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Bigger Than The Sky is a film I’ve watched and rewatched many times.  The first time I saw it, I liked it very much.  However, at each subsequent viewing I became more aware of its weaknesses, of which there are many. Now I can say unequivocally, it is a flawed movie….flawed to the point that certain lines and scenes are embarrasingly uncomfortable.  Yet…in spite…. I still really like Bigger Than The Sky.  

The film was written by Rodney Patrick Vaccaro and directed by Al Corley. It was filmed in Portland, Oregon, which is also the setting for the narrative.  The cast includes some very talented folks including; John Corbett, who I loved in Northern Exposure; Amy Smart, a familiar tv and film artist; and most notably, the great Patty Duke, who skillfully, hysterically and ironically portrays identical twin-sisters in the film.

Bigger Than The Sky was released in 2005.  The critical response was not kind. The Rotten Tomatometer score was 12%.  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a score that low. I take some satisfaction in the fact that the audience score was a more respectable 53%…still nothing to write home about.  Many of the reviews I’ve perused are mean, mean spirited….a ploy I’ve never found helpful. I certainly understand some of the negativity, but I contend there is much to embrace in Bigger Than The Sky.

It is a essentially a theatre story.  That in itself might limit its appeal. I believe in today’s culture, theatre may be regarded by some as an elitist passion, enticing primarily to privllidge.  But this theatre story carries additional baggage. It is about community theatre, non-professionals… garnering not only the general disdain, but also the additional disfavor of other self-aggrandized theatre genres.

I suppose that’s why Bigger Than The Sky appeals so strongly to me.  I’m part of the niche population so identifiable in the film. 

As the movie opens we meet an emotionally scarred Peter Rooker.  He has been dumped by his girlfirend and has called his sister for condolance.  He confides his sad reality….he has a dull job…a dull car…..no friends.  He’s dull.  

On his way to work the next day, he seems to be somehow “called”, as he walks past the Portland Community Theatre.  At work, his boss (the wonderful Greg Germann) entices him with a promotion because…. “there’s no I in Peter Rooker” 

Later, as he’s browsing in a bookstore, a customer walks right into him. “Sorry I didn’t see you”  “What do you mean, I’m standing right here!”  “I didn’t see you.”

Convinced he needs a change in his life, Rooker attends the theatre’s audition for Cyrano de Bergerac.

His hope is to meet some new people and move his life in a new direction. He’s read the play and identifies with the main character’s inability to express his love. 

His audition is terrible and he self-consciously leaves the audition room only to become lost in the theatre’s black box. Here he encounters Grace Hargrove.  He strikes up a friendship with her, perhaps a hope of something more. Grace enlightens him with the theatre adage, “There are no small parts, only small actors.”

To everyone’s surprise, the Cyrano director, Edwina Walters, casts Peter in the lead role.  She believes that Peter sees the truth in the character and that truth will suffice.  So here we have the first flaw of the film.  Even though magicial illusions draw us into the story (floating feathers and blinking marquees), the director’s casting of a beginner in a role like Cyrano, breaks any premise of believability.  Of course, we want him to succeed.  We’re pulling for him. Edwina, Grace, and Michael (the John Corbett character) do everything they can to help him.  But the film branches out into a series of misguided misadventures that wander well beyond the illusion of reality. Along the way we hear expressions like “Welcome to tech-week,” “He’s going up!” “Good show!” “Blank canvas” etc. etc. etc. Of course, these expressions we know and live-by, but somehow sound terribly corny and/or pretentious here.  In the end, Peter is replaced (as we knew he would be) by an obnoxious self-indulgent ass.  So…a somewhat return to reality.  

And if that weren’t bad enough, a romance triangle emerges between Peter, Grace and Michael.  And again,  Peter becomes a loser in love. 

But his new experience has taught him a valuable lesson. Kippy Newberg, an ailing mentor to many at the Portland Community Theatre, provides Peter with clarity to the hackneyed montra uttered earlier by Grace.  “There are no small parts, only small dreams. And the theatre is no place for small dreams.” (The actor is good, the line is truthful, yet it somehow sounds fatuous. A flaw.)

