Tuesday, November 22, 2016


Eli Wallach and Anne Jackson

For many years in my youth, like a good little culturati, I sent checks to PBS during their funding drives and felt good and virtuous.

Then, after I married a professional actor, my husband Tom O'Rourke, we took a harder look at PBS and both became FURIOUS LIVID AND INCENSED. We never sent them another dollar, and I will tell you why.

Every time we tuned into PBS, we saw our hard-earned acting tax dollars being lavished on buying BBC productions. What a resounding slap in the face to every American actor, writer, director and what an insult to America's cultural history.

There we would sit, short on cash, like all actors, working in a business where good jobs are impossible to find. No one becomes an actor so they can watch themselves on TV hawking sausage and cosmetics. You become an actor to do good work in productions of interesting and memorable comedy and drama. Your calling is to bring to light some truth about the human condition.

What part of the PBS budget was spent on great American actors doing the great roles? How about FRIGGIN ZERO dollars.

Think about it. Would Jack Nicolson have said no if he'd been offered the chance to do a production of KING LEAR for PBS? I'll bet he'd have loved to have done that and done it for free. And what an incredible treasure that would have been.

Tom and I attended an immensely popular and well reviewed production of OTHELLO on Broadway starring James Earl Jones and Diane Weist. Why wasn't some deal made to bring that to PBS? Two incredible American actors in a brilliant production of a Shakespearean classic was pure gold. Would the Broadway producers have turned down all the free publicity and the acclaim they would have enjoyed from being filmed for American PBS? Gee, that's a tough one.

We were privileged to see Eli Wallach and Anne Jackson in an hilarious and unforgettable production of Anouilh's WALTZ OF THE TOREADORS. Where was PBS to capture two of America's most talented actors working at the top of their game?

Where are the productions of great American dramatists like Eugene O'Neill, Thornton Wilder, Kaufman and Hart, Ring Lardner, Garson Kanin, Booth Tarkington? I could go on and on, except my blood is already boiling. And frankly the loss of the opportunity to preserve so much talent and dazzling brilliance sickens me.

Most actors will work very cheap for the chance to be in something good and be able to really stretch their acting muscles. It was infuriating for us to see the American PBS shun everything American in favor of the BBC.

Now, post Trump election, I see the deeply dyed contempt the elites have for ordinary Americans. I believe the people running PBS shared this ingrained and insensate hatred of everything American; it  goes a long way to explain their policy of no American drama, ever.

I also believe the management at PBS was ignorant and lazy. It was so much easier to buy the BBC shows, than to put themselves on the line and do something original. 

Most of the elite are completely ignorant about American culture because they have been educated by other Liberals, who also despise America.

You can now return to your regularly scheduled programming. Thank you for reading my rant.

Saturday, November 19, 2016


John Wilkes Booth and the Devil

As someone who is a theater lover and whose husband made his living as an actor, I want to thank the Vice President and his wife for their interest in one of the greatest and most important art forms humanity has ever created. That they took the time and energy to attend a theatrical performance means so much to me and to all of us who truly love the theater.

Last night, you walked into the belly of the beast because you had a curiosity to see what playing there. I applaud your courage and good will. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart.

Please accept my deepest and humblest apologies for the insolence, and disrespectful rudeness of the 'actors' to you and your lovely wife. Like everything else in this country, theater is and has been compromised for several decades by the corporatists until it is just another of the shoddy products the global elitists have shoved down our throats. HAMILTON is not real theater; it is the self congratulatory twaddle that passes for theater these days, New York Times approved, 100% pure hogwash.

To the absurd moral exhibitionist cast, I say, no, you will never be safe from the scorn of the working class people in this country who get up every morning and go to work to keep the lights on in this country and put food on the table for all. Nor will you escape the disgust of those who have been prevented from working by your ignorant, destructive regulations and divisive rhetoric.

Actors have an unfortunate history of getting swollen egos. The Player's Club in Gramercy Park, New York City, was formed by Edwin Booth to counteract the intense hatred that the public felt toward all actors and artists after his brother, actor John Wilkes Booth, assassinated the country's most beloved president, Abraham Lincoln. Creating the club was his attempt to restore the reputation of actors and rebuild the good will of the public to rescue the arts from the infamy that his brother had brought onto them.

I am so disgusted by the fools in the performance last night who call themselves actors, but who were so overcome by their own grandeur that they demeaned themselves and all actors in a shameful display of lack of professionalism and common courtesy.

