what they’re not talking about.

Great scenery or getting outside of rooms most of the time is enough to bump from this category. Before Sunrise is both a rom-com and largely outdoors. Office Space is indoors but the plot revolves around Peter and co.’s actions instead of words. Even the interior world of Searching for Bobby Fischer is tempting, but chess is the engine as much as the talking (though I’m gonna have to write about that one soon).

I guess that’s where I’m defining this: The actions or interactions or conflict between characters in these movies are about what they say, not what they do.

Other made-up definitions here:

• Dialogue is the engine of the story.
• The important scenes occur in a limited number of interior spaces.
• Characters change each other’s minds more often than they change the physical world.
• Tension comes from persuasion, revelation, deception, confession, negotiation, or argument.
• If you removed the conversations, there’d be almost no movie left.

Who Coined the Term?

Filmmaker Mickey Reece has described his own style as “people talking in rooms,” and some critics have picked up the phrase. I’ve heard it said on a couple of podcasts, liked it, so I’m stealing it here. So, if you like the category, you can go ahead and start saying that I made it up if you need to attribute it to somebody.

So, strap in for some low-budget yet high-stakes drama. And yes, lots of these are gonna end up as plays. By the way, I’m trying to limit to one per director and screenwriter, otherwise we’d have about 8-to-12 David Mamet movies here. Apologies to 12 Angry Men, I went with Network for a Sidney Lumet masterpiece.

I’m not making this a countdown because it’s not science, I don’t have a scoring system, and most of all, I respect you enough not to pull a clickbait or longer-engagement gimmick on you. And speaking of no gimmicks – here we go:

1 – Michael Clayton
So many people are outright schooling each other just through conversation: Michael to the hit-and-run driver, Arthur’s episode in deposition, Arthur telling Michael he fucked up and he’s a bag man, Tilda Swinton ordering a murder, lots of people telling Michael the trouble he’s in (his boss, his mob creditor, his cop brother, his poker buddies). Every conversation is a hammer.
Signature Conversation: Michael winning in the end by taping a conversation. “I’m not the guy you kill. I’m the guy you buy! Are you so fucking blind that you don’t even see what I am? I sold out Arthur for 80 grand. I’m your easiest problem and you’re gonna kill me?”

2 – Margin Call
Please tell me you’ve seen this movie. If you haven’t and you’re reading this, it’s for you. The credit default swap disaster financial crisis of the late 2000s explained, but if you don’t get it, that doesn’t even matter. This is all about power dynamics in every conversation. The only “action” is selling toxic assets over the phone. Jeremy Irons, Kevin Spacey (I know), Stanley Tucci and others bringing the heat.
Signature Conversation: I love the Tucci bridge-building monologue and Spacey’s pep-talks but Jeremy Irons in the boardroom is gold. “ There are three ways to make a living in this business: be first, be smarter, or cheat.”

3 – The Insider
Not only is this smart people talking in rooms but about 50% of that is smart people talking on phones. Russell Crowe is great and on a low simmer the whole time but Al Pacino is eating everybody’s lunch in every conversation.
Signature Conversation: The CBS debates with the legal department … [chef’s kiss]. “ And Jeffrey Wigand, who’s out on a limb, does he go on television and tell the truth? Yes. Is it newsworthy? Yes. Are we gonna air it? Of course not. Why? Because he’s not telling the truth? No. Because he is telling the truth. That’s why we’re not going to air it. And the more truth he tells, the worse it gets! ”

4 – The Big Kahuna
An indie gem of a 3-hander featuring Danny DeVito, Peter Facinelli, and Kevin Spacey (I promise, his second-to-last appearance here). These three salesmen sell industrial lubricants and talk about life, about when/how to make their pitch, and then about how this kid blew it by proselytizing instead of selling. Maybe the least known movie here but the best example of what I’m talking about.
Signature Conversation: DeVito’s character defends Larry then turns the holier-than-thou kid on his head. “ The question is do you have any character at all? And if you want my honest opinion, Bob, you do not, for the simple reason that you don’t regret anything yet. I’m saying you’ve already done plenty of things to regret. You just don’t know what they are. ”

