Hollywood’s Influence on Smoking

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Smoke Screen

Do spiraling youth smoking rates signify stubborn defiance by Gen-Xersand the Hollywood elite?

By Kelle Walsh

THERE IS A LONGSTANDING belief in Hollywood that art doesn’t influence actions; rather, it mirrors the actions of society at large. This premise has long allowed movies to portray gratuitous violence, sex, or alcohol and drug use under the protective guise of “freedom of artistic expression.”

But Hollywood’s “creative” vice du jour–smoking–may just have gone one step too far.

There was a resounding thud following Gen-X poster gal and actress Winona Ryder’s refusal to forego smoking on film when asked by a group of local teens. When Ryder, a Petaluma native and pack-a-day smoker, received a petition last year from a group of Casa Grande High School students asking her to be a responsible role model to kids and not smoke, the reply was swift: Sorry kids, butt out! This is art.

But is it? The argument that Hollywood movies don’t influence behavior, even coupled with movie stars’ stubborn refusal to accept role-model status, may not be apply in this case. As anti-tobacco activists admit, pop culture’s growing re-acceptance of smoking, as witnessed through movies, music videos, and the lifestyle choices of today’s young adults, reflects a mind-boggling surge in the popularity of cigarettes, despite concentrated efforts to reduce smoking rates among the nation’s youth.

About 34 percent of highschool seniors are smokers, according to a 1996 study by the University of Michigan Institute for Social Research. Among youth in grades 8 through 10, smoking rates are lower (21 to 30 percent), but have increased by as much as 50 percent over the past five years.

Nationally, 3,000 young people become addicted to tobacco daily; in California, an estimated 200 teen-agers between the ages of 12 and 17 become regular smokers each day.

According to studies by the California Department of Health Services, 18 percent of adults smoke, but most young people believe the rate of smoking is much higher than that–a perception health advocates say is fueled by the resurgence of cigarette smoking on screen.

“It creates a social milieu that it’s accepted, that everyone is doing it,” says Janine Robinette, director of a Bay Area tobacco control program.

“Despite mass education efforts in California, our education efforts confront popular celebrities; the increase in smoking on TV and in movies counters the education efforts in the schools,” says Shelly Huff of the American Cancer Society. “You’ll find characters like Bruce Willis defusing a bomb with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Or someone like Arnold Schwarzenegger, he was the president’s fitness expert, posing on the cover of magazines with a big cigar in his mouth. That sends contradictory messages to kids. These are their heroes.”

IN RESPONSE, the American Cancer Society is circulating a petition, called “Stop the Smoke Screen,” that asks the movie industry to stop glamorizing cigarette and cigar smoking in film. “That’ll be a hit in their pockets, but we’re asking the movie industry to make some responsible decisions regarding that,” Huff says.

Researchers say that teenagers who pick up smoking act largely out of peer pressure or rebellion against what their parents, or society, tell them they can’t do. But this doesn’t explain the surprising rise in smoking among young adults, the over-18 population loosely gathered under the Generation X and Y monikers. These smokers should know better.

“One of the things that is most disturbing is that the percentage of adults smoking went up in 1996,” says Robinette. “With everyone talking about [the dangers of smoking], you say, ‘How can this be?’ The explanation is, it’s a rise in the young adults.”

No one in their early 20s, or teens, for that matter, can claim ignorance about the dangers of smoking. For years we’ve been bombarded with increasingly dire warnings about what cigarettes–and more recently snuff and cigars–do to our bodies, our unborn children, and the unfortunate innocents engulfed in our blue haze.

Still, the numbers climb. Almost 28 percent of 18- to 24-year-olds smoke cigarettes, up from 23 percent in 1991. On college campuses, and in bars and coffeehouses throughout the nation, young people defiantly light up and blow smoke in the face of incredulous health professionals and the government, which has made snuffing out youth smoking one of the most urgent missions of our time.

In 1989 California voters passed Proposition 99, a 25-cent tax on cigarettes to fund one of the nation’s most aggressive anti-smoking campaigns. On both state and local levels, health programs were established to educate the masses about the health risks involved with tobacco use. Studies were conducted about attitudes toward smoking, and a dynamo advertising campaign hit hard at the tobacco industry’s slick, $1.7 million-a-day promotional effort with counteradvertising meant to expose the industry’s manipulation of the American public.

“Nicotine Soundbites” featured real footage of the Congressional hearings with CEOs of the major tobacco companies swearing under oath that their products were non-addictive. Another ad highlights the devastating effects of nicotine addiction by showing a middle-aged laryngectomy patient smoking through the breathing hole in her throat.

For a while, the ad campaigns seemed to work. Between 1990 and 1993, smoking rates among California youths remained relatively stable. But in 1994 the rate of smoking among young people increased by 30.8 percent, paralleling national trends. Although last year’s figures show a slight decrease in youth smoking (11.6 percent, compared with 11.9 percent in 1995), health educators insist that limiting youth access to tobacco is the best defense against the temptation to smoke.

Toward that goal, local health agencies now work with merchants to change the way they advertise tobacco in their stores, and urge enforcement of fines for selling tobacco to young people–a practice that is illegal in all 50 states, and that in California carries a penalty of up to $7,000.

The result of all these efforts? After years of decline in popularity, cigarettes and now cigars seemingly define a new Zeitgeist. In retro-hip fashion, growing numbers of young people scoff at the warning labels, statistics, and pleas of the health conscious and continue to light up. The phenomenon raises questions about just how far a national campaign can go to influence the behavior of a segment of the population that fiercely harbors its independence.

“If you look at the kinds of risky behavior young people take part in–drugs, drinking, sex–[you can see] they don’t have any sense of their own mortality. They’re invincible,” says Robinette. “They think they’ll be able to do this [smoke] for some time, and then kick the habit.”

Says 18-year-old Matthew Shifflitt, a Camel smoker since four days before his ninth birthday: “I think [the anti-tobacco campaign is] all a crock of shit. It’s a personal choice whether you want to smoke or not.” Shifflitt says he wants to quit smoking before he turns 19.

Young adult smokers often share the same story. Most started when they were in their early teens, a result of curiosity or peer influence. Many recall stealing cigarettes from their parents or siblings, or having friends who could support their new habit. And most young smokers say they
don’t plan to smoke indefinitely.

“Almost everyone who smokes as a young person says they will only smoke for a couple of years and then quit. What they don’t realize is how difficult tobacco can be to quit, how hard it is to use an addictive product for five, six, seven years and then quit,” says Colleen Stevens, spokesperson for the California Tobacco Education Media Campaign.

“I sit up at night sometimes, so angry at the tobacco companies for making this product that’s so addictive. For the rest of my life I’m gonna have to fight the urge to smoke,” says 25-year-old Kiersten McCutchan. A smoker for 10 years, McCutchan quit her pack-a-day habit just two months ago with the help of “the patch,” an adhesive strap that helps smokers to kick the habit by regulating and slowly reducing nicotine levels absorbed directly into the bloodstream.

McCutchan, like many young adult smokers, had little concern about her habit into her early 20s. But when smoking started to dull her skin and hair, and leave her winded from common activities like climbing stairs, she tried to stop. Her inability to do so drove home the message that she was hooked. “It makes me mad that I’m addicted to something,” she says.

Perhaps it’s not so surprising that many young adult smokers say they don’t think that cigarettes should be available to kids under age 18. Choosing bad habits should be left to those fully aware of the consequences of that behavior, they say, something not possible when you are 15.

Patricia Macchia, 23, says she’s not worried about any health effects from the one or two Marlboro Lights 100s (“in a box”) she smokes each day. But she hates to see younger people smoking. “I get mad whenever I see younger kids smoking. If they’re underage, 18, I think it’s wrong. They need to realize just because they’re young, and they think it’s an adult thing, it can hurt them. When they grow up, they can decide that.”