They say history repeats itself. Once as tragedy, and once as farce. They were going to hang John Wilkes Booth; today, we must be content with haranguing these fat headed, ridiculous fools.

And by the way, a lot of the people who fought in the revolution were not immigrants. My own family had lived in the colony of New Jersey for almost a hundred years, when they shouldered their muskets and fought for freedom from the globalist power of their day, the mighty British Empire.

So rave on you talentless toads, you are about to be swept onto the ash pile of history by new actors who possess the fire of real talent, not the simpering smirk of a cheaply bought shill. You are part of the Mainstream Media and you are already irrelevant.

One more point about that "no White Actors" casting. From my vast experience in Hollywood I can tell you that this is called 'stunt casting'. If your show needs something a little extra to goose it up, because it just isn't coming together, you do some stunt casting. You stunt cast to draw attention away from the lack of excitement in the show. Like if there is a part for a wrestler, you get a real name wrestler. It's not important that he can't act; he is a wrestler and everybody knows  it and he draws his fans. Stunt casting provides novelty when the ideas are a little stale.

Hollywood and Broadway do it all the time. Having a show where everyone knows the real characters were white, and then you cast them everything but, is a way to try to make the show more interesting. It's almost always a desperation move.

I remember a show on the lower Eastside called "Matt and Ben's Big Adventure" many years ago, about how the script for "Good Will Hunting" fell out of the sky on Matt Damon and Ben Affleck. Well, the two guys were played by the two women who wrote the show, and that made it even funnier. The women really didn't try too hard to imitate Matt Damon and Ben Affleck, but they were surprisingly effective and hilarious.

Or one time I went to any NYU production of Moliere's "Misanthrope" done entirely in the nude. The audience figured out in about five minutes that nudity was just another costume and forgot all about it. Only one problem. One of the actors scraped his knee and it started bleeding. Watching someone bleed causes anxiety in the audience, unless you're an ancient Roman at the Coliseum. It was impossible not to worry about how soon he could get offstage and put some antibiotic on his knee. Now, if he'd been wearing pants.... Rediscovering the wheel. Clothes have a function.

But that's all stunting. Kind of punking your own show to make it SOMETHING, when something is missing and you don't know what to do. Always a bad sign.

Wednesday, November 16, 2016


The Mainstream Media is now the laughingstock of the entire nation. And they did it to themselves. There are videos all over Youtube showing all the talking heads in dumbfounded shock when Trump won the presidency, emphasis on the dumb. They didn't even have the brains to try to save face and look like they knew what they were doing; they just sat there in open mouthed shock.

And, Oh, By The Way, that's your job, news person: getting the story. That's why they give you those big paychecks, all that fancy equipment, provide news sources, research, camera and air time. You're supposed to be in the know, slightly ahead of the curve, and on top of the news, not behind it, you MAROONS!!@!.


Monday, November 14, 2016


No, I don't mean Madonna, although I've heard all the people with the vouchers for the free fellatio are going to be stiffed.

I mean the movie producers, yes those fiendishly competitive denizens who make the reels of Hollywood turn. Those whores. And what do those craven whores covet above all else? What would they consider quitting their cocaine habit for? Bragging rights! Bragging rights are pure oxygen in Hollywood. It's how you get in front of the line at all the best restaurants and whisked to the best table. It's who shows up at your kid's birthday bash. It's who takes your call. And it is more precious than Liz's diamond from Richard, more sought after than a liver donor for an over the hill director, more beloved than a movie with fifteen sequels, and more honored than a union lunch break.

And how do you get a taste of that sweetest of all caviar, bragging rights? Will Stars do it? Yes, and pay them more than they are worth just to show off. High brow artsy? Sure, and hope that no one shows up at the theater so you can prove you really were too smart for America. Talent? Naw, nobody really cares about talent, because no one in Hollywood will admit anyone else has more talent than they do. Special effects epic blowout? Works, sometimes. Nudity? Hey, we've already done the full frontal dongs of the most popular male stars, so that's over.

So what's the best, most reliable way to get those bragging rights which will make all in Tinsel town bow and scrape? It's what no movie producer will ever admit, though it is literally the ONLY thing that matters. Whisper, shhhh, don't let the public know because then they'd think they own us. It's box office. BOX OFFICE. Getting bodies in those theater seats. Lines around the block for your blockbuster. Wow, that is a lung full of air to those producers drowning in debt.