5 – Glengarry Glen Ross
Our list goes from the soft sell of The Big Kahuna to the hard sell of Glengarry. The play is maybe as good as any I can think of, and each actor gets their turn to act the crap out of their scenes. But then they added the most iconic talking just for the movie, the Alec Baldwin reading of the riot act and the new rules for the sales contest. This is toxic masculinity failing in front of our eyes and talking us through all of it. Toughest part is that Jack Lemmon (Shelly) will make you as sad as Willy Loman.
Signature Conversation: I could have picked any scene, but Alec Baldwin turns this movie up to 10 right away with the stakes and it stays there. “These are the new leads. These are the Glengarry leads. And to you they’re gold, and you don’t get them. Why? Because to give them to you is just throwing them away. They’re for closers. I’d wish you all good luck, but you wouldn’t know what to do with it if you got it. ”

6 – Network
World-class talking (William Holden, Faye Dunaway, Beatrice Straight) and shouting (Peter Finch, Robert Duvall) and Ned Beatty doing both. It’s a cliche to say this script and movie are “prescient” about reality TV, modern media, and late-stage capitalism, but that doesn’t make it untrue. Everything you need to know about how the world works is said from one character to another.
Signature Conversation: The whole movie changes when mad prophet Howard Beale runs into Ned Beatty’s corporate education and slapdown. “There is no America. There is no democracy. There is only IBM and ITT and AT&T and DuPont, Dow, Union Carbide, and Exxon. Those are the nations of the world today.”

7 – Six Degrees of Separation
Another stage adaptation, perhaps I should just see more plays and fewer movies. Will Smith was never as talky as this again. So many people are being convinced of things in every interchange, not just Paul’s lies. There’s an Inception level of conversations recalling conversations which recall other conversations.
Signature Conversation: Ouisa stopping the characters and the audience from thinking social chatter is so charming. “And we become these human jukeboxes spitting out these anecdotes to dine out on like we’re doing right now. Well, I will not turn him into an anecdote; it was an experience. How do we hold onto the experience?”

8 – Spotlight
Maybe the talkiest Best Picture to ever win an Oscar. This movie is almost a magic trick how it showed reporters reading, interviewing, and writing and is still compelling. Mark Ruffalo is the only guy who even raises his voice. Michael Keaton belongs in the People Talking in Rooms fictional Hall of Fame.
Signature Conversation: This movie goes or slows down depending on Robby (Keaton) pressing the gas or the brakes. “ We’ve got two stories here: a story about degenerate clergy, and a story about a bunch of lawyers turning child abuse into a cottage industry. Which story do you want us to write? Because we’re writing one of them.”

9 – The Odd Couple
Jokes are talking, too. There are suicide threats, divorce, sincere apologies and yet it’s one of the funniest plays and movies of all time. I’m just wondering if Oscar’s late-movie silent treatment of Felix still counts in this category.
Signature Conversation: The back-and-forth arguments are great, but when Walter Matthau is more sad and frustrated than angry is where it’s not all banter but actual friendship. “You leave me little notes on my pillow. Told you 158 times I can’t stand little notes on my pillow. “We’re all out of cornflakes. F.U.” Took me three hours to figure out F.U. was Felix Unger!”

10 – Carnage
Two sets of parents arguing about responsibility for their sons’ argument at school. Directed by Roman Polanski – good God this list has been problematic behind the scenes. All four leads (Jodie Foster, John C. Reilly, Kate Winslett, Christoph Waltz) are world class talking actors. Particularly Waltz, who talks in rooms better than anyone in Inglourious Basterds. The only action really taken here is dropping his BlackBerry into water, which ironically promotes more conversation.
Signature Conversation: Finally, late in the film when people stop being polite and start getting real; Kate Winslet lets it fly. “We come over here to work things out with them and they, they insult us, they browbeat us, they lecture us about being good citizens of the world! I am glad our son kicked the shit out of your son and I wipe my ass with your human rights!”

11 – The Spanish Prisoner
Maybe it’s not the David Mamet directed movie you would have thought; I hated leaving State and Main off the list, but too many things actually happen in that one. A feature-length movie with an elaborate con and twisted plot, it’s all done with talking. Steve Martin and Campbell Scott say plenty in their elliptical conversations around each other, but it’s Ricky Jay’s character who has the wisdom of a fortune cookie in every line.
Signature Conversation: The con artist is a misdirection artist, pointing out someone else for what HE’s doing. “If they are indebted to you morally but not legally, my experience is they will give you nothing, and they will begin to act cruelly toward you.”

