Here to comment on the ongoing situation at home and abroad is the celebrated fictional news commentator and father of Pamela, Alistar "Talky" Tudsbury.

Direct from the colonies, this is my report:

It is Spring in Sonoma County…or as the natives prefer to call it, “Extreme Fire Danger until Monday.” The official start of the season keeps being pushed forward due to what flat-earthers and Q Anon conspiracists refer to as high probability of Jewish Space Lasers along with a fifty percent chance of denial.
 
When most people are worried about whether they remembered to take their Claritin in the morning, Californians are packing and repacking our Go bags while walking around our homes documenting with cellphones purchases over a thousand dollars made in the last year. It’s a festive season, filled with dry, hot winds that closely resemble the dust storms in the film Interstellar. Meanwhile in Washington, the minority rep in Congress, a shithead by the name of Kevin McCarthy literally screws over a colleague while his beloved state gets ready to combust before all our eyes. That’s okay though, because he’s from Bakersfield will ever burn to the ground. Sorry, Bakersfield.
 
Record Tornados in the Midwest, floods in the South, it’s like living in a Roland Emmerich movie with the benefit of an entertaining Harvey Firestone cameo.

But at least Republicans in Arizona continue with their important work, checking ballots for Chinese Bamboo fragments and DNA from the Bob Crane dinner theatre murders. I swear to God, we all expect Yanks to be dumb but really? They are surpassing the fictional world of Idiocracy in leaps and bounds here. 

Cheerio.
 
This is Alistair Tudsberry signing off.

​

​I have a confession to make, I’m not really into reunions. I did attend my high school 20 year, but only to prove that I was in fact, despite all rumors to the contrary, still alive. That being said, there is one such reunion I do plan on attending.
 
Have I piqued your interest? Read on.
 
They have them for Star Trek, Stargate, Star Wars and even Dr. Who. The popularity of these fan based get togethers has grown into a phenomenon that generate millions of dollars in revenue and continued good will to the brand. Comic-Con takes over an entire Southern California city. And now, after 50 years, Stephen Schwartz’s musical, Godspell will be getting joining the ranks of such gatherings. And why not? This little musical chestnut has launched a rabid fan base of followers and ex cast members that have never forgotten their relationship with this memorable bit of theatre history. And now, after 50 years, we’re all getting together for a virtual shindig to celebrate our experiences with a show that has become indelible part of our collective memory. Godspell has launched careers, created friendships and in the spring of 1974, in one of the first productions on the west coast, I was lucky enough to join these hallowed ranks.

​One of the secrets to getting the most out of this show is the cast. If you don’t believe me, ask Paul Schaeffer, Martin Short, Gilda Radner, Victor Garber, Sylvester Stallone or any of the thousands of others who have been lucky enough to have this show on their resume (okay, I am lying about Sly, but wouldn’t that have been an interpretation worth seeing?). We had some of the best in my own show including Robert Allen, Alan Turner, Judy Jaroz, Jerry Wolfe, Tom Graff, Michelle Mariana, Julie Wiley, Audrey Smith, with musical direction by the great jazz arranger/composer Dave Barduhn and directed for the stage by Richard Melo. To all of us, it truly was lightning in a bottle and in all my ensuing years of theatre, the experience has never been duplicated.
 
So, when a digital flier, with my own Godspell publicity photo on the cover, showed up promising a reunion of like-minded enthusiasts, I signed up. And, despite what you might think,  it was not just because of my photo. Next week, I join the ranks of fellow cast members to talk, share and compare notes. I doubt any of our war stories will rival storming Normandy Beach but am quite sure that some may very well be worth relating. 
 
I am just disappointed that no one asked me to lead one of the many panel discussions.
 
I even have an idea for my subject:
 
It’s not Jesus Christ Superstar, damn it! That’s a whole other show.
 
Anyway, I will be there and if you happened to be in any of the casts to the happiest show on earth, consider joining us.

​For the uninitiated, the term Traegering sounds like some German sport involving beer, ice skates and an oversized catcher’s mitt. In point of fact, only one of these items qualifies as a required accessory. Hint. It’s the first. Celebrity Traegering kicks the concept up a notch (so very sorry for the Guy Fieri reference), and unlike Battle of the Network Stars, does not involve in any way, shape or form washed up television celebrities. 
 
