Bubbles Over Broadway
When it tried out in San Francisco earlier this year to hometown acclaim, I refused to grant this hokey contrivance high marks, noting, nonetheless, that it does have a natural audience base in all the teen girls who are said to flood Broadway ticket counters.
Legally Blonde, which just failed to nab a nomination for Best Musical from the Tony people, got little respect from Big Apple critics when it opened on April 30, and I’m feeling (okay, smugly) vindicated. Read Clive Barnes: "amorphous, synthetic and manically empty-headed music." Even the often easy-to-please USA Today added sneer to the jeers: "Whatever pleasures Blonde provides ... are as fleeting and superficial as the highlights." Of course, you’re wondering, but what about the New York Times? Here’s what: "...approximates the experience of eating a jumbo box of Gummi Bears in one sitting." You heard it here first from Showbiz David. You can check out my review by typing "Legally Blonde" in the search box above... Or you can smugly ignore me.
Why do I watch Survivor? Without saying much, well, it’s kind of because if I find somebody whose looks and charm appeal to me, it’s a fun event. Okay, so it’s a flesh show, alright?
Hilarious satire makes a mess of figure skating during the early scenes of Blades of Glory, starring Will Ferrell and Jon Heder, who will end up competing together as the first male-male "pairs" duo. I loved watching the phony baloney world of millionaire fluff bunnies and cutthroat bladsters spoofed (maybe because my sport of roller skating has always been pushed cleverly aside by theirs)--- complete with pip squeak cheerleader-analyst Scott Hamilton (playing himself) taking it over the top. Even the ice-on-mice shows are mercilessly trashed for laughs galore. How I wished this film could have continued apace. But no, it fairly melts away when Heder, who enters as a flaming queen, must learn how to love a real woman. Duh? And what a fairy tale that turns out to be. Get out the ice machine, guys, and sweep this ridiculous hetero farce off the rink...
Late Night watch: I watched Craig Ferguson and found him a bore, then tried him another night and found him a delight. Back again, he started to wear thin. Too much oddball body gyrations bring a stale penchant for Bit drag in. Methinks this Craig needs sharper writing and packaging. Me doubts he's going very far this side of the Atlantic. Super nice guy, and that's probably the problem.
Old flick discovery on tv: Rainbow On the River (1936). With Bobby Breen and May Robson fleshing out the touching tale of a young white kid raised by an ex-slave in post-Civil war South. He gets pulled away to live with his rich snobby in-laws in the big city. Happy ending, and that’s how it should be in this lilting musical fantasy that yet has a real soul. Relationships between people jump ethnic barriers all the time.
Next on the Big Lot: Baraboo Revisited.
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