12 – All The President’s Men
Seems weird to have this well below Spotlight when the Watergate movie was the O.G. of reporters doing their work movies. Almost every interview Woodward and Bernstein do is a master class in how to break down somebody’s defenses. And then the chatter among the editors at The Washington Post are perfect depictions how professionals who are great at their jobs talk to each other.
Signature Conversation: These are great lines from Ben Bradlee but also the point where the editors start believing in their young reporters. “He really said that about Mrs. Graham? [nods] Well, I’d cut the words “her tit” and print it. [“Why?”] This is a family newspaper.”

13 – The Big Chill
Great, deep cast, and while there are group talking scenes, I think every conceivable pair of characters each have their own one-on-one conversation. Maybe it’s a little dated or on the nose about the fade of the Sixties but it’s damn good. Come for the dancing around the kitchen making salads to Motown songs, stay for the discussions. There is another Lawrence Kasdan talking movie I need to advocate for: Mumford, check it out.
Signature Conversation: Looking back on this one years later, I’m agreeing most with the most cynical character. “I don’t know anyone who could get through the day without two or three juicy rationalizations. They’re more important than sex.” “Ah, come on. Nothing’s more important than sex.” “Oh yeah? Ever gone a week without a rationalization?”

14 – Carnal Knowledge
A zag from me in Mike Nichols catalog. Yes, we all know Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? is about the most uncomfortable conversations that people have ever had to overhear on film, and the film turns on the innocents not being that innocent. But I gotta ride for Carnal Knowledge which is sexist Jack Nicholson discussing sex and sexist ideas with his slightly less sexist buddy Art Garfunkel. Amazing talking movie because of how long the talking scenes are. Even in the weird ending, Jack’s character has scripted what his prostitute says back to him.
Signature Conversation: At the end of a rough talk between Ann-Margaret and Jack about how they don’t talk, it all eventually erupts. “I need a life.” “Get a job!” “I don’t want a job! I want you.” “I’m taken, by me!”

15 – The Hateful Eight
With the late action in this one it might seem like I violated my rule. But if you skip the third hour, this is two great hours of talking. Lots of Tarantino movie charm is just talking about something mundane; yes, in something like Pulp Fiction you’ll get a great riff about what to call burgers in Europe, but it’s only two minutes later that Sam Jackson is going to fire a huge gun. This is almost like murder mystery chatter with gathered suspects, like in Agatha Christie or Knives Out.
Signature Conversation: Tim Roth’s character almost argues against frontier justice (the point of the movie) by accident “The man who pulls the lever that breaks your neck will be a dispassionate man. And that dispassion is the very essence of justice. For justice delivered without dispassion is always in danger of not being justice.”

16 – The Queen
Not only is this all talking, but I don’t think anybody ever raises their voice. Just as Peter Morgan went on to make one of the two best Talking In Rooms television series ever (The Crown and the other being The West Wing). The British royals never disappoint from keeping their voices down, even in life and death situations. We’ve been focusing on the talking, but not very much about the rooms in these movies; it’s hard to beat Buckingham Palace and the castle at Balmoral for quality drawing rooms.
Signature Conversation: The Queen doesn’t read the room properly for the first 80% of this film, evidenced by quotes like this. “I doubt there is anyone who knows the British people more than I do, Mr. Blair, nor who has greater faith in their wisdom and judgement. And it is my belief that they will any moment reject this… this ‘mood’.”

17 – My Dinner With Andre
Maybe it’s unfair to omit indie talkfests like Coffee & Cigarettes or Smoke off the list and keep this, but at least this dinner is just two people the whole time, Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn. They achieved something almost inconceivable here, Andre is the outside-the-box guy while Shawn more prosaic New Yorker, they argue over the nature of existence and yet seem like real friends who genuinely want to hear what the other wants to say.
Signature Conversation: Andre Gregory is supposed to be the more intellectual of the two, but Wallace Shawn seems to make the better points. “I’m looking for more comfort because the world is very abrasive. I mean, I’m trying to protect myself because, really, there’s these abrasive beatings to be avoided everywhere you look!”

18 – In The Loop
We shouldn’t ignore comedy and this one, like the series it was based on (In The Thick Of It) and the one it inspired (Veep) it’s the fastest comedy you’re ever gonna see. Yes, it’s prime political satire. But it also raises a special kind of talking, swearing, to an absolute art form.
Signature Conversation: As great as the Veep actors are, nobody swears better and dresses somebody down better than Peter Capaldi in this movie. “Within your ‘purview’? Where do you think you are, some fucking regency costume drama? This is a government department, not some fucking Jane fucking Austen novel! Allow me to pop a jaunty little bonnet on your purview and ram it up your shitter with a lubricated horse cock!”