Traegering is actually a term for a slow cooking and smoking process with a cooking device that resembles an oversized black barrel atop a matching sawhorse. When I refer to Celebrity Traegering, I am referring to me with my stellar IMDB STARmeter rating of 1,257.318 (up 6,718 from just last month). I know about this particular brand of smoker because I fell victim to its devilish cult a year ago and have since Traegered everything from a full Thanksgiving Day Turkey, a New Year’s Prime Rib to a St. Paddy’s Day Corn Beef. But this is black canister of flavor is not just for carnivores. We’ve done fish, veggies and even a pizza or two. And because of my vast experience, I felt it my duty to pass a long a few helpful hints and even a recipe to heighten your Traeger experience that will make you the envy of your neighborhood Ace Hardware Store, (which you will be forced to visit every couple of days to pick up more Traeger Signature Pellets).
 
For the record, Traeger smoking pellets come in the following flavors:
Hickory
Apple
Cherry
Pecan
Maple
Alder
And two new flavors:
Dr. Pepper (which for copyright reasons is called Mister Beevis)
And something called Orange Creamsicle Kush.
 
There also happens to be something called Signature blend, which my brother-in-law insists is just a combination of all the flavors swept up off the floor after a long day at the Traeger factory.
 
So, based on my recommendation, you have purchased a Traeger and are now ready to cook to your heart’s content (or disease, whichever comes first). There are literally billions of Traeger recipes online and for legal reasons, I suggest you stick to those. However, I have taken the liberty of sharing one of my favorite recipes that has been passed onto me by a fellow enthusiast.
Enjoy!
 
Ben’s Scotch and Soda with Smoked Ice Cubes 
 
What you will need:
Non-flammable container
Water
 
Set smoker at 225. Place tap or filtered water (completely at your discretion) in a container. Preheat smoker. Place container fat side up on the Traeger grill. (Hint: Somehow you always smoke everything, including water, fat side up). Smoke water. Take water off the grill before you lose all of it to evaporation. Place remaining H20 in ice cube holder. Freeze. Add Scotch.
 
There you have it. Simple, right? Until next time, happy Traegering!

​Next week: Air Fryers for Dummies

“All modern television comes from one show by Amy Sherman Palladino called Gilmore Girls.”  Ernest Hemingway  (1951)

​Each additional discovery of lost sections of Hemingway’s masterpiece A Movable Feast, brings fresh insights into the mind of one of our greatest American Authors. While rummaging through the author’s belongings in Ketchum Idaho, researchers stumbled onto a discovery that unfortunately left far more questions than answers. In 1950, How did the author come upon a 32-inch Sony flatscreen television, along with a functioning DVR and how did he happen to have recorded all seven seasons of the hit WB show, Gilmore Girls?
 
“Gilmore Girls is Must-See TV for a desperate crew aboard the Pilar, hunting Nazi subs in the Carribean. God, how I wish I had it during the great war.”
 
As baffled as these historians were, they were intrigued to find a list of references to the mother/daughter dramedy scattered amongst the author’s recollections of his early days in Paris, Spain and Switzerland. As a benefit to both fans of Hemingway, as well as the beloved show featuring Rory and Lorelai, here are a list of some of the more notable entries that did not make it into the author’s opus.
 
“I have looked into the pale faces of comrades both dead and dying and have come to the realization that nothing is as horrific as the prospect of a Friday night family dinner with Emily Gilmore.”
 
Wow. It is exactly this type of astute observation that breathes new life into all of the great author’s works.
 
“Sookie St. James is not only short but also nothing short of delightful.”
 
I find it quite remarkable that this great author discovered the potential of Melissa McCarthy a full decade before Bridesmaids. 
 
“Lorelai Gilmore reminds me of my third wife, Martha Gellhorn. What I’d give to show that television minx the color of my Cuba and to let her experience firsthand the true taste of pre revolution coffee.”
 
Always a connoisseur of beauty, brains and a decent cup of coffee, the comparison to Martha Ellis Gellhorn, noted writer and adventurer, is worth noting for future reference.
 
“I’d have bludgeoned Dean with a dull and rusty bayonet for what he did to my sweet little Rory.”  
 
Frankly, this notation leaves me quite puzzled as it was clearly “sweet, little Rory who dumped Dean on their third month anniversary. Perhaps the author is only projecting the hurt that one lonely child will experience on her journey to adulthood. Either that, or he just had something against Dean.
 
Unfortunately, the author’s last entry in regard to the Gilmore comments was as follows:
 
“What the hell is this Netflix and how do I get it?”
 