The seeming dichotomy between knowing something is unhealthy, even discouraging others from doing it, and still engaging in that activity frustrates many anti-smoking advocates. Why would you choose to take up an addictive habit when you know it could, at best, become a monkey on your back, and at worst, kill you?

“It’s not about the tobacco, it’s about the ritual and the paraphernalia involved with smoking,” says cross-country traveler Max Cavallaro, 27. After quitting his job with a New York publishing company three months ago, Cavallaro set out on what might be thought of as a typical preoccupation of his generation: hitting the highway. Smoking goes along with the loner image of a man and his motorcycle against the world, he says. Easy Rider for the ’90s? Cavallaro shrugs. “I enjoy stopping my bike, rolling up a cigarette, and sitting back to enjoy a smoke. It gives me something to do.”

ACCORDING TO EXPERTS, at least partial responsibility for the new nonchalance about smoking rests squarely on the shoulders of Hollywood. Earlier this year, the American Lung Association pointed out that in all of last year’s Oscar-nominated films, at least one lead character was smoking, something not seen in recent memory.

On-screen smoking by the likes of Ryder, Julia Roberts, John Travolta, and Johnny Depp perpetuates the idea that smoking is the thing to do. “Movies are the icons of popular culture. You don’t need the smoking to have a movie fly, but having it in there has a huge pro-tobacco influence on these kids. It’s not just that everyone is doing it, it’s that everyone you want to be is doing it,” says University of California San Francisco’s School of Medicine professor Dr. Stanton Glantz, a member of the state’s Tobacco Education and Research Oversight Committee.

“I don’t think that makes young people smoke,” counters Megan, a 23-year-old “occasional” smoker. “Peer pressure, being raised in a house where it was allowed, and the kind of personality you have will determine if you smoke. But films are a reflection of a trend, and I don’t think they influence. It’s also fitting for certain characters. Like in Pulp Fiction, John Travolta’s character smokes, but he’s also a heroin addict, it worked. And I think it’s more unrealistic to have a character say ‘No, I don’t smoke’ if that’s the kind of character it is.”

But 25-year-old Sean Oliveira says that “all my heroes” smoked in film and on TV when he was growing up. And now, when he sees a movie that has a character smoking, he starts to jones for a cigarette. “Remember Barfly? I walked out of there wanting to smoke so bad,” he says.

But it’s not only Hollywood fueling the message that being young and hip means lighting up. Women’s fashion magazines regularly feature insider photos of top runway models and rock stars partying hard in Euro-hip nightspots, cigs dangling from million-dollar lips. And for the glamour-seeking common folk, cigars have hit the peak of their popularity, with cigar rooms and “humidor societies” popping up in cities all over the country.

This prevalence in tobacco usage seems to indicate a kind of rebellion, a snubbing of conventional wisdom, or as Swingers director Doug Liman told Newsweek, the “act like nothing is socially irresponsible” attitude of the nation’s twentysomething set.

It’s an attitude that the tobacco industry has wasted no time in exploiting. Engrossing full-page ads of attractive, retro/hipster X-ers scream from the pages of alternative newspapers, which appeal to the “active urban singles who think dailies are irrelevant,” according to a recent New York Times article. The Camel Page (“Your highway to urban nightlife”) or Marlboro’s What to Do, Where to Go promote local music events; both advertisements carry the Surgeon General’s warning about the dangers of smoking, and yet cement the association of cigarettes with popular music.

The latest hook used by at least one tobacco company has elevated savvy
marketing to a new level, one that will circumvent changing federal regulations curtailing traditional advertising of cigarettes. In some US cities, RJ Reynolds’ Camel Club Program hires fashionable twentysomething clubgoers to mingle and pass out free Camel cigarettes to bar patrons and coffeehouse slackers. It is marketing like this–making your product too accessible to ignore–that allows the tobacco industry to morph right before the eyes of regulators trying to rein it in. Industry observers say it’s no surprise that the world’s most popular cigarettes–Marlboro, Camel and Newport–are also the most heavily advertised and promoted worldwide.

Even with one foot in the grave, Joe Camel–an icon modeled after James Bond and Don Johnson of “Miami Vice,” and targeted by a proposed huge settlement between state attorneys-general and the tobacco industry–remains a powerful testament to the power of advertising. When RJ Reynolds introduced the character in 1988, Camel cigarettes held only one-half of a share of the under-18 market. By 1991, that share value had gone up to 32.8 percent, or $476 million in sales. Camel had shed its image as “an old man’s cigarette.”

Cigarette manufacturers are spreading their message far and wide, offering lighters, T-shirts, hats, backpacks, towels, and drink insulators emblazoned with the names of cigarette brands. In target markets
abroad, stores like the Salem Power Station record outlets or the Camel
Adventure Gear stores sell popular youth-fashion products bearing
brand-name logos.

Despite this blitz of advertising–every year the tobacco industry spends $6.1 billion on advertising gimmicks in the United States alone–many young people resist the notion that they are being manipulated by marketing.

“Advertising has nothing to do with [the decision to smoke],” says 15-year-old Robyn Dobbs, who smokes two packs of Marlboros a day. “Your culture is influential and the people who you are around.” Most of her friends smoke, she says, as does most of her family.

Cavallaro points to his choice of Drum rolling tobacco as evidence that Joe Camel types have little influence on his decision to smoke. He’s not alone. A new adherence to smoking “safer” tobacco products–ones that may be additive-free or somehow perceived as being more natural–is a growing denominator among young smokers who believe they are unaffected by Madison Avenue advertising.

Gotcha again. Winston’s latest marketing campaign, “Yours. Ours.” hints at the latest strategy to appeal to this audience. Facing full-page ads in magazines and newspapers compare two identical cigarettes propped against white backgrounds with only the words “Yours. 94% tobacco, 6% additives. Ours. 100% tobacco, 0% additives.” The effect? The consumer is apparently to believe that these are clean, natural cigarettes, offering a way to smoke healthily.

“It’s a scam,” scoffs Glantz. “A lot of people think it’s the additive that makes the cigarette more dangerous, and there are additives put in cigarettes to increase the addictive potential. But even if they didn’t have additives, the most addicting thing in cigarettes is tobacco, and tobacco is like a little toxic bonfire when it burns. They are good marketers,” Glantz adds wryly. “They get people to put burning sticks in their mouths.”

Meanwhile, young adult smokers may struggle with an addiction and curse the smell of smoke on their clothes and hands, but they stand by their belief that smoking is a personal choice. Keep it from the kids, they say, and pray to God they don’t ever start. But you pick your poison, or as 20-year-old smoker Julie Fitch prophesies, “We’re very select about our own self-destruction. You know the things that are bad for you, you choose your own demise.”

“If I had one wish in the whole world, it wouldn’t be that I’d be the richest woman, or the most beautiful,” says recovering smoker McCutchan. “It would be that I’d be able to smoke cigarettes without any repercussions on my health, looks, nothing.”

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Paul Taylor Dance Company

Prime Time


Lois Greenfield

Catching Air: The Paul Taylor Dance Company returns to the LBC Oct. 14.

The Paul Taylor Dance Company leaps back into the light

By Sophie L.J. Wolff

YES, NEW YORK choreographer Paul Taylor has been at it for 44 years. No, that doesn’t mean that this 66-year-old award-winning artist has gotten stodgy or off his toes in any way. In fact, the older this former Martha Graham protégé grows, the more adventurous his work becomes.

Last here in February of ’95, the Paul Taylor Dance Company returns Oct. 14 to the Luther Burbank Center, bringing a program whose musical underpinnings range from 18th-century composer Gustav Handel to the insidious martini-era syncopation of “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini.” Executing a triptychal look at musical and dance styles, this company remains true to the big mo in modern.

