Slow Jitney with Unforgivable Sasquatch, Paul Williams

It's been a heady week of entertainment.  Last Sunday, there was the matinée of the documentary, "Paul Williams Still Alive", followed by schnitzel salad at the Back Abbey.   Most of Paul's hits are songs about co-dependency, but what is falling in love anyway? The only job more codependent than lover is mother.  

I liked this doc and I like Paul Williams.  I just wish filmmaker and writer, Stephen Kessler, would have shut up so Paul could have told more stories about his nomadic childhood and his larger-than-life, alcoholic father.

Friday, there was the stage play, "Jitney," at the Pasadena Playhouse.  This is the eighth in August Wilson's Pittsburgh Cycle of plays.  It was OK, but I had a beef-- eight men in the cast and only one woman.  Jitney was, however, more enjoyable than Wilson's somewhat repetitious plays, like "Gem of the Ocean."  There aren't enough playwrights in America today-- let's all write some plays.

The next morning, it was a French-Italian film, "Unforgiveable".  The latest flock of Euro films misses the mark by a meter or two.  This one was right down there with "The Intouchables." The most interesting aspect of the movie was that Judith, the female lead, wore the same dress on four different days.  That would never happen in an American flick, but what a boon for the wardrobe mistress.  Fewer costume changes, less clothing to clean and press.  Easy to keep catalogued and ready for scenes.


Last night, the gay (and I mean gay in the sense of happy), mad whirl culminated with the star-studded entertainmentpalooza launch of Jeremy Radin's new book, Slow Dance with Sasquatch.
                                                                               
I am a fan of Jeremy's poetry since hearing him breathe fire into a poem about bears on Lummis Day at El Alisal. Who but Jeremy would have thought to turn his launch into a cabaret by including live music from The Flash Cards, poetry by Derrick Brown, Brendan Constantine (a frenetic favorite), Amber Tamblyn and literary sword-swallower, Brett Loudermilk?

The evening in the Skylit Theatre on Vermont was sparkling, funny, majestic, wistful, moving, human and authentic.  What a privilege to be among the 100+ to hear this courageous poet speak his truth. And I mean courageous in the sense that his Dad, grandparents and sister were in the audience.  As his friends keep remarking on his FB page:  he da man.