Although not mentioning Gilmore Girls by name, it is believed that this entry was regarding the announcement of a short-lived revival on the paid streamer. For the record, this, and not the author’s reported diabetic diagnosis, is believed to be tied to the author’s suicide in Ketchum Idaho in 1961. 

​Well, not be outdone by Zack Snyder, Francis Ford Coppola releases a new version of Godfather 3, titled Godfather Coda: The Death of Michael Corleone. And trimming 20 minutes from the original and restructuring the opening does wonders to what many consider to be a problematic entry into the series. 
 
First things first. Let’s get something out on the family dining table right away. Sophia is not that bad. She isn’t great and perhaps we were spoiled by other female performances in the previous films, but she is not that bad either. The success or failure of this film never rested on her shoulders. So, let’s give that a rest. Pick her up and drop her in another film, say Heathers, and she would have been outstanding. We have been unfair and owe her an apology.
 
Well, I’m waiting for your apology. Whenever you’re ready.
 
The biggest change I noted is the exposition offered by one George Hamilton. This made all the difference to me between the first and second version. In the first, the tanned one himself, does next to nothing, simply standing there grinning in all of his tanned glory. In the second, he gets dialogue, real dialogue, exposition even, that helps support the entire film. George without dialogue is off-putting and annoying. George with dialogue, especially exposition, is brilliant. As a cigar-smoking, leering uber businessman, calculating the takeover the world’s financial institutions, his presence becomes more than necessary. 

​Who'd have thunk it?
 

​All of the performances by the regulars remain stellar and the addition of Eli Wallach, Andy Garcia and Joe Mantegna all add new muted colors to the Copolla’s tapestry. But it’s in the little details where this movie shines. Take a look at Garcia’s mother. Does she look familiar? I thought she might. That is Sonny’s mistress, actress Lucy Mancini, from the infamous wedding scene from the original Godfather. These are the little things that I love about these movies. After all, this is fundamentally a film about family.

“I want all of you to enjoy your cake, so... enjoy.”
 
Everyone needs a hero. Someone to look up to. That special someone who grabbed life by the balls and made it his own. One such hero is entrepreneur, molasses runner, friend of Cuba before Castro, and my favorite character from Godfather Pt 2, Hyman Roth. 
 
Today we celebrate his genius.
 
Hyman Roth lived through a lot of changes in the modern world and these changes never seemed to affect him.
 
Well, almost never.
 
“I'd give four million just to be able to take a piss without it hurting.”
 
He was a businessman who truly knew the art of the deal.
 
“I'm going in to take a nap. When I wake, if the money's on the table, I'll know I have a partner. If it isn't, I'll know I don't.”
 
Because he always money for his partners.
 
“Hyman Roth always makes money for his partners. One by one, our old friends are gone. Death, natural or not, prison, deported. Hyman Roth is the only one left, because he always made money for his partners.”
 
He was a philosopher
 
“Good health is the most important thing. More than success, more than money, more than power.”
 
Baseball fan
 
“I loved baseball ever since Arnold Rothstien fixed the World Series in 1919.”
 
Loyal Friend
 
“There was this kid I grew up with; he was younger than me. Sorta looked up to me, you know. We did our first work together, worked our way out of the street. Things were good, we made the most of it. During Prohibition, we ran molasses into Canada... made a fortune, your father, too. As much as anyone, I loved him and trusted him. Later on he had an idea to build a city out of a desert stop-over for GI's on the way to the West Coast. That kid's name was Moe Greene, and the city he invented was Las Vegas. This was a great man, a man of vision and guts. And there isn't even a plaque, or a signpost or a statue of him in that town! Someone put a bullet through his eye. No one knows who gave the order. When I heard it, I wasn't angry; I knew Moe, I knew he was head-strong, talking loud, saying stupid things. So when he turned up dead, I let it go. And I said to myself, this is the business we've chosen; I didn't ask who gave the order, because it had nothing to do with business!”
 
And didn’t possess a prejudice bone in his body.
 
“I Don't Trust A Doctor Who Can Hardly Speak English.”
 
And most important, a dreamer!
 
“If I could only live to see it, to be there with you. What I wouldn't give for twenty more years! Here we are, protected, free to make our profits without Kefauver, the goddamn Justice Department and the F.B.I. ninety miles away, in partnership with a friendly government. Ninety miles! It's nothing! Just one small step, looking for a man who wants to be President of the United States, and having the cash to make it possible. Michael, we're bigger than U.S. Steel.”
 