19 – The Social Network
David Fincher films are indeed visual feasts but let’s face it, this movie is mostly talking in rooms. Yes, there’s a lot of coding and typing but somehow they keep speaking while they’re writing software; something I’ve never been able to pull off. Zuckerberg is detached and seems to be talking because he loves the sound of his own voice, while everybody else is speaking to change somebody’s mind.
Signature Conversation: Sean Parker seducing Mark Zuckerberg, at least in the movie version, is where everything changes. “A million dollars isn’t cool. You know what’s cool? A billion.”

20 – Remains of the Day
Leave it to the English to make the perfect movie about things that go unsaid. There’s plenty of intelligent talking, and there aren’t many better than Anthony Hopkins and Emma Thompson at this sort of thing; but all of the talking is about everything except what they’re feeling.
Signature Conversation: Finally, Miss Kenton lays all of her cards out on the table and Stevens STILL can’t be honest with her or himself. “I am a coward. I’m frightened of leaving and that’s the truth. All I see out in the world is loneliness and it frightens me. That’s all my high principles are worth, Mr. Stevens. I’m ashamed of myself.” “Miss Kenton, you mean a great deal to this house. You’re extremely important to this house. Miss Kenton.”

It’s the seemingly endless band names and song names with “cute”, “funny” or “anti-establishment” capitalization and spacing.

I’m sure without prompting that you can think of 5-10 examples I didn’t include. Lower-case, removing spaces, numbers inside words, special characters.

I can’t decide if I’m annoyed by the practice or simply bored by it.

The more important question is: Why do artists do this? What’s being gained here?

Do people think this makes them interesting? Are they sticking it to “the man” and “Big Grammar”?

Period.

Recently, I reviewed RAYE’s new album “THIS ALBUM MAY CONTAIN HOPE.” with all caps then extra period. The same for all of the songs, e.g. “I WILL OVERCOME.”

Writing that review made my AI-assisted spell-check and proofing tools overheat. Yes, it became a little tedious over the course of that article; but that’s just a mildly annoying writer’s problem.

Artists should have artistic reasons for their decisions. I’m not saying they need to be brilliant reasons, just reasons. “Wouldn’t it be cool if we called our album ‘lowERcase’?” is not a reason.

Maybe the first writers, artists, and musicians to trade on offbeat punctuation or capitalization were proving a point – and it was saying something. But now???

When There Was a Point

E.E. Cummings used lower case for effect in his poetry, then his publisher listed his name as “e.e. cummings” on a couple of titles against his wishes. Singer K.D. Lang preferred the lower case “k.d. lang” stating that she was a fan of “E.E. Cummings” who’s lower-case was a false premise – so, then we’re off to the imitative races.

Prince moved to a symbol for a reason – a dispute with his record company; and it was newsworthy for about two weeks as setups to bad comedian punchlines.

But the artists copying the artists who copied the artists who were copying those original artists are treading in some pretty tired waters.

Yes, copycats are a part of every art form:

• Faux Tarantino dialogue about hamburgers
• Delay pedals as shorthand for mood after U2 perfected it
• Auto-tune after T-Pain
• Found footage movies after Blair Witch Project
• Mockumentary interviews after Waiting for Guffman.
• Undisciplined meth-head run-on sentences after Jack Keruoac.

A wise man could have said, “Don’t borrow the artifact if you don’t understand the impulse that created it.”

Think Before You Misspell

The practice of being unfettered by correct spelling or capitalization would be more convincing if half the industry weren’t doing the exact same thing.

And while I’m trying to give advice to bands and authors who are not reading this, the practice is a terrible unforced error in the modern marketplace. Making your artist’s name, album title, or songs unsearchable in lots of popular search algorithms can reduce fans’ odds of finding you. Hope it was worth it.

Who are these bands rebelling against? Apple Music? The Chicago Style Manual?

My Only Unusually Titled Experience

One of my favorite collaborators has been Spud Davenport in our musical project, Leaders In The Clubhouse. He was adamant that our song be titled ‘LawnChairs’ instead of ‘Lawn Chairs.’ I never completely understood the reasoning, but I also didn’t think it mattered much.

When reviewers occasionally wrote it as two words, I just couldn’t bring myself to care. If someone liked the song enough to mention it, that seemed like the important part.