Now, having done 10 years hard time in Hollywood, I have picked up on a few of the more obvious mores of that town. Consequently, I know for sure that, though they are still loudly rattling their sabers in loyal support of their beloved candidate Hillary, a new obsession has seized their greedy minds. When was the last time, oh, say, more than 200 people lined up at one am, on an hour's notice, to see ANYTHING from Hollywood? Probably Harry Potter. Yeah. And maybe a couple of hundred kids got to stay up late for the opening.

So they've noticed that there's this guy running around the country, a guy they all ostensibly loathe, hate and revile, and this despicable fella gives an hour's notice in a modestly sized town, and FRIGGIN 31, 000 people show up, just like magic. WHAT THE HELL HAS THIS GUY GOT THAT WE HAVEN'T? HOW THE HELL DOES HE DO THAT? AND HOW THE HELL CAN WE GET SOME?

As I mentioned before, it's a competitive town, so they'll all continue hysterically rattling those sabers for Hillary, but, in carefully guarded secret and very posh hideaways, without a word to any of their best friends or worst enemies, every producer in Hollywood will spend EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN WAKING MOMENT (and when you're on coke those waking moments can last for a week) frantically wracking their brains for a way to tap into that BIG FAT audience, because they know, just as God made little green apples, that the first producer to strike BOX OFFICE gold in the new Trump vein will rule HOLLYWOOD and have BRAGGING RIGHTS as big as KING KONG'S NUTS.

So I say, thank god for the whores of Hollywood. We may finally get some movies worth watching.

Saturday, November 12, 2016


Recently, I happened to be in an office where young, high school students were visiting on a field trip to discuss the candidates running for election in the recent American presidential election. They were uniformly well behaved young people, well dressed, attractive and alert. They asked the same tired, old political questions that had been repeatedly canvassed over the last year or so, receiving the same tired boilerplate answers. But, the event did give the students a chance to formulate a coherent question and speak in front of a group, which seemed to me a very worthwhile experience, no matter the triteness of the subject matter.

But, near the end, one student asked a question, and the way she phrased the question provided a startling glimpse into her mind and that of her fellow students and even of the political representatives who were there to respond.

This young lady wondered what the candidates were going to do about climate change. The politicians present preceded to list various measures they advocated to deal with climate change. It was like a charade, except it wasn't.

That a high school student could honestly believe that politicians can control the climate was shocking. That adults who presumably should and do know better told her their plans to control climate change was like watching theater of the absurd. Please, someone tell the children, politicians do not control the climate.

Then I remembered King Canute and the waves. Canute was the King of the North Sea empire, which included Denmark, England and Norway, from 995 to 1035 AD. 

From Wikipedia:

"In the narrative, Canute demonstrates to his flattering courtiers that he has no control over the elements (the incoming tide), explaining that secular power is vain compared to the supreme power of God. The episode is frequently alluded to in contexts where the futility of "trying to stop the tide" of an inexorable event is pointed out.

In Huntingdon's account, Canute set his throne by the sea shore and commanded the incoming tide to halt and not wet his feet and robes. Yet "continuing to rise as usual [the tide] dashed over his feet and legs without respect to his royal person. Then the king leapt backwards, saying: 'Let all men know how empty and worthless is the power of kings..."

Over a thousand years later, we ought to know that, even today, with all its scientific marvels, no power on earth, man made or otherwise can do something as simple as halt the tides, much less change the climate.

I am reminded of a quote by that frighteningly cynical journalist, H. L. Mencken who said:

"The whole aim of practical politics is to keep the populace alarmed (and hence clamorous to be led to safety) by menacing it with an endless series of hobgoblins, all of them imaginary."

I suppose climate change is a wonderfully effective series of imaginary hobgoblins to menace the public with and capable of providing the necessary alarm so that a politician can lead them to vote his party into power. Does that make me as cynical as H. L. Mencken? I sincerely hope not.

Wednesday, November 9, 2016


After spending thirty years in show biz, and doing a hard ten in Hollywood itself, the word schadenfreude is exactly what I'm feeling today, only that's too intellectual and too mild a word. Sweet revenge, divine justice, and the thrill of seeing the LaLa land bullies get their noses bloodied comes closer to the emotions welling up inside me.