Peter is inspired by his chat with Kippy, and his story ends on a satisfying (if unrealistic) high note.

The film itself concludes as an inspired tribute/love letter to anyone who has ever identified with this world.

In spite of its many shortcomings, I hold this film as a favorite, not for what it turned out to be, but for what it tried to be.

Above: The wonderful cast of The Mother of the Year Murders at the Belvidere Manor February 10, 2018

Below…a brief excerpt from my upcoming book…Murder Show

In the earliest evolution of my murder mystery journey, I found I was developing scenarios around various holidays.  The Christmas Carol Murders, The Irish Eyes Murders and the Schoolhouse Masquerade Murders were titles developed around Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day and Halloween, respectively. I don’t think it was particularly my intention to pair scripts to holidays in this way.  But the performance venue believed it was in the overall best interest of the project that this be the case. I also found this a valid point when I began licensing my scripts for performances through my website.  Clearly, the Christmas and St. Patrick’s shows were the most popular requests.

So, when the folks at The Riverton Hotel and Restaurant expressed an interest in doing a show revolving around Mother’s Day, I came up with the notion of  The Mother of the Year Murders.  My thought was to center the action around a kind of a pageant that would crown the mother-of-the-year. I decided to go way over the top with wacky characters , who would be somewhat familiar to the audience members. June Cleavage and her son Otter were based on the classic ‘60’s tv show, Leave It To Beaver.  Livia Contralto and her son Teeny reminded us of The Sopranos.  And of course Hilary, Willy and Chesty Smintton, were pulled from the early aught headlines of the time.

About that, I must admit to the fact that I voted for Bill Clinton….twice.  I believe he was a good President. And perhaps history will judge him to be a great President.  But…and it’s a huge but…his personal antics while in the White House became the mother-lode of literary parody, satire and caricature for a decade.  Although Clinton’s behavior was, I’m sure, devastating to his wife and daughter, it was comedy gold and totally complimentary to my Mother of the Year Murders concept.  I recently produced Mother for the first time in quite a long while. The difference in audience reaction from earlier productions was amazing.  Back in the day, the Hilary character yielded its share of laughs, but at the same time benefited from a good deal of audience sympathy.  But in 2018, as our national polarization was rising to new heights, the character was treated with much disdain. I was surprised. It’s only a play people!  I felt badly for the actress playing the role. But she was a trooper and played it perfectly. Good job, Colleen.

 

 

During my childhood, the Fourth of July was probably the most anticipated day of the year…other than Christmas, of course. My home town of Monmouth Junction, New Jersey, hosted a big parade…at least to me it was a big parade. When I was very young, we would have to go to the main street of town to watch it. But later…maybe when I was eight or nine, the parade organizers expanded the route so that it traveled right past our house. People would come from all over to witness the parade which featured fire and ambulance vehicles of the many volunteer service organizations in the area. They all would proudly blast their sirens. It could get quite loud. The event itself was sponsored by our local fire department in Monmouth Junction. But lots of other local organizations participated…boy scouts and girl scouts, little league, 4-H ….many more. As a teenager, I marched in the parade many times with various organizations…including the Emerald Knights Drum and Bugle Corps, pictured above. Because of our vantage point, lots of people stationed themselves on our front lawn to view the parade. These folks were mostly longtime friends and relatives, many of whom we only saw on the Fourth of July.  I would help my parents carry our lawn chairs from the backyard to the front. I also remember toting our redwood picnic table benches to the front yard.  Many who came brought their own chairs, and some brought blankets on which to sit. In retrospect, the units marching in the parade were not all that exciting, but they were folks from our town…and we were proud. My sister and I always enjoyed these days as did, I believe, my parents.  It was a time for community and family.  It was also patriotic. We would all stand when an American flag marched by.  It wasn’t a big deal. I don’t think it conveyed any secondary agendas. It was fine.  After the parade we would go next door to my grandparents’ house for lunch. Sometimes we would host a cookout lunch ourselves. I remember wonderful food, lovingly prepared.  Later, we would all go to the nearby municipal park, where the celebration continued until dusk.  As a young family man, I returned to my hometown for the parade each year, with my wife and kids. Once my daughter had her picture taken with my sister and the photo appeared in the local newspaper…wonderful.  I just searched our scrapbooks for that picture…of course I couldn’t find it. I know it’s around somewhere. Maybe I’ll post it next Fourth of July.