My bigger artistic style regrets were swearing for little to no reason in a couple of early songs I recorded. Did that make us edgy? Or did it just make us go through a pointless hassle of putting an “Explicit Content” label on the record?

Conventional Can Be the Most Unconventional Move

The artists and thinkers I admire most often looked remarkably conventional on the surface.

Joseph Campbell and Tom Wolfe are heroes of mine, and partially because they proved the most revolutionary can do their thing under the cover of looking totally conventional. They didn’t need eccentric branding, or visual gimmicks to signal originality. The work did that for them.

I hate to sound like a defender of conventional thinking – and I’m not. I’m defending convention, not conventional thinking. The more buttoned-down types usually are the ones that last longer; normalcy is a Trojan horse for revolutionary art.

If somebody wants to write or record something outside of the mainstream, save it for the actual art instead of the punctuation.

After a period of silence and retreating back to my “comfort food” diet of The Beatles, The Who, Big Star, etc., it’s nice to hear something new and uplifting in a vein that I appreciate.  Crafted songs with warmth that exude hope are the main menu items on Maybe Things Will Be Alright, the newest offering from New York-based singer-songwriter Jim Allen.  What makes this album even more appetizing for me is that it features two of my favorite musicians (and biggest influences) as part of the ensemble – Peter Holsapple and Richard Barone.  I sat with this album to digest it, since it’s been a while of me actively listening and wanting to share my view.

The opening track (which is also the album’s title) is an instantly warming piece; Mr. Allen’s vocals reminds me in ways of Warren Zevon (who I’ve always been a fan of) – the music is fitting and soothing – and Mr. Holsapple’s harmonies add that special touch.  “Let My People Go To Sleep” is an upbeat, countrified track with witty Biblical lyrics and I couldn’t help but smile at the turns of phrases used.  “In A Cave” has slightly more sinister (but very wry) feel and features Mr. Barone on harmonies; the use of organ is very well placed as the track’s foundation and Mr. Barone’s signature Ebow adds a perfect, eerie element.

“Downpour Blue” has a swamp-boogie texture and some deft guitar work interwoven with (what sounds like to me) Fender Rhodes keyboard; again, Mr. Allen exercises wit and humor in a subtle lyrical manner.  “They Get Up” has a ’70’s bluesy vibe with a quasi-singspeak style and a dark zombie narration; the guitar work is heavier and tasteful and works on all levels; “Covered In Snow” is another track that makes you smile from the opening lyrics (“I’m a shivering bastard frozen in place/panic is plastered all over my face…”).  “It’s Hard” closes this album with a straightforward mid-tempo ’70’s rock essence – the slide guitar instantly reminded me of George Harrison’s post-Beatles works.

All in all, this is a very good, strong and upbeat album that I do, indeed, recommend.  It’s clearly a labor of love and fun – and isn’t that what music is supposed to do?  Make us smile and bring joy.  Jim Allen’s latest release does both.

Oh, and for the record – I know I made a lot of dietary references at the outset; the last few months have been extremely difficult and stressful and I did (in fact) lose over 30 pounds, so I suppose there’s a silver lining in this!

Maybe Things Will Be Alright is currently available

https://jimallen.bandcamp.com/album/maybe-things-will-be-alright

Uptown saw my return to the Delacorte and Shakespeare in the Park for Romeo & Juliet, only the third time it’s been mounted there in its decades-long history. Whatever the weather it’s always a pleasure to visit; it was closed for a year for renovations, then I couldn’t make it over last summer for its reopening. Onstage it’s pretty much the same as always, for better or worse. You get some fine veteran actors (Francis Jue as Friar Lawrence, Deirdre O’Connell as Nurse, LaChanze as Lady Capulet) supporting spirited newcomers in the title roles and some expert lighting (Christopher Akerlind) as night falls…and some not-quite-fully baked sociopolitical asides about immigration and ICE played in front of a wall set, from which should be hung a sign reading “beware of metaphor.” Worse, in terms of overall coherence, is that much of the first act is in Spanish (no, not Italian in this Verona), which will vex many viewers unfamiliar with that language or Shakespeare’s. (Including, perhaps, the noted TV actress seated in front, who left after intermission.) Rather than break down walls director Saheem Ali’s choice throws up barriers. My daughter (an R&J fan) and I rolled with the inspiration through thick and thin, though the audience members who will most remember this production are the ones Jue, a minister, are marrying each performance ends (a sweet touch).