It seems like only yesterday when this great American stood up to the fake media and made this final, dramatic statement.

​Well, it was bound to happen and why not? Everyone else is doing it. I even hear that Great Clips is offering an HBO Max tie-in appropriately titled The Snyder Cut (can you add about two hours to the sides). So, here we go, in honor of all of that and, because everyone else is doing it, my thoughts on The Justice League, the Snyder Cut.
 
Before we perform a ceremonial pig-pile on Joss Whedon (yes, I think referencing a pig is quite appropriate), I want to state that I was a fan of some of his earlier work. Some episodes of Buffy the Vampire Killer are some of the finest television ever written. And Firefly, well, I was late coming to the short-lived series but eventually became a huge fan. The first Avengers is groundbreaking and opened up the whole genre of filmmaking. But as Patton warned, all glory is fleeting and the first in the series was followed by Avengers: The Age of Ultron and was as bad as the other film was good. I’ll leave out the Shakespeare at the Hollywood pool party which literally is Much Ado About Nothing, so, there you have it. Fan to not, quicker than you can say Marvel: Agents of Shield.
 
From what I have read, Warner’s (Warner Brothers to the uneducated and to anyone who has never been invited onto the lot), decided that they did not like Snyder’s version and were looking for a way to can him. Like the rest of his super-hero films, his version of the story was too hooty snooty (their words not mine) and needed to include more fun. You know, like The Thin Man or, say, The Hangover Part III. And this caped crusaders as gods bit. That definitely had to go. Keep the sermons to Sunday, brother, So, when Snyder’s back was turned with a family tragedy the boom was lowered and he was let go. Apparently, Dorothy Parker wasn’t available, so the studio turned to Whedon to turn what they already had into Justice League: Smart, good looking and sassy. They reshot some major footage, added a metric ton of quips, digitally erased a mustache and turned Synder’s black Superman suit into a more fitting and cheerful red and blue. The result is just what you would expect and is what I suspect of starting the whole pandemic that we find ourselves in, henceforth to be referred to the Whedon flu.
 
Now, onto the Snyder cut which is divided into 6 chapters (which is the exact number of Christ’s apostles cut in half, get it?), and runs shortly over four hours. Despite the running time, the movie has clear goals and accomplishes most of them. Characters that seemed a bit thin in the original have been fleshed out, and the story itself seems to make a bit more sense. I watched the film in increments, and it seemed to work. I stayed interested and found the additions compelling. The addition of The Martian Manhunter, Darkseid, Deathstroke made sense with only the multiple worlds, Joker scenario and the Lord of the Rings when is this going to end not really working for me. But, with all that, I think it is the superior version and definitely worth a look or three. I will be revisiting, just to see it in black and white.

(Pictured above:  The Melnor XT... which is not a phone)

The script was called The Shadow Riders, the call was from producer Ed Elbert (The Mighty Quinn) and the phone call happened to be answered by my elderly mother. 
 
With divorce comes many sacrifices, one of which is being flat broke and having to move in with a family member. Bless her heart, that person happened to be my mother. I repeatedly briefed my mother on the importance of any incoming call but somehow the constant admonishments on my part faded over the days, weeks and months and the dire importance of this particular call became as unimportant as any other of the lifestyle choices I had made. 
 
It was summer, the sky was blue, a rarity in Oregon at the time, and a weekend with my daughter was just getting started. As a celebration of the rare Portland weather, I had set up sprinkler in the front lawn and was showing my four-year-old the ins and outs of racing through an abundant water supply. My daughter, was getting the hang of it quite well, squealing and delighting in every dash and dodge through the Melnor 4500 oscillating fun. At forty years of age, and no slouch myself in this department, I was more than willing to provide examples for her for trips through the watery fantastic.
 
I did not hear the phone ring.
 
She could have played their all day but eventually I talk my daughter into going back inside, so we could both dry off and share our stories of humans versus water. At four years of age, it is all about the challenge. We adjourned inside my childhood home and were greeted by mother.
 
“You had a phone call,” she said pleasantly. 
 
My ears perked up. Were they still on the line?
 
“I told them you were busy.” 
 
“Who was it?” I pleaded. “And why didn’t you call me?”
 
“It was someone named Ed,” she answered innocently. 
 
Ed, was of course Ed Elbert the producer of The Mighty Quinn starring Denzel Washington and my favorite femme fatale and poker player, Mimi Rogers. Ed had been producing for over twenty years, while alas, I had only been playing in sprinklers.
 