A program completely different from what was previously offered, this evening of challenging dance begins with “Airs,” set to various works of Handel’s. First performed in 1978, this older piece begins the evening on a classical note, as a goddess blesses three couples in the fancy-turns-to-love springtime. Lyrical and conceived as a reflection seen through the glowing haze of reminiscence, “Airs” is about as traditional as Taylor ever gets.

After intermission, the dancers return to debut “Prime Numbers,” commissioned for the celebration of India’s 50th anniversary of independence earlier this year. Following Webster’s definition that “a prime number is one that has no divisors other than itself and one,” “Prime Numbers” features dancers singly and together in undivisible groupings set to original music by composer David Israel. The touring production does not include an onstage cello, as it does when the company plays their hometown of Manhattan. A brave bower, the cellist is required to sit smack-dab amid the dancers, thus breaking up the primes with her presence.

Borrowing near-Eastern themes, “Prime Numbers” is what Taylor has described as a “melting-pot” piece, an amalgamation of styles and ethnic rhythms borrowed boldly from here and there as he pleases, none of them adhering to any tradition save that which Taylor himself creates.

The final work of the evening is the colorfully scored and costumed “Funny Papers,” dedicated to those who read the comics before the news or the horoscope. Conceived in a collaborative workshop by six of the company’s members, “Funny Papers” is set to such tunes as “Alley-Oop,” “I’m Popeye the Sailor Man” (the dancers bathe in spinach-green light when Popeye’s leafy strength takes hold), “I Like Bananas Because They Have No Bones,” and the aforementioned “Bikini.” This final piece takes broadly from such traditions as the Charleston, conga, polka, and the muscularity of acrobatics.

In his essay, “Paul Taylor: Counter-Revolutionary,” writer Terry Teachout notes that “Taylor’s singular achievement has been to siphon the angst out of modern dance without simultaneously removing the seriousness. Even when his subject matter is dark and shocking, his tone remains light and effortless.”

Taylor, once asked if his work was for the ages, replied this way: “I try to make them last,” he said of his dances. “They’re not made to be seen one time.”

The Paul Taylor Dance Company appears at the Luther Burbank Center on Tuesday, Oct. 14 at 7:30 p.m. 50 Mark West Springs Road, Santa Rosa. Tickets are $12.50-$30. 546-3600.

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

TV Smarts

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Idiot Wind

By Kevin R. King

So I’m watching TV the other day and some intellectual crumb bum gets on and starts calling television a “vast wasteland” and blaming it for divorce and teen violence and attention deficit whatever and I’m thinking to myself: What a load of bunk! I’ve watched about 15 hours of television a day my whole life and have never suffered one ill effect. Not one! In fact, I graduated from college without ever reading a single book and now I make a pretty decent living writing about movies, TV and what-not while interviewing all sorts of semi-celebrity types.

Where’d I learn to write so good?

From watching TV! In fact, I’ve learned everything I know about history, economics, comedy, inter-personal relationships, and feminine hygiene stuff from television. You probably have too!

Check this out.

History

I must have watched I Love Lucy at least a million times because it’s been in continuous re-runs my entire life. After WWII all these chicks didn’t appreciate going back to housework after making bombers and submarines and stuff like that. Even dopey broads like Lucille Ball who were married to hack band leaders like Desi Arnaz.

So she was always trying to get out of the house by horning in on his act and causing trouble. Then the cities all went to hell and everybody moved to the suburbs, just like Lucy and Desi when they went to Connecticut. And people started living longer, so old freaks like Fred and Ethel Mertz started tagging along and making life generally miserable for the younger ones. Finally Lucy got fed up with Desi cause he was a boozer and bird dogger so she dumped him, just like half the other married chicks in America did in the sixties.

Then she got her own career going and brought her kids to work with her and they got all screwed up on drugs and what-not and she ended up making incoherent TV appearances all senile and scary, just like our grandparents.

Think about it!

In the sixties you had a cold war between the U.S., the Soviet Union, and China, whereas on Star Trek it’s between the Federation, the Klingons, and the Romulans. The Enterprise goes around trying to win the hearts and minds of Third World planets, which America used to do when they started revolutions and killed foreign leaders and all that. The Federation’s got a “prime directive” not to interfere with these cultures but they always do, like when we sold Coca-Cola and T-shirts and Disneyland to all those losers overseas. The Klingons look like Russians and act like ’em too: bad manners, loud and ruthless. I think they smelled real bad, too. In the sixties nobody ever knew what the Chinese were up to, which people called being “inscrutable,” just like the cloaking device that made the Romulans invisible.

The Chinese eat really weird food, so the Romulans had a sort of a noodle dish with live bugs moving around in it. We always had good foreigners helping us in those days, just like Spock (and you know how smart those people are), but at heart they were alien in mind and body, so we never kept too many around.

Then the Soviet Union fell apart and you’ve got your Next Generation, where the Klingons are still pretty rude and primitive but essentially harmless, while the Romulans got caught up in a Cultural Revolution which put them off the map, and you had your Japanese technocratic-freak culture represented by the Borg.

The Vietnam War was a real drag, what with our boys taking loads of drugs and then trying to shoot really short guys in black pajamas. But at that time society was pretty repressive, so TV had to use a “metaphor” for Vietnam, which means showing one thing but really meaning another. M*A*S*H was a show about Vietnam set in Korea, used doctors instead of soldiers and washed up actors instead of real people.

Like the Vietnam War the show ran a long, long time, started off good but got real screwed up near the end and was re-run so much that nobody can ever forget the damned thing. Since M*A*S*H ran through the ’70s it also revealed the changes which racked that turbulent decade. At the beginning the leads, Hawkeye Pierce and Trapper John, were a pair of real winners: always getting drunk, chasing girls and messing with authority types.

By the end Trapper was gone and Hawkeye had become a total loser: sensitive, thoughtful and socially aware. In short, a dickless freak; the sort of “New Man” that chicks of that time thought they wanted. In the end they dumped those guys for the asshole types they love to this day, but that was a very weird period called the “Age of Aquariums.”

Economics and Sociology

America got real rich in the sixties, what with rebuilding Europe, making a highway system and printing more money. Of course, you still had a lot of poor people out in the sticks, and a ton of rich kids rejected their parents’ money and became hippies. On the Beverly Hillbillies you see what happens when poor people get a load of cash: they buy a big mansion and fill it up with animals and all sorts of toothless relatives.

Yet since they’re honest and have no pretensions they’re constantly foiling the evil plans of the Man; in this case Mr. Drysdale, an uptight crypto-fascist who keeps all his money in a big round sack inside a zoo. Sort of Dick Nixon with less class. In those days hippies all wore old clothes and smelled bad, just like the Clampetts; they took drugs like Grandma drank moonshine and they never worked, just sitting around whittling and shooting guns like Jed.

At that time a lot of your repressed suburban women burned their bras and started screwing everything in sight, much like when Miss Hathaway got a load of Jethro in his tight blue jeans. Of course, the Clampetts avoided a lot of the “bummers” of that time: bad acid, cult killings and progressive rock, but television was very uptight in those days, so you couldn’t show the whole picture.

After the many “bad trips” of the sixties people got into softer drugs like valium and quaaludes, which brought about TV shows like The Love Boat and Fantasy Island. People also wondered what happened to many of their favorite stars of the WWII period, so these programs offered a venue for ex-vaudeville stars like Dick Van Dyke and Bert Convy. Older folks went for The Love Boat: it was as boring and predictable as the mash potato platter at Denny’s. The captain was white, the cruise director a perky girl and a friendly negro served drinks.