Downtown is hosting a musical…well, make that “play with music,” of Susanna Kaysen’s memoir Girl, Interrupted, which is best known for its 1999 film adaptation, an Oscar winner for supporting actress Angelina Jolie. There’s a good deal of snake pit melodrama in the movie’s tale of institutionalization, which this production largely eschews. Remember the discomfiting scar makeup worn by Elisabeth Moss as inmate Polly, who tried to immolate herself? There’s none on her here–we’re told, and mostly not shown, dramatic events, largely narrated by Susanna (Juliana Canfield), who after a suicide attempt has found herself in dreary McLean, a Boston area hospital for troubled young women. It’s 1967, and there aren’t a lot of therapeutic options for outsiders, non-conformists, or the clinically or just generally depressed or despondent.

Around the spartan turntable set, under cheerless lighting, range the other inmates: live-wire sociopath Lisa (King Princess, making her stage debut in the Jolie part), schizophrenic Grace (Mia Pak), eating-disordered Daisy (Katherine Reis), and the unfortunate Polly (Sally Shaw). Their interactions with each other, their doctor (Emily Skinner), a nurse (Ta’Rea Campbell), and a “male presence” of various untrustworthy dads and mentors (Manoel Felciano) form the story, propelled by Aimee Mann’s songs. The ‘Til Tuesday co-founder and solo artist, notable for the classically moody Magnolia soundtrack among other works, holds up the “music” end of the bargain; she worked on this show for years and has performed some of the songs in concert, and the actors play some of the instruments as well as sing. Her music is the soul and spine of the piece, giving powerful voice to Polly (in her taut number “Burn It Out”) and Susanna and Grace’s plaintive, amusing “Robert Lowell and Sylvia Plath,” about the creative and psychological travails of two famed McLean “alums.” (“I hope Sylvia’s family got a refund,” Susanna wryly comments, in a rare humorous moment.)

The “play” side has problems. I appreciate that the show isn’t doing the usual screen-to-stage thing of awkwardly recreating big movie moments, but too often over about two intermission-less hours it’s not doing much at all. The estimable director (Jo Bonney) and playwright (Martyna Majok, of Cost of Living) keep the proceedings intimate and at ground level, with drama at a minimum. It’s protective of these fragile young women and supportive of the community they try to make, an uphill battle as casualties mount (delicately choreographed by Sonya Tayeh). In trying not to define them by their conditions, however, Girl, Interrupted ends up doing just that, as there’s not much else to differentiate their shared storyline as it idles, despite a gallery of fine performances led by Canfield, a Tony nominee for Stereophonic. I hate to say it, but a show focused on mental illness needed more passion, more intensity, more craziness.

One gift the band shows off at the jump is their knack for writing a good two-chord song, which is much harder than it sounds. “Can’t Stop Myself” sets the tone for everything that follows. The band carefully chooses their drop-out and drop-in moments with the instrumentation (the drums here, the bass there), and bit by bit the song evolves into a rave. The funky “Skyline” sports a bass line from 1979, which is fitting because the scratch guitar work from Matthew McFadden owes a small debt to Nile Rodgers.  “Terrify” has guitar work that nails the 1975 comp home (think “She’s American”).

One of the album’s best tracks is saved for next to last. “When It’s Raining” is anchored by a piano line so simple and catchy that it’s unthinkable that no one has come up with it yet. Turning the song into a chain gang chorus at the end is a genius move, and they don’t stop there; the finale raises the stakes even higher.

Throughout the album, singer Ben Glanfield shows off an aching tenor, and matching falsetto, that will make the young girls swoon, and the fact that he looks like a bit Finn Wolfhard doesn’t hurt. This is also where the band could get into trouble. It’s easy to see Borderline become the next Maroon 5, and at first, the band might love that kind of attention (and album sales), but navigating that space over the long haul is tricky.

But for now, sure,  they should lean all in on songs like the synthy/funky “That Girl,” or “Watching It Burn,” which travels in similar Y2K pop/rock territory. If they’re smart, though, these are first steps, not the blueprint for things to come.

Borderline has the chops, the pipes, and the tunes, the holy trinity of pop stardom. The only question is what they’re more interested in accumulating: accolades or groupies, both of which are well within their grasp. It will be interesting to see what the band chooses to do with this moment. At the very least, it’s nice to see a young band that knows how to play.

What does that tell us, besides how shallow my social media experience is?

I think the interesting thing is that this genuinely crappy-to-mediocre show is fondly remembered by people who haven’t watched it for 40 or 50 years. And there’s only one reason: A great theme song in the opening credits.