As the ’70’s wound down, so did the parade.  I’m not sure why it all ended….probably the expense.  Just a tucked away memory now…but such a sweet one.  Happy Fourth!

June 2, 2019

I was very much moved by the tribute this weekend to the 1969 World Series Champion New York Mets.  I was young in ’69…in the middle of a wonderful college experience…and newly in love with “the one.”  As announcer Howie Rose introduced the likes of Ron Swaboda, Jerry Grote and Ed Kranepool, I was happily transported to a golden time in my life.  Although I still watch baseball, the Mets reunion reminded me that so many baseball “moments” reflect personal milestones in my younger and better times.  

I was so moved as to revisit a favorite poetry book of mine, Home Team, by Edwin Romond. As I sat on my porch in the early evening, the imagery of the poems sparked so many emotions:  childhood pain in “The Mazarosky Wall,” thrills of the barreling Thurmon in “The Distant Man” and the lonely excitement of late night radio in “Baseball in the Dark.”  So many more.  

What’s remarkable is Edwin’s skill in painting such vivid pictures, at once reducing them to his personal reflections and then somehow transferring those inner-distinctions to the reader. Experiencing these poems in truly transformative.  Baseball as a metaphor of life? In this work…absolutely!

June 29, 2019

I had the privilege of seeing the film, Yesterday, yesterday. What a treat!.  I don’t “go to the movies” much anymore, and that’s kind of sad.  Throughout my life I’ve enjoyed sitting in the dark theatre and feasting on the big screen…as well as the yummy popcorn.  As a little boy, I would go with my family…especially my mom.  Dad never liked going out much, so Mom would recruit me.  Special memories. Later, when my sister came along, she would join us.  As a teen and young adult, I would travel in friend- packs to see the latest films.  Fun times. Dating?  Sure…where else but the movies.  And as a young married and later a family man myself…the trips to the local cinemas were wonderful.  

These days, it’s hard for me to rationalize the trip.  I have big screen tv that brings hundreds of titles directly to me on a regular basis.  Mostly, though, I stay home because it’s kind of depressing to go to the movies by myself.  No pity please…that my doing….nobody else’s.  

But I had seen Kate McKinnon on Late Night With Seth Meyers.  She’s featured in Yesterday, and her description was appealing to me.  So I went and I’m glad I did.  I won’t give much away, but the premise is brilliant and frightening. The film imagines a world in which The Beatles had never existed.  Is that incredible? Think about it!  Of course in spite of that proposition, Yesterday is chock full of fantastic Beatles music.  On several occasions I felt my eyes misting up. What a baby! But the waterworks were even more imminent when the movie’s huge Easter Egg dropped near the end. 

A world without the Beatles!  Thank goodness it’s only a movie.  I highly recommend this film…even if you have to get up off your duff (one of Mom’s favorite expressions) and see it a theatre.  Lots to embrace.  

May 5, 2017

My parents were married on this day in 1946.  It would have been their 71st wedding anniversary.  I have fond memories of growing up in ’50’s and ’60’s.  I guess we were a typical family of that era.  My father and mother didn’t often show affection, but I think, in their own way,  they were happy.  My father worked as a heavy equipment operator.  Because his work was seasonal, he couldn’t take off in the summer.  So sometimes my mother would take my sister and me to the shore on her own.  Dad would join us on the weekends.  We would often take Labor Day weekend trips…because that was his only time off.  My mother was a cafeteria worker in my high school and later became a school secretary.    I think I disappointed my parents because I wasn’t very good at sports or school.  Actually, I was probably better than I showed, in that I was very self-conscious and would always freeze up.  As I grew older, I became much better at school…but never any better at sports.  In any case, my parent were supportive of me and my sister, whatever we did.  I miss them all now and wish I had been more attentive to them when they were here.  Sadly, I suspect most people feel that way.  This photo, taken by my sister, shows my parents sitting in their front yard.  I think that’s where they were happiest.  In my heart today and always….Mom and Dad.