Sort of like a country club only it was owned by Jewish guys. People started reading Carlos Castenada, so Fantasy Island came along, sort of peyote buttons meets thorazine.

With God being dead and priests making it with altar boys, people of that time were searching for religious figures, so you had Ricardo Montalbalm, a god-like figure with a Mexican accent and white suit who greeted visitors to paradise.

This was the beginning of affirmative action, so Ricardo was followed around by a repulsive but exotic dwarven man-servant who had some kind of speech defect. Basically all your infirmities wrapped up in one package.

Government

In the late ’70s, America had what Jimmy Carter called a “cultural mayonnaise,” which referred to the wildly expensive school lunch programs that still haunt us. Other problems included chicks on the Supreme Court and taxes on personal income. It was a bad time. Yet America knew it had turned the corner with TV shows like The A-Team. People were ready for mindless violence that never seemed to hurt anyone, like those smart bombs with cameras in them, and The A-Team delivered in spades. Average citizens started buying automatic weapons for home protection, so the A-Team showed how to pump off a trillion rounds without hurting anyone.

The Team itself was your classic cross-section of modern America: an overweight leader who smoked cigars and wore black gloves; a ladies’ man who looked and acted a little fruity; a crazy demolitions expert who did all sorts of voices like Rich Little; and a really scary, giant African-American who wore about three tons of gold jewelry and couldn’t act if his nuts were in a drill press.

It was all about Ronald Reagan and his team of experts who screwed around in Central America and beat the Russians and all that. Later this concept moved to radio with Howard Stern, only he’s got a black chick and a stuttering retard.

Business

In the eighties you had a lot of guys making money on the stock market from cash they stole from savings and loans, so people started sympathizing with criminals. They also watched music videos, most of which sucked but many of which were very cool.

Miami Vice took these ideas and ran with them for quite a few seasons until the show got stupid, much like the insider traders. Don Johnson wore pastel suits over T-shirts and a three-day beard, which basically sums up how fashion that used to look good looks really stupid today, except if you’re a TV executive. Don also had a pet alligator but it faded away as the series progressed, much like the baby harp seals Norwegians used to club: nobody remembers them anymore.

The villains on this show were cooler than the cops, since they dressed better and lived in beach front mansions. They also screwed a lot of chicks you recognized from music videos, which made sense because the show was really just one long music video with worse acting.

When all the corporate criminals went to jail and the stock market crashed, Miami Vice was cancelled too, but it remains a popular re-run in emerging industrial nations like Korea, Japan and New Jersey.

Europe

Even though Europe has lots of culture and good food and old buildings, they don’t have many plastic surgeons or fluoridated water, so they’ve gone nuts over Baywatch, a show where the chicks all have boobs pumped full of silicone and everybody has perfect teeth. After Beethoven and Mozart and those type of guys died off, European music went into the dumper, so they think David Hasselhoff is a good singer, even if he wears a girdle under his bathing suit. Europeans are very gullible: they believe Hollywood is wall-to-wall stars.

They spend their life savings to come overseas and walk around Mann’s Chinese Theater looking for Pamela Anderson’s giant set of hooters, only to get shot up by the first street punk that comes along because they don’t know anything about weapons or self-protection.

Humor

By the nineties comedians had moved from jokes about politics and social concerns to ones about the stuff lying around your house. George Carlin pioneered this concept in the ’70s with a whole routine about the food in his refrigerator. You also had a lot of Ivy League graduates who decided against helping humanity with their expensive educations and moved to California to make money writing TV shows.

These trends brought about Seinfeld, a show “about nothing” that gets laughs talking about the male/female dynamics of the television remote control. People have become very creepy and self-absorbed, so the main characters are selfish, scheming and shallow. They never read any books, don’t have any real friends and move from one empty relationship to another. Yet they are very funny, so the show is a big hit, which basically means if you’ve got a lot of money nothing else really matters.

I could go on and on about this kind of stuff, only I’m getting pretty bored and I want to watch some TV. The point is that for all their fancy educations and degrees and what not, these high-brow types who rip on television obviously never watch it very much, because these kind of people are always blowing smoke out of their asses about stuff they don’t know.

But I gotta go: there’s a Mannix re-run coming on where he infiltrates one of those “swinging singles” apartment complexes and it’s one of my favorite episodes. Besides being highly educational.

Web exclusive to the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Lend Me a Tenor

Opera Glasses


Sucker Pucker: Danny Kovacs and Sharon Drake costar in ‘Lend Me a Tenor.’

Photo by Dan Greenberg


Backstage wit in ‘Lend Me a Tenor’

By Daedalus Howell

HOT DAMN! Rohnert Park’s Spreckels Performing Arts Center is the crown jewel of Sonoma County’s live theater spaces. And this season, it receives a delightful buff to its sheen with Pacific Alliance Stage Company’s production of Ken Ludwig’s sex romp Lend Me a Tenor, directed by Spreckels’ artistic director Michael Grice.

Set in mid-1930s Cleveland, Tenor depicts the imbecilic undertakings of a young opera company that has engaged world-renowned tenor Tito Merilli (played with lusty panache and a hint of Pavarotti by Kevin Blackton) for a fundraising gala. The profligate Tito is placed under the charge and surveillance of horn-rimmed milquetoast Max (topnotch nebbish Danny Kovacs), who is the lackey of scheming theater owner, Saunders (Will Marchetti).

Over-the-top, door-slamming, dress-dropping comedy soon evolves in the tradition of writers Kaufman & Hart (You Can’t Take it With You), albeit with a dollop more sex, death, and celebrity worship. Mistaken identities, bed-hopping, and lingerie abound in this predictable but charming two-act burlesque aptly directed by Grice.

An alpha-male par excellence, Kevin Blackton’s Tito is also a tender buffoon who happily sidesteps caricature despite employing a fatuous accent and several joyous forays into clamor.

Danny Kovacs deploys the guardian Max so that the character’s inevitable revelations are believable, despite the comedy’s farcical nature. His pursuit of Maggie, the archetypal Boss’s Daughter (played with gawky aplomb by Sharon Drake), makes for some of the production’s finer moments, as the two pitch each other into emotional Mexican stand-offs with her father at the apex.

Maggie, a character infatuated with the exotic Tito and with the notion of inaugurating a carefree personal life comprised of consecutive sexual flings, benefits from Drake’s star-struck portrayal, often freezing–arms akimbo and mouth agape–as if awaiting a tonsillectomy.

Marchetti magnificently plays Maggie’s father, the stodgy man-of-means Saunders, steamrolling through the action, barking orders and eating the wax fruit. Marchetti is a brawny comic actor able to simultaneously present a fiery but beguiled character, bringing an emotional depth not even required to this admittedly light fare.

Marchetti’s fervor is matched by Marie Shell’s peppery portrayal of Tito’s buxom, swaggering wife Maria. Clad in a spectacular fur-trimmed vermillion traveling ensemble (created by costume coordinator and stage manager Mary Jo Goss), Maria ups the ante of sexual politicking, in turns thwarting and abetting Tito’s infidelity.

Bottle-blonde stage siren Diana, played to the cartoonish hilt by Carol Anne Brown, is a saucy ladder-climber who uses her feminine wiles to shimmy up the rungs of the opera world. Brown smolders and titillates as she careens bawdily about John Connole’s superbly crafted set–two rooms of an upscale hotel suite–which deftly utilizes every inch of Spreckels’ palatial main stage. Connole’s adroit, understated lighting design is a fine complement to the often breakneck action.

Lend Me a Tenor is infallible evidence that director Grice knows how to assemble and activate talent. Under his guidance, the Pacific Alliance Stage Company is certainly worthy of their happy home.