“What the cool kids are upset about is that someone they don’t like and someone who is not part of the cool kids won."said an anonymous Hollywood agent in a piece in the Hollywood Reporter today. (Hollywood Reporter)

Well, sort of. Except Hollywood's rude shock was realizing they aren't the cool kids. No, there they were strutting their stuff in million dollar ads, all dressed up in their ridiculous costumes, trying way too hard to be cool for Hillary, only to discover they were the total rejects, the gross outs, the ones everyone who is cool avoids, tries not to see and is embarrassed by and for. In one terrible night, it was patently obvious to the entire global audience that Hollywood stars were creepy, pathetic losers, the opposite of cool. 


"Ads don’t work, polls don’t work, celebrities don’t work, media endorsements don’t work, ground games don’t work." (Hollywood Reporter)

Nothing cool at all about desperate losers. NOTHING.

"Truly, really, a new voice had spoken — but in a pitch so high and a language so obscure that none of us in the media picked it up." (Hollywood Reporter - Michael Wolff)

Yes, the pitch was too high for the lowlifes of Hollywood, and the voice too pure. The language was obscure to media moguls because it was the language of the human heart, that very special organ they are lacking. The yes men, sycophants and shills who pretend to create culture would need a grain of humanity to speak from the heart.

Thank God for Donald Trump and his family. The media slimed them with every insult they could think of, but what they missed was that the man is all heart. Not a fake plastic saint like Hillary, but a real, flawed, very human man who leads from his heart, but also uses his brain.

So Hollywood flatlined and is on the meat wagon to its eternal rest.     

Donald Trump's victory is very sweet for me personally. It is gratifying to see so many dimwitted fat heads get found out. Time for new blood in the entertainment world.

Tuesday, November 8, 2016


This is from a wonderful book MURDER FOR PLEASURE about the history of the murder mystery story written by Howard Haycraft, 1941

Published while the war was raging, well before June 6, 1944, D -Day, nevertheless, this post is my way of never forgetting the terrible sacrifices made that day so the world could be free.

"When Nazi Luftwaffe squadrons unleashed their wanton fury on London in the late summer of 1940, initiating to their own consternation a deathless epic of human courage and resistance, they also drove a city of eight million souls beneath the earth's surface for a nightly refuge. After the first shock of a kind of battle new in the annals of warfare had passed, life underground began to take on some of the aspects of normality. One of the earliest harbingers of rehabilitation was the appearance of books in the fetid burrows while the bombs rained overhead. What volumes, asked curious Americans from the comfortable security of their homes, could men and women choose for their companionship at such a time? The answer was soon forthcoming in dispatches from the beleaguered capital, telling of newly formed "raid" libraries set up in response to popular demand to lend detective stories and nothing else. The implications contained in this circumstance, as applied to the underlying appeal of the detective novel, might easily constitute a superior essay in themselves (and are perhaps unfathomable at that). But surely no more striking illustration could be found of the vital position which this form of literature has come to occupy in modern civilized existence, for whatever reasons.

"A few months before the outbreak of the Second World Was, press dispatches from totalitarian Italy announced to the outside world that the works of Agatha Christie and Edgar Wallace, the two English detective story writers most popular in Italian translation, had been banned from the country by decree of the Fascist party. No reason was stated for the decision. But early in 1941 a more explicit action was reported from the Third Reich, where the Nazi party ordered the withdrawal of all imported detective fiction from German bookshops. As spokesman for the party line, the Deutsche Allgemeine Zeitung was quoted in angry denunciation of this "illegitimate offspring" of English literature. Detective stories, the newspaper thundered, were nothing but "pure liberalism" designed to "stuff the heads of German readers with foreign ideas."

"These actions were dismissed by many citizens of free lands simply as further instances of the reasonless stupidity (once so amusing) of dictatorships. But those readers who paused to recall the genesis, history, and very premises of detective fiction found little that was surprising in the edicts. For the detective story is and always has been essentially a democratic institution; produced on any large scale only in democracies; dramatizing, under bright cloak of entertainment, many of the precious rights and privileges that have set dwellers in constitutional lands apart from those less fortunate."

"Detectives," wrote the late E. M. Wrong of Oxford in a notable dictum, "cannot flourish until the public has an idea what constitutes proof." It is precisely this close affinity between detection and evidence which accounts for the interrelation of the fictionized form and democracy. For, of all the democratic heritages, none has been more stubbornly defended by free peoples the world over than the right of fair trial -- the credo that no man shall be convicted of crime in the absence of reasonable proof, safeguarded by known, just and logical rules.