“What did you tell him?” I gasped
 
“I told him you were playing in the sprinkler.”
 
“With my daughter, right?” You told him I was playing with my daughter?”
My mother offered too long of a pause before answering. She too must have sensed that it was much too late for any salvation from this call and only offered in signature admonishment when confronted with a complicated question. 
 
“I’ll fix you two some lunch?”
 
The phone call was made from a nearby phone booth, the option was eventually signed, and the subject was never brought up between Mr. Elbert and myself.  Several months later, Maverick starring Mel Gibson came out and Hollywood’s taste for westerns once again went dormant. 
 
For the record, the sprinkler remained popular until early Fall.

Honestly, I could give a flying fuck for any award show, let alone the Oscars. I am still personally pissed about my own slight from years ago. I was quite confident that Axe to Grind would have least won for the Best Picture Made For Less Than Three Hundred Dollars. Alas, Avatar won. I know, right? 
 
I must admit at delighting at the prospect of what qualifies and what doesn’t. This little pandemic has seemed to settle little Stevie Spielberg’s argument about what really constitutes a motion picture and what does not. Let’s not stop at Netflix or Amazon. Personally, I think we should open the list of nominees from YouTube and the media drive from your personal computer. Academy Members, put that in your ivory pipe and smoke it. 
 
And the nominees for Best Motion Picture are:
 
Cat Jump Fail. Directed by GO54Ever and Directed by Pet2PleezU.
 
The Nutcrackers: TikTok Groin Hits. Directed by Doscajones and Produced by BallBstr7
 
MILF Cucks Hubby 3: The Reckoning, Amateur69 Director and Produced by Porn Hub
 
Baby Talks to Golden Retriever. Produced and Directed by James Cameron.
 
And the winner is… Oh, they are all winners in my book. And don’t forget to thank God. Very important.
 
All of these events are really self-aggrandizing fashion shows. I
 
“You look simply ravishing. Who are you wearing?”
 
“Thank you ever so.  My outfit was completely designed courtesy of The Bass Shop. And in lieu of blood diamonds, I have adorned my sequined fishing vest in tie fly flies, most notably the colorful but practical Tungsten Jig Bugger.”
 
There’s just too many Award shows now:
 
The Golden Globes
The Grammys 
The Oscars
The Spirit Awards
The SAG Awards
The Emmys
The Tonys
And, of course,
 
The Grammies "Edna, this is your year, dear' 
 
“The award for best hard candy wrapped in a tissue goes to… Oh my god, I am so nervous, I can’t even get this open.”
 
Even a pandemic can’t stop these award shows. They are the cockroaches of televised events. Each year the ratings get worse and worse and each year we get more and more of them. I honestly think they are reproducing. 
 
Oh, what’s the use.

​With you-to the end of the world!” 
― Rudyard Kipling
 
Anyone who knows me, understands that I am a man who changes obsessions as often as most people change their clothes. Films are mostly the objects of my compulsion, but I willingly confess that an occasional non celluloid subject can preoccupy my mind as well. For the sake of this blog, we will stick to film. When a film takes over my limited brain span, I am powerless to fight it. I watch it repeatedly, hum the soundtrack incessantly and replay scenes over and over in my head,
 
This week’s obsession is The Man Who Would Be King (1975), directed by John Huston and starring Michael Caine as Peachy Carnahan, Sean Connery as Daniel Dravot and the exceptional and late, great Christopher Plummer as Kipling himself.  
 
This was a pet project for Huston who first wanted Gable and Bogart, then Burton and O’Toole, Lancaster and Douglas until finally settling on Paul Newman and Robert Redford to play the leads. Newman wisely suggested that only true Englishmen should play the parts and I’m glad Huston took that advice. I can’t imagine anyone else playing the two working class soldiers who dream of becoming kings.
 
I won’t bore you with any more trivia that I liberally stole from Wikipedia. There is a racist moment that disturbs me involving Peachy, Kipling and a fellow passenger but it is not enough to take me out the rest of the movie. The rest of this 2 hour and 9 minute running time is damn near perfection.
 
Morocco doubles for Afghanistan and Huston, quite the adventurer himself, does an excellent job taking full advantage of the rugged location. The cinematography of Oswald Morris is Oscar worthy and the score by Maurice Jarre is rapidly becoming one of my favorites.
 
This is old fashioned adventure at its finest, directed by a master of his craft, and if you have not seen it, get your ass over to HBO Max and check it out.