Lend Me a Tenor sings through Oct. 19 at the Spreckels Performing Arts Center, 5409 Snyder Lane, Rohnert Park. Oct. 10-11 and 17-18 at 8 p.m.; Oct. 12 and 19 at 2:30 p.m. Tickets are $7-$10. 584-1700.

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Wine Reviews

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Branching Out


Michael Amsler

It Takes a Village, People: All stripes, credos, beliefs, and mores add to the mix–even when one is not drinking.

Local wines are nothing if not diverse

By Bob Johnson

CELEBRATE DIVERSITY” is more than a bumper sticker. This wake-up call to American society stresses that the differences among the myriad cultures that reside within our borders must be accepted and embraced if our country is to survive and thrive in the new millennium.

And so it is with wine. For several years, chardonnay was the chic beverage of choice at meet-market happy hours. So ubiquitous was it that eventually an attitude was spawned that weary wine drinkers referred to simply as “ABC”: Anything But Chardonnay.

American society’s never-ending search for something new led to the current obsession with merlot. Rest assured that this phenomenon, too, is cyclical, leading to what likely will come to be known as “ABM.” It promises to be an explosive situation as vintners debate the identity of the industry’s next great cash cow.

When I first started getting serious about wine, the great PR machine that drives the Napa Valley lured me to Hwy. 29, the Silverado Trail, and the side roads that connect those two primary byways. But as I visited more tasting rooms, talked to more winemakers, took more wine classes, and developed my palate, I became much more enamored with the wineries and wines of Sonoma County–for our diversity.

Although numerous varietal bottlings are now produced there, Napa remains basically a two-wine valley: chardonnay and cabernet sauvignon. Napa Valley vintners produce world-class examples of those wines–and command world-class prices for them. Sonoma County winemakers, on the other hand, are making a much larger variety of wines that are exciting for the taste buds and easy on the wallet.

This should come as no surprise to those who know their local history. This county has been home to Native Americans, Russian seal hunters, and Mexican vaqueros. And that diversity lives on today in the bottles of Sonoma County wineries.

Sure, excellent chardonnays and cabernets are made here. But to concentrate solely on those varietals would mean missing out on the crisp, complex sauvignon blancs from Matanzas Creek; the zesty zinfandels from De Loach; the spicy shiraz bottlings from Geyser Peak; the clean, refreshing chenin blancs from Dry Creek; and the delicate, delectable Gewürztraminers from Alderbrook.

Here are four recently released wines that clearly illustrate how Sonoma County vintners resist conformity. Wines are rated on a scale of one to four corks: one cork, drinkable; two corks, worth a try; three corks, excellent; and four corks, sell the farm, if necessary, to get your hands on it.

Ravenswood 1995 Icon
THIS BLEND of Rhône varietals (syrah, mourvedre, and grenache) has ripe, dark fruit aromas and matching flavors, complemented by a deft touch of oak. Winemaker Joel Peterson has built his reputation on zinfandel. Now that Icon is being made in sufficient quantities to generate mass appeal, his zins may have some competition. Rating: 3.5 corks.

Field Stone 1993 Staten Reserve Petite Sirah
PETITE SIRAH can be a problematic wine, often possessing ferocious tannins that overwhelm the fruit flavors. That’s why it’s often used as a blending partner with zinfandel, cabernet sauvignon, and pinot noir, rather than bottled as a varietal. No tannin trouble here, though. This wine is loaded with berry flavors and an alluring dollop of spice, making it an ideal match for hearty fall fare. Rating: 3 corks.

Pezzi King 1995 Dry Creek Valley Zinfandel
THE DRY CREEK VALLEY is known for producing lip-smacking zinfandels, and this zin fits that description. Cinnamon, clove, and allspice aromas jump out of the glass, while black pepper dominates the flavor, complemented by bright red fruit. This is an exotic, opulent wine that demands a second glass . . . and a third, if someone else is driving. Rating: 4 corks.

Ramsay 1996 California Pinot Noir
USUALLY, a “California” designation on a bottle is reason enough to move on down the aisle. It means that the grapes were sourced from at least two regions, neither of which represented a high enough percentage of the blend to qualify for inclusion on the label: When I see “California” on a label, I automatically think “Fresno.” But here’s a bottling that shows this kind of thinking is unfair at best and stupid at worst. Winemaker Kent Rasmussen has fashioned an exceptional wine by blending grapes from Sonoma, Napa, and Monterey counties–how’s that for diversity? The result is pure pinot, with candied fruit, black cherry, and raspberry flavors. Seen for under $10, this wine is not only a stylish success, but a rare bargain in an overpriced wine market. Rating: 3 corks.

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

The Scoop

Bob-o-Rama

And who stole ABC-TV’s brain?

By Bob Harris

WHAT WOULD YOU SAY if I told you that while Nelson Mandela was still in prison, there was a meeting of the 400 richest people in South Africa–and 399 of them were white? (The only black, an entertainer who had straightened her hair and changed her accent to become more acceptable to the white majority, was just barely rich enough to afford entry into the group.)

You’d nod sadly and consider it an obvious sign of how bad South African racism was, right?

Well, suppose for a second it wasn’t South Africa–it’s Canada, right now! And 399 out of the 400 richest people in Canada are white.

You’re probably thinking, wow, I thought they were a lot more enlightened than that in Canada. Oh, but wait. Canada didn’t do the whole slave and Civil War thing like we did; they have a higher percentage of whites to start with. But still, 399 out of 400. Sounds as though the hockey rink isn’t exactly level.

OK. Now here’s the real truth: It’s not South Africa, and it’s not Canada.

Forbes magazine has released its list of the 400 richest people in America. And every single one is white. Every single one. Except Oprah Winfrey, who is so far down the list that Bill Gates makes her entire net worth every 10 days.

Without Oprah, the big money on the Forbes list is 100 percent Caucasoid. Even including Oprah’s millions–I did the math–the biggest fortunes in America are still more than 99.9 percent white.

Personally, I think the editors should recheck their numbers. I mean, racism is a thing of the past, isn’t it? After all, Steve Forbes says so all the time.

SO ONE OF MY WRITER FRIENDS calls me last summer with a major scoop. Off the record. He’s all excited because he’s working with Pulitzer Prize-winner Seymour Hersh on a big story for Sy’s new book. And ABC is spending major dollars preparing a big TV special on their findings. It’s all very hush-hush, so I couldn’t talk or write about it at the time, but it’s big.

See, there’s a guy in New York who says he found some papers after his dad passed away. Dad was a big-deal lawyer, and the papers are supposed to be a contract in which JFK paid Marilyn Monroe a whole bunch of hush money so she’d keep her mouth shut about their supposed affair.

This is the big blockbuster: JFK had sex. Possibly with Marilyn. And maybe he paid her off.

This is what a Pulitzer Prize winner is doing with himself these days? I mean, no disrespect here–Seymour Hersh is Da Man, OK?, after winning acclaim for his Vietnam War coverage for the New York Times–but Al Gore’s having a Buddhist toga party in the Executive Office, and the dean of American journalism is going through 35-year-old bedsheets.

Well, as of last week, it turns out that the JFK papers just might be forgeries. So ABC tries to cover its keister and look all journalistic by wheeling on its source and making him look as bad as possible. Classy move.

ABC got suspicious because the typewriter technology that created the papers doesn’t match the dates on the contract. Aha! Good going, Sherlock. Let me again ask the same obvious questions I thought of, in five seconds, six months ago:

Why, exactly, would Jack and Marilyn put something they both wanted to keep secret in writing? And why, exactly, would they put a shady, secret, possibly illegal bribe in the form of a legal contract? What’s the point?

If Jack doesn’t come up with the cash, Marilyn needs a legal agreement before spilling the beans? On the other hand, if Marilyn talks and hurts Jack’s career, he’s then gonna destroy himself completely by suing her in open court for the payoff money?