Obviously, TV has changed a lot in the past 40-50 years. This is not a “things were better back then” post. Obviously, everything changed over the years, for good or for bad, or both.

When it comes to television … yes, we lost some charm while we gained sharper storytelling. We traded a comfortable start to our favorite shows for a lot more content in 30 minutes of viewing now.

Spoiler alert: things are different now than they were in 1982.

Emotional Connection

Some older TV fans might wax nostalgic for theme songs that had some emotional weight. This sounds absurd to somebody under 25 now, but older people are actually fond of Laverne & Shirley. (I dated a girl who cried when Richie left Happy Days.)

In retrospect, it’s hard to appreciate the monoculture of just having three channels on television. I would argue that 1950-2000 was the only time in human history that most of society was on the same page culturally. Everybody saw the Star Wars movie. Kids would share their excitement in their 4th grade cloak room about a Mork & Mindy joke. We all watched the same thing.

But there was something more that inveterate TV watchers were connecting to. It’s a cliche to say that viewers welcomed shows into their living room, but it’s kind of true.

Watching these shows and listening to a theme song once a week like clockwork let those songs crawl into people’s heads as much or more than any pop radio earworm.

Some of these dopey songs really stuck with people. Even something as dumb as singing along to “The Flintstones” theme is evidence of a character connecting with others in Planes, Trains & Automobiles:

Theme songs were emotional conditioning about the show that viewers were about to watch. Cheers writer/producer Ken Levine credits the beloved “Cheers Theme” for establishing the mood of the show. Audiences felt comfortable well before Norm walked into the bar.

Different themes served different purposes. The opening songs for Gilligan’s Island or Land of the Lost basically were 90-second pieces of exposition for the shows’ premises. The Frasier theme told us what Frazier Crane was all about. Kicking Friends off with “I’ll Be There for You” created a bed for escapist laughs watching our attractive celebrity “friends.” The theme from Quincy, M.E. …. I don’t know what the hell that cop show musical gumbo was.

Killing Time

TV used to kill a lot of time. First off, network sitcoms and dramas typically had 26 episodes in a season. That’s a lot of programming to fill.

If you take an hourlong cop show and subtract the commercials, producers needed to fill 44 to 46 minutes. The credits and end theme could chew up another 2 minutes. And this seems impossible with modern pacing but honest to God, a typical episode of Mannix, Banacek, or The Rockford Files would show their protagonists literally just driving from one place to another for about 4 of those minutes.

The longer a theme song that a show would have could mean less show that producers had to fill. Get a 2-minute theme song in a 30-minute sitcom, and now you only have to write 18 minutes of successful television. To paraphrase what they say of middling starting pitchers in baseball, TV theme songs could “eat innings.”

Now that cable shows are having 8- or 10-episode seasons, there’s no need for filler anymore.

Modern Viewing

Watch any old show to see how quaint everything about the pacing was. The modern era has a multitude of factors that have effectively erased the long opening sequence.

When you stream a show in an app now, you get the option to Skip Intro. That’s a godsend for people in a hurry. It’s also a ridiculous exercise for shows that don’t have a long intro. By the time you find your remote to skip the opening of Lost or Modern Family, it’s already over.

Also, if you’re binging an old sitcom that uses the same theme as its ending, every 22 minutes of viewing you’re going to hear that music twice. And you’ll hear it consecutively at the end of the first one you watch then right into the opening of the next episode. As clever as The Simpsons theme is, it’s relentless in a binge format.

Themey Awards

I was so tempted to make the embedded clip fest that we all want here with the premise of some fake awards. But let’s leave some meat on that bone for a future article with categories like “Most Misleading Theme Song (Wrong Mood, Right Show)” and “Too Much Crammed in One Piece of Music.”

But the clip I need to show you now features Albert Brooks and Dan Ackroyd playing guess the theme game like so many of us have done on long road trips; although without the Twilight Zone twist at the end:

Lessons Learned

The disappearance of the television theme song represents a broader fragmentation of shared cultural ritual in an increasingly atomized media ecosystem …

Sorry, I’m just effing with you. Sure, this trend does indeed say some things about where TV is now vs. 30 or 40 years ago. But this isn’t a “think piece”, it’s a “feel piece.” Theme songs were just plain fun.

Yet these songs endured in fans’ minds, much more than the actual shows they were introducing. Can your friends quote any line of dialogue from Gilligan’s Island? But I’ll bet that they can sing the theme song, word perfect.

