Letters From Bobby

Long before I became a non-chef host on Food Network, I had a prime time talk show on VH1. It was so long ago that executives back then were concerned about the show. Even though it got rave reviews from The New York Times and TV Guide, they thought a half hour of talk was too much and interrupted the flow of music.

Just how much music do we get today on VH1? It’s practically all talk.

Anyway, from those days, I posted archive clips of my interviews with folks such as Kirk Douglas, Meryl Streep, Paul McCartney, Raul Julia, Carlos Santana and Patrick Dempsey. I also posted clips from my WNBC and Fox5 New York live morning news show stints. To see them, just go here:
www.youtube.com/BobbyRiversTV

Feel free to rate ‘em and leave a comment or two. Enjoy!

Can you believe yesterday’s news? We went from (R) Gov. Mark Sanford’s marital indiscretion in Argentina to — not one — but two famous celebrities passing away on the same day. The Farrah Fawcett and Michael Jackson deaths put network newsrooms in a tizzy. Not only were both performers iconic in their areas of the entertainment profession, but our news coverage is now extremely celebrity driven.

This is Gay Pride weekend in New York. The big parade is this coming Sunday. My neighborhood is already overrun with musclemen all walking like Tarzan and talking like Jane. Bless their hearts. I’ve got some temp work today in my personal attempt to slap the Recession out of my life. I’ll be in a clerical position. I hope I do well. That last time I did clerical temp work, folks were still using typewriters. In the meantime, I hope you have a terrific weekend.

Why are TV executives fascinated by non-A-list celebrities trying an AA-type of rehab on VH1? Why are we watching grown guys get whacked in the manberries every single Sunday on “America’s Funniest Videos?” Why is a network showing us dorky “American Idol” loser Sanjaya Malaker on “I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here!” And why does Sanjaya currently have an autobiography in major bookstores? Two surprises there — first, Malakar has an autobiography published since he’s still a kid whose major achievement was losing on a talent show and second, that it’s a hardcover publication. Not a softcover one with drawings that you have to fill in with crayons.

If some network executive was really a visionary, he or she would give the one and only Cher a reality series. Whose life and career has been and is more fascinating than hers?!?!? She went from being the laughing stock half of a pop music duo to Oscar winning actress, music superstar and fashion icon. And now, she’s a working mom whose lesbian daughter is in the process of being a husky version of “Access Hollywood” host, Billy Bush. Yes, Chastity Bono, daughter of Cher and the late Sonny Bono, is undergoing a sex change. Today, it’s called gender reassignment.

When Chastity first broke the news of her intentions to her mother, I wonder if Cher’s initial urge was to slap Chaz a couple of times and shout “Snap out of it!”

If ever a show biz mom could handle such a monumental change in the family, it’s Cher. How cool that, after the operation is complete, she’ll still be able to call her baby “Chaz.”

Have a good weekend.

I noticed that national radio and network television news are noting the anniversary of World War II’s D-Day Invasion today. As it should. Last night, Turner Classic Movies aired Steven Spielberg’s Saving Private Ryan for the first time to honor the anniversary.

I remember this day in another year of our American history. The year was 1968. I was a shy, polite student at an all-boys Catholic high school in the Watts section of South Central Los Angeles. I loved my English Lit. classes and any Theology class taught by Father Daniel Balzereit. If he’d been an actor in the 1930s, he’d have been in Warner Bros. gangster movies. Although he was no more than five feet, four inches, he had strong, dark features with thick eyebrows and eyes that looked as black as the coal dug up from the Pennsylvania community that, we students learned, was his hometown. Nobody messed with Fr. Balzereit. The hairy forearms that showed from under the short sleeves of his priest attire looked like Popeye’s after he chomped spinach. He had power. He also loved teaching. When a student not only got what he was teaching but had a lightbulb moment of inspiration that took the lesson up a notch, Father Balzereit’s face would light up like he’d won a new car on a game show. Essentially, he was one of us. A guy from an economically deprived and depressed community who wanted to distinguish himself in the world. I think the same could be said of most of the priests who taught us — Father Hoeffler, who was from Germany…Father Henry, the burly priest with a crewcut who hailed from Brooklyn…Father Shigo, who looked like Karl Malden in On The Waterfront…our black Hispanic Father Lewis and our African-American (as we’d call him today) principal, Father Robinson.

Except for algebra, my grades were good. About me? I was a bookworm who wore school clothing purchased by his divorced working mother in the “Husky Boys” section of department stores. I was proud to win the English Lit awards but hated talking that walk up to the front of the assembly when I’d been announced as winner of the “Most Courteous” award. That, in combination with me being president of the library staff, felt like scholastic ways of declaring “This kid won’t be getting laid for years.”

Although I was a geek, I still managed to get an A- in gym. The tough and somewhat militaristic Coach McQuarn called me into his office and said, “Rivers, you’re not exactly an athlete but I’m giving you an A minus. Why? Because you never came up with a lame excuse. You always suited up, hit the field and tried to play the game.” Secretly, I was proudest of that grade than any other in my four years at Verbum Dei High School. Also, contrary to what you see today in teen comedies, I was not really the bullied geek. There was the typical high school friction with one or two jerk jocks but I was more included than excluded. I’m sure it was because we were all of the same economic class. All of us. The Black Americans, the Mexican-Americans and the one white guy on the entire campus. All our families scuffled to keep our parochial school tuition paid. We all hoped we could make better lives for ourselves. We were all concerned about the war we saw on the evening news when we got home from classes. The Vietnam War drafted mostly young men from working class/low income families it seemed. Especially young men of color. We needed hope. Watts needed hope. Other neighborhoods in our South Central L.A. needed hope.

There was a young, vital, passionate and compassionate politician who was giving us hope. Robert F. Kennedy was a presidential candidate. Born to the purple — that is, born into a rich family — he went into the scarred gray areas of America to spend