Hello? Is there anyone left in TV news with even a slice of a brain?

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Odean Pope

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The Seeker


The Holy Grail: Tenor sax man Odean Pope makes a rare North Bay appearance.

Photo by Theo Fridiziius


Odean Pope strives for the sacred

By Greg Cahill

Odean Pope spends his time in the relentless pursuit of truth as codified in the fiery scales of a searing free-jazz sax solo. Indeed, 10 minutes into a phone interview with this obscure Philadelphia-based tenor sax player, it becomes clear that this is a man who is not a mere musician in the traditional sense of the word, but a spiritual seeker thirsting for sacred knowledge inside a swirl of polytonality. “To me, music is a universal thing,” says Pope.

This is a notion that permeates Pope’s conversation and one that has been a guiding light throughout his long, fruitful career as a performer, recording artist, and educator.

How deep is that vision? At age eight, as a member of a Baptist church in the unusually named town of Ninety Six, N.C., Pope would sit in the straight-backed, wooden pews, listening to the gospel choir and pondering what it would sound like to play that same sacred music on nine saxophones.

He got his chance. As the leader of the avant-garde Saxophone Choir, Pope has recorded several adventurous (and hard-to-find) albums, establishing himself as a cult figure. Meanwhile, he’s performed for 25 years as a sideman with legendary jazz drummer Max Roach and jammed with many of the giants of jazz, including John Coltrane and Dizzy Gillespie.

He returns to Sonoma State University Oct. 18 for a student workshop and public concert at the Evert B. Person Theater.

“It’s important to channel information down to the young people in order to keep this music alive,” says Pope, 59, who teaches everyone from poor Philly kids to privileged suburban students. “My philosophy is that even if you successfully pass that information down to one out of 10 students then that one will pass it down to others,” he adds. “You’ve got to keep that fire burning.”

For Pope, that fire has burned hotly since his youth. “When I first came to Philadelphia I was 10 years old,” he says. “There was a place called the Earl Theater, and they used to have Lionel Hampton, Count Basie, Illinois Jacquet, and Buddy Rich’s big bands–a whole lotta big bands used to come through town. I was exposed to a lot of different kinds of music.”

At 18, he joined the pit band at the rival Uptown Theater, playing behind such R&B and soul heavyweights as Stevie Wonder and Aretha Franklin. “About 10 days out of each month, they’d feature a touring stage show–Smokey Robinson, the Supremes,” recalls Pope, who already had sat in with jazz greats Chet Baker and Elvin Jones. “I learned a lot from that.”

It was during one of his frequent visits to a local nightclub that an underage Pope met Roach. “I wasn’t old enough to go inside the clubs, but I used to stand right near the door and listen to all the music.” During the breaks, the musicians would come outside to catch a breath of fresh air.

One of them later arranged for Pope to sit with Roach. “Max kicked ‘Cherokee’ so fast that it was one of the most intense learning experiences I ever had,” Pope says of the drummer’s mastery of legendary saxman Charlie Parker’s complicated jazz piece. “It made me go back to the woodshed to get more and more involved with the music.”

Among his closest contacts in those early years were such jazz notables as Coltrane, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Pharaoh Sanders, Benny Golson, and Jimmy Heath–all part of the bustling Philly music scene. He remembers Coltrane as a humble man who would sit in his living room with his tenor sax perched on his lap, surrounded by a half-dozen books on African and American literature and the arts, alternately reading and playing his horn.

“‘Trane gave me my first major job with [jazz organist] Jimmy Smith,” Pope says. “When [Coltrane] went to work with Miles Davis [in 1958], he had two weeks left on a job at a club here in Philly. He’d been listening to me at some of the local jazz workshops and for whatever reason he called and asked me take over that spot for him. Of course, I was scared to death, but he convinced me that I could do it.”

At 21, Pope landed a spot in Roach’s landmark band. It was a heady experience for the novice jazz player who stayed on board for a year before returning to Philly. “It really showed me the kinds of things I needed to do and convinced me that music was going to be my livelihood,” he says. “I came back and enrolled in school and got deeply involved with it.”

He returned with a vengeance, performing with pianist Ray Bryant and Art Blakey and the Jazz Messengers before resuming his long, continuous association with Roach. In the ’70s, he led an experimental jazz-funk fusion band called Catalyst, a contemporary of Miles Davis’ early electric bands. “It was a period of adjustment during which all musicians were standing back and taking a very good look at themselves and saying, ‘Let’s dabble in this and see if there’s anything there.'”

He formed his own trio, a format that gave him the freedom to explore a more adventurous free-jazz sound, and joined the ranks of jazz players reaching out into unexplored musical terrain.

Over the years, he has embraced the spirit of musical discovery. “Right now, I’m working on the whole spectrum of how you can expand, like cross rhythms. It gives me a chance to extend from where some of these jazz giants left off,” he explains. “I’m taking it to another level. The way I look at it is, music is evolution. Every time I pick that horn up there’s always something that I discover I can do differently if I really seek. If you were on planet Earth for, like, two billion years, I feel as though there’s always something new that you can find to do. There’s no end.

“When you feel satisfied with what you’re doing and feel as though you’ve got everything, then you’re dead.”

The Odean Pope Trio performs Saturday, Oct. 18, at 8 p.m. at the Evert B. Person Theater, Sonoma State University, 1801 E. Cotati Ave., Rohnert Park. (A free student jazz workshop will be held at 4 p.m.) Concert tickets are $6-$10. 664-2353.

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Talking Pictures

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Bullets Over Broadway


Goin’ to the Chapel: Vanessa Williams, Nia Long and Viveca L. Fox star in Soul Food.

Bestselling author Sheri Reynolds’ takes on the meaning of Big Mamas, pistols in theaters and the surprise hit ‘Soul Food’

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time he gets much more than he bargains for when he takes bestselling author Sheri Reynolds (The Rapture of Canaan) to see the remarkable new family drama Soul Food.

THIS IS A SURPRISINGLY clean floor–no trash, filth, gumwrappers, stale pocorn or spilled soda cups. A very good thing, because I know Sheri Reynolds didn’t come all the way from Virginia to muss up her clothes crawling on the floor of some movie theater on San Francisco’s Broadway Street.

Yet, strangely, here we are, down against the cement along with 300 other people, all of us crawling toward the neon-green exit sign, straining to keep our heads out of the way of bullets–just in case the pistol-waving fellow in the front row actually starts shooting.

Weird. Just minutes ago, we were enjoying one of the year’s best films, a little thing called Soul Food. Now the doors have been flung wide open, afternoon light rips through the room, and we are crawling out on our hands and knees, all because a woman with a crying baby refused to leave, sparking an angry volley of curses from the guy behind her, who then stormed from the theater, returning later … with a gun.

“I can’t believe this,” Reynolds mutters, her unmistakably Southern accent lending a folksy punch to her words. “I was really likin’ the movie, too.”

Ten minutes later, still visibly shaken by the ordeal, she asks, “I’ve never been on the floor of a movie theater before. How about you?” We’ve found sanctuary in a brightly lit espresso joint just across from the theater, which several police cars have now surrounded. The guy with the gun, having made his point, has apparently disappeared. No shots were fired. No one was hurt.

In a way, this is just one more thing in a year full of surprises for Reynolds, beginning last May when her lyrical novel The Rapture of Canaan was chosen as the monthly suggestion in Oprah Winfrey’s sensational Book Club. That announcement propelled Reynolds and Rapture–which, previous to Oprah, had made so small a splash that its publisher dropped the author from its stable of writers–onto the bestseller lists.