What is future nostalgia in 20 years gonna be like about the cultural artifacts of 2026? There’s nothing to sing along to.

Without iconic songs that everybody knows because we were all once part of a monoculture, what are people gonna do? Hum the opening from The Bear, Pluribus or The White Lotus? Good luck.

Gettin’ old

Gettin’ grey

Gettin’ ripped off

Underpaid

Gettin’ sold

Second hand

That’s how it goes

Playin’ in a band

In a way, that’s the plot of “Power Ballad” — although, this being a movie, there’s more to it. For Rick Power and his band, the gig is the gig: play the hits at a party, flatter the married couple, and get the crowd dancing to tried-and-true songs that offend no one and appeal to nearly everyone at a wedding reception. Cover bands have done this for decades, and so have mobile DJs. It’s a job. It pays the bills. It’s also soul-sucking work for someone who dreams — or used to dream — of making it big, of singing hit songs to capacity crowds at Madison Square Garden. That, in a nutshell, is Rick Power: a 50-something American living in Ireland with his wife and teenage daughter. We learn early on that Rick was once signed to a label, but then he met his wife, took a year off to sort some things out, and returned to the business only to find himself dropped. Having traded his rock-star dreams for the practical life of providing for his family as the frontman of a cover band, he’s mostly at peace with his choice — even when he empties the dance floor at the end of a reception by playing a song no one remembers and, frankly, was never a hit.

At the rich couple’s reception, Rick meets a former boy band singer named Danny Wilson,* played by Nick Jonas. After some pleading by the groom, Danny joins Rick’s band on stage, singing the Stevie Wonder classic “I Wish.” Later that night, Rick and Danny end up in Danny’s room jamming on songs, talking about their careers, forming a good working bond, and helping each other with material they’ve written but are struggling with. Toward the end of the evening, Rick starts singing part of a ballad he’s been working on for decades. Danny is taken by how powerful the song is and makes some suggestions. The two part ways with a kind of bro hug, and it seems like a good experience for both (Danny even gives Rick his manager’s card and an expensive guitar). Danny leaves Ireland for L.A., and Rick goes back to his life. Six months later, Rick is at a mall buying soccer cleats for his daughter when he hears his song blaring from the overhead speakers.

The rest of the film is Rick trying to get a writing credit for the song. He searches his computer for a demo he swears was recorded, asks his family, his friends, and anyone else who knows him whether they remember him singing it, and no one can. Danny knows the song wasn’t entirely his, but he minimizes Rick’s role as a co-writer. When Danny’s manager asks how the song came about, Danny says he can’t quite remember. He notes that Rick was in the room when it was sung, but there were no witnesses, no demo with Rick’s voice on it–nothing pointing to his contribution. Without any evidence to the contrary, Danny takes sole credit for the song and rides the wave of success after its release.

The plot of “Power Ballad” isn’t novel in the least, but the details of the songwriting process, playing in a cover band, and even parts of the music business feel authentic. Credit writer-director John Carney (himself a musician who was, yes, in a band over three decades ago) for capturing these aspects of being a musician.

There’s been more than enough ink spilled on how brutal the music business is, but rarely has a film given a mass audience a glimpse like this. Sure, this is a fictional depiction, but it shows how fleeting fame can be. At one point, Danny’s manager tells him he badly needs a hit from the songs he’s demoed. If Danny doesn’t deliver, he’s looking at a future of eating live bugs on reality TV or joining a nostalgia tour to hawk his old boy-band hits. It’s that moment of desperation that leads Danny to steal Rick’s song and make it his own.

As I noted above, the plot of “Power Ballad” is far from original — but Rudd’s performance is very strong, as are those of several castmates. Of note are Peter McDonald (who plays Sandy, Rick’s loyal sidekick and lead guitarist) and Jack Reynor as Mac, Danny’s douchey but pragmatic manager. What about Nick Jonas? He’s okay — nothing stellar in his performance as Danny, but his presence is clearly calculated to appeal to those who grew up with the Jonas Brothers.

Overall, “Power Ballad” is a lot like the crowd-pleasing songs Rick plays at wedding receptions: formulaic, predictable, but ultimately joyful in its execution.

*If you’re of a certain age, you may remember the 1987 song “Mary’s Prayer” by the Scottish pop band Danny Wilson. It was written by Gary Clark, who also co-wrote many of the songs in “Power Ballad” with John Carney.