Hm, I guess it’s been a while.  All my life I thought it would be a good thing to keep some kind of journal.  A written evidence of me,so to speak.  The problem is…it takes a lot of work. Oh, yeah.  So it’s been almost five years since my last (and first) entry.  Why now?  Not sure.  I guess I’m a little older and a little less healthy.  Something to do with my mortality maybe?  Yesterday was Father’s Day…and it was nice. I’ve never been very big (or good) on the Mother’s Day /Father’s Day thing, but yesterday seemed different.  I spent some quality time with my daughter and her girls.  Beautiful day, nice meal and lots of positive thoughts.  They gave me a “memory box,” filled with little cards.  On each card was written a simple memory from our history.  It was wonderful.  I felt myself swelling up often as I read through them.  Her charge to me was to keep it going. When I think of something from our past, I’m to write it down on one of the little cards.  I like that idea.  The question is will I have the discipline to follow through.  We’ll see.  And I figured, while I was at it, may be I could get this blog thing going again.  Later that evening my other daughter spent some time with me too.  She had also contributed to the “memory box”  We had a nice talk.  So I’ll remember yesterday for some nice moments with my girls and my grandgirls.  Oh…yes…and my first memory card in the box.  A long ago summer night (probably 1990), when I brought a TV and VCR onto our pool deck and we watched “Always” as a family.  …a maybe over-sentimental remake starring Richard Dreyfus, Holly Hunter and John Goodman.  Atmosphere, popcorn, fun and lots of love.  A perfect night and a great memory.

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

–William Shakespeare

Sonnet 18

As another Labor Day winds down, I begin to feel the same nagging knot in my stomach that has troubled me on so many Labor Days past.   Truly, this observance represents the most bittersweet of all the holidays…at least to me.  Most notably, it marks the end of summer.  Though officially still clinging for a couple more weeks, in reality it’s over.  Back to school.  Back to work. Close the pool. The end of days.  Labor Day, huh! The recognition, in fact, the celebration of trade unions by the federal government in 1882.  My guess would be that very few of us think about that.

Today was fine.  I got to spend some time with my daughters and new granddaughters.  And two years ago we helped my sister with some home renovations and repairs.  But why, on even a good day, do I sense the invasion of the butterflies?

I guess, as a student, I never really enjoyed going to school.  I didn’t do particularly well.  I was not a traditional learner.  And that meant trouble.  Our system didn’t then, and still does not accommodate alternative learners.  As and educator, for all those years, I tried to ease the pain of students like me.  Regrettably I never had much success along those lines.  So as a teacher and administrator I still felt woozy on the first Monday in September.

The “sweet” of the “bitter”, is some fond memories of family outings.  My father was a construction worker, who could not afford to take time off in the summer, so we never really went on family vacations.  Instead, my mother would research fun trips to take over the long end-of-summer weekend.  It was the days before air conditioned cars, so all the windows were down as the Bel Air traveled the highways and bi-ways.  The AM radio blared WOR and WMCA as we wound our way to such magical places as The Gingerbread Castle in Hamburg, NJ, Plain And Fancy Farm in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and Niagara Falls (“Slowly I turn!!!)  They were modest trips mostly, but such wonderful memories of quality family times.   They made me forget my school phobia for a couple of days at least.

My favorite trip, by far, was to a place called Santa’s Workshop.  Although by map, located near Wilmington, New York, its official post office is North Pole.  I remember the reindeer, Santa’s helpers, the brightly colored German architecture, and some great puppet shows. Also, there was a balloon twisting show, for which my ten year old self was chosen as a volunteer.  Of course the jolly man himself appeared  and there was a continually frozen “North Pole”, a wonder of refrigeration technology. It was a fabulous time.  In fact, we enjoyed it so much we returned a couple years later.  According to RoadsideAmerica.com, it’s still going strong. I guess summers’ end is inevitable but good memories definitely help sooth its passing.

Another Labor Day come and gone. I lost my sister this year.  She was an important part of those family outings.  I miss her goodness. The house that we helped her renovate is up for sale.  My granddaughters are twelve days old. Another year begins.