Reynolds’ next book, the slender but equally lovely A Gracious Plenty (Harmony, 1997)–about an isolated woman who becomes an unlikely advocate for the wonderfully raucous ghosts who inhabit the graveyard she tends–happily sparked a lucrative bidding war among the world’s top book houses.

All of which brought her to me, whereupon I put her in a theater with a lunatic. “I’m just disappointed we didn’t get to see the end of it,” she sighs, wrenching the cap from a bottle of apple juice. “It was just so pleasant to me.”

The film–a surprise hit–is about three sisters (Vanessa Williams, Viveca L. Fox, Nia Long) in a loving, extended middle-class family warmly ruled by Big Mama (Irma P. Hall). A genius at inspiring the best in her family, she insists that all her loved ones turn up for Sunday dinner. When she falls into a coma, the sisters’ tensions begin to mount, and the Sunday dinner tradition, along with the family’s unity, is threatened.

“You can’t protect people from badness,” Reynolds says, recalling the way Big Mama’s 12-year-old grandson attempts to carry on for her by maneuvering to bring the family together again. “This family was very loving, yet it was full of problems. I could understand why, by not having Big Mama at the center, it would allow these people to have just enough shakiness inside to make those small choices that turn big.”

Reynolds has just tapped into one of the underlying themes of the film. The way that little things become big things: A husband’s innocent offer to help a troubled female relative is the first step toward a potential affair, a wife’s behind-the-back attempts to deal her husband into a job ends in his going to jail.

“It escalates and escalates and escalates,” she says. “That’s how it works. Look at what happened in the movie theater. A baby was crying. And then we all left ’cause some guy came in with a gun.” Her eyes widen. “Isn’t it bizarre how what happened kind of paralleled the movie?”

Across the restaurant, someone cranks up the espresso machine. Reynolds, hearing the sharp, loud wail of the steamer, almost jumps out of her seat. “Wow!” she laughs, covering her heart with both hands. “I thought it was squalling tires out in the street or something. I was all ready to be shot at. I’ve sure got a good case of nerves goin’ on now!”

With a deep breath, she manages to regain her composure. “Actually, my own grandma’s a lot like Big Mama,” she says. “My grandma runs everything, and I love her so much. She’s one of my favorite people in the world. She gets us to do what she wants us to do, though more by manipulating us than by being this powerhouse of wisdom. She nags. She tries to clear our heads.

“Grandmas are important people,” Reynolds adds, noting that the character of Nana in The Rapture of Canaan is based on her grandmother, to whom the book is also dedicated.

“What this movie’s doing,” she continues, “is showing that–hey!–this is family. Family is important. Stuff happens, and you just have to negotiate between good times and bad times. And that you have to make your own strength sometimes ’cause the Big Mama ain’t always gonna be there.”

Reynolds finishes the last swig of apple juice. “I want to be like Big Mama someday,” she exclaims, “to be enough out of my own way as to let the wisdom come right to the top, like a fountain.”

Reynolds pauses, glancing out the window, looking for the next surprise. “I’ve always wanted to be a fountain of wisdom,” she laughs. “Haven’t you?”

From the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Campaign-Finance Reform

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Washington Watch

By Doug Ireland

The senate may be going through the motions of debating campaign-finance reform, but the effort to weaken the stranglehold that big special-interest money has over our politics was gutted before it began. Tom Daschle, the Senate Democratic leader, signaled prior to the opening of the debate that he’d be willing to accept an increase in the limits on direct hard-money contributions to candidates’ campaigns in return for passage of a ban on soft money to national party committees.

That would open the floodgates to a torrent of new money from fat cats.

A study released last week by the U.S. Public Interest Research Group shows that, while a soft-money ban would have removed from the political system $262 million that the two national parties raised from special interests in the last election cycle, raising the $1,000-per-election limit on hard-money contributions to just $2,500 would replace it with $318 million in new money from the wealthy. That’s an additional $56 million, or 21 percent more than produced by the current soft-money system. Those holding elective federal office would still be indentured servants of their fundraising machines under the sellout Daschle proposal, and our feckless legislators would still have to spend an outrageously huge portion of their time going hat in hand to the privileged.

As political analyst Charles Cook wrote in the Capitol Hill weekly Roll Call, “Republicans raise more soft money than do Democrats, but a higher proportion of Democratic party funds come from soft dollars … Furthermore, the GOP committees have traditionally been more dependent on direct mail contributions usually in small denominations from individual contributors, than Democrats, who are, proportionally speaking, more reliant on large, individual donors.”

Why, then, is Daschle taking a posture that would apparently place his party at a money disadvantage? Because, as the New York Times correctly noted in a stinging editorial on Sunday, “Democrats … have long championed reform knowing that it would not pass.” Kentucky’s Mitch McConnell, Utah’s Robert Bennett, and other GOP leaders of the anti-reform bloc have promised to filibuster to death any bill that limits the amount of money that either parties or candidates can raise. And even in the improbable event that supporters of the loophole-ridden McCain-Feingold bill manage to pick up the additional 11 votes from Republican senators they’d need for a 60-vote super-majority to shut down a filibuster, House Speaker Newt Gingrich has said that money limitations would be killed in the House.

Soft money, of course, is but a small part of the problem: It accounts for only an eighth of the more than $2.1 billion spent in the last cycle on federal elections alone. And eliminating soft money would hardly make it more difficult for big donors, who could easily disperse their huge contributions into legal hard dollars. Take the Fanjul family, sugar barons who put more than $900,000 into federal campaigns last year. They gave $141,000 in direct contributions to candidates and another $135,000 through PACs from family members; $128,000 from seven executives of their companies; and another $500,000 in soft money from 13 companies they control. If the money was carefully reapportioned, the Fanjuls could stop giving soft money altogether and still donate $850,000, nearly as much as they did before. That’s why replacing the current system of special-interest money in its entirety with public financing is the only way to unblock the clogged arteries of our democracy.

Meanwhile, new influence-buying scandals continue to surface, the latest involving HUD. A draft report from the Department of Housing and Urban Development’s inspector general shows that under Andrew Cuomo, the department squandered hundreds of millions by awarding no-bid contracts to Clinton campaign contributors. For example, over the objections of career contracting officers, HUD renewed a $20 million contract with the Big Six accounting firm Ernst & Young, less than one month after the company gave Clinton’s ’96 campaign $132,000.

That’s just one of 39 contracts of questionable legality targeted by the IG’s report. Another contract with Lockheed Martin to operate HUD’s computer system, originally $525 million when first awarded in 1990, has been changed under Cuomo to allow for cost overruns that could total an eventual $1 billion. As of June 1 there have been 41 funding modifications to the contract with Lockheed Martin–an equal-opportunity corrupter that has given both Democrats and Republicans huge sums.

This incipient HUD affair has been largely ignored by the mass media: After all, isn’t Marv Albert’s kinky sex life more important than ending legal political bribery? And the irrelevant Senate debate drones on, and on …

Web exclusive to the Oct. 9-15, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Talking Pictures

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1,000 Questions

A Thousand Acres hexes the sexes

By David Templeton

Writer David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he meets up with acclaimed novelist Joyce Maynard (To Die For) to check out the hotly-debated “chick flick” A Thousand Acres.

We’re late.

Informed by our ticket-taker that the previews have already begun, our tardy foursome moves quickly, in strict double-date formation, toward the glimmering sign that proclaims, “Jessica Lange. Michelle Pfeiffer. A Thousand Acres.” As we enter the long, carpeted runway that leads to the theater, we suddenly slow down at a signal from author Joyce Maynard, gliding in the lead, arm-in-arm with her boyfriend, Michael, as I follow along beside my wife, Susan.

“You realize,” Joyce warns playfully, turning to target Michael and myself, “you’ll probably be the only two men in here, don’t you?”

What? Oh, surely not, I silently protest. A high-profile movie like A Thousand Acres? Based on a Pulitzer prize winning novel (by Jane Smiley), starring two of the big screen’s best actresses, in a story suggested by King Lear, a tale rife with epic themes, of sex and death and cruelty and power and love and loss and, um, hog farming?

Men can handle stories about relationships, can’t they? After all, I’m male yet I’ve read Joyce Maynard’s books–To Die For, on which Nicole Kidman’s hit movie was based; the compelling Where Love Goes, a tale of a divorced woman redefining the meaning of love– novels that have been typed as “chick fiction” due to their emphasis on the twist and turns of relationships. Surely I am not alone among by testosterone-secreting brothers in appreciating–even craving— a good emotional ride now and then, am I?

Glancing about as we enter the darkened theater, I make a rough estimate. Approximately 250 seats filled. Exactly… let’s see… eight men in the whole audience. Ten counting Michael and myself. That’s one man for every 25 women.

Embarrassed by this anemic showing, I drop sheepishly into my seat, and the movie begins. A malevolent farmer (Jason Robards) divides his Iowa farm among his daughters (Pfeiffer, Lange, and Jennifer Jason Leigh), after which they have numerous exposition-filled conversations in which all manner of shocking secrets are brought into the light, secrets that threaten to tear the sisters apart and succeed in driving old demented Dad out into the rain. I give myself over to it, desperately trying to … you know… feel something.

To no avail. By the time the film finally comes to a close, the strongest emotion I’ve experienced is fear; fear that the damned thing would never end.

“It was pretty bad,” Joyce agrees–to my relief– as we take places around a patio table at a nearby coffee joint. “Pretty much a watered-down version of the book. It’s a shame too, because I loved the book. It was subtle and powerful. But in the movie, every character was reduced to about four personality traits. I don’t believe, actually, that the best books necessarily make the best movies.”

Fifteen minutes pass, as the men–who have not read the actual book– lob questions at the women, who have. For the most part, these questions are variations on, “Was the father better developed in the book,” and, “Was the sister’s relationship more fully explained,” and, “Weren’t there any likable guys?”

As Joyce and Susan compare impressions of the novel, I return to my earlier thoughts about men, and my belief that–in spite of our protestations to the contrary– we are not immune to emotions, or to stories about emotional subjects. So why weren’t there more fellas in that movie?

“I felt there was possibility that this might have been a rich movie for men,” Joyce acknowledges. “I think part of it is, you don’t usually have men writing those kind of stories, so you get women defining the world of men’s feelings. My guess is that men would be very interested in a man’s novel about these sorts of relationships… but it just doesn’t happen.

“With Where Love Goes,” Joyce continues. “I’ve been told by men that if I’d wanted men to read that novel, for starters I shouldn’t have named it ‘Where Love Goes.'” She shrugs. “Actually, there’s a consistent pattern that happens. I get a lot of letters. A lot of e-mails at my website. When men write about that novel, they almost always begin like this: ‘I bought that novel. For my wife. For my girlfriend. I never read books like that, but I was flipping through this one… and hey. I ended up getting into it.’ A lot of the most enthusiastic readers of that novel have been men, who supposed that that territory was not for them.

“I think they’ve probably been burned by a lot of ‘relationship’ books that don’t sufficiently encompass the male perspective. I shouldn’t presume that I do, either,” she goes on, “but I do think a lot about men’s point of view. Perhaps because I’m the mother of sons, I’ve tried really hard to get into the head of men, because I really like men, and I want to understand how they got to be that way.”

“Um, ‘that way?'” I repeat, raising one eyebrow in mock offense. “That way being, ‘Unable to watch ‘women’s fiction?'”

“Oh, you know what I mean,” she laughs merrily. “But it must be very, very hard to not get to comfortably explore that whole realm of experience. It must be hard to be a man.”

From the Oct. 2-8, 1997 issue of the Sonoma County Independent.

© Metro Publishing Inc.

Hollywood’s Influence on Smoking

Smoke ScreenDo spiraling youth smoking rates signify stubborn defiance by Gen-Xersand the Hollywood elite?By Kelle WalshTHERE IS A LONGSTANDING belief in Hollywood that art doesn't influence actions; rather, it mirrors the actions of society at large. This premise has long allowed movies to portray gratuitous violence, sex, or alcohol and drug use under the protective guise of "freedom of...

Paul Taylor Dance Company

Prime TimeLois GreenfieldCatching Air: The Paul Taylor Dance Company returns to the LBC Oct. 14.The Paul Taylor Dance Company leaps back into the lightBy Sophie L.J. WolffYES, NEW YORK choreographer Paul Taylor has been at it for 44 years. No, that doesn't mean that this 66-year-old award-winning artist has gotten stodgy or off his toes in any way....

TV Smarts

Idiot WindBy Kevin R. KingSo I'm watching TV the other day and some intellectual crumb bum gets on and starts calling television a "vast wasteland" and blaming it for divorce and teen violence and attention deficit whatever and I'm thinking to myself: What a load of bunk! I've watched about 15 hours of television a day my whole life...

Lend Me a Tenor

Opera GlassesSucker Pucker: Danny Kovacs and Sharon Drake costar in 'Lend Me a Tenor.'Photo by Dan GreenbergBackstage wit in 'Lend Me a Tenor' By Daedalus HowellHOT DAMN! Rohnert Park's Spreckels Performing Arts Center is the crown jewel of Sonoma County's live theater spaces. And this season, it receives a delightful buff to its sheen with Pacific Alliance Stage Company's...

Wine Reviews

Branching OutMichael AmslerIt Takes a Village, People: All stripes, credos, beliefs, and mores add to the mix--even when one is not drinking.Local wines are nothing if not diverseBy Bob JohnsonCELEBRATE DIVERSITY" is more than a bumper sticker. This wake-up call to American society stresses that the differences among the myriad cultures that reside within our borders must be accepted...

The Scoop

Bob-o-RamaAnd who stole ABC-TV's brain?By Bob HarrisWHAT WOULD YOU SAY if I told you that while Nelson Mandela was still in prison, there was a meeting of the 400 richest people in South Africa--and 399 of them were white? (The only black, an entertainer who had straightened her hair and changed her accent to become more acceptable to the...

Odean Pope

The SeekerThe Holy Grail: Tenor sax man Odean Pope makes a rare North Bay appearance.Photo by Theo FridiziiusOdean Pope strives for the sacredBy Greg CahillOdean Pope spends his time in the relentless pursuit of truth as codified in the fiery scales of a searing free-jazz sax solo. Indeed, 10 minutes into a phone interview with this obscure Philadelphia-based tenor...

Talking Pictures

Bullets Over BroadwayGoin' to the Chapel: Vanessa Williams, Nia Long and Viveca L. Fox star in Soul Food.Bestselling author Sheri Reynolds' takes on the meaning of Big Mamas, pistols in theaters and the surprise hit 'Soul Food'By David TempletonWriter David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time he...

Campaign-Finance Reform

Washington WatchBy Doug IrelandThe senate may be going through the motions of debating campaign-finance reform, but the effort to weaken the stranglehold that big special-interest money has over our politics was gutted before it began. Tom Daschle, the Senate Democratic leader, signaled prior to the opening of the debate that he'd be willing to accept an increase in the...

Talking Pictures

1,000 QuestionsA Thousand Acres hexes the sexesBy David TempletonWriter David Templeton takes interesting people to interesting movies in his ongoing quest for the ultimate post-film conversation. This time out, he meets up with acclaimed novelist Joyce Maynard (To Die For) to check out the hotly-debated "chick flick" A Thousand Acres.We're late.Informed by our ticket-taker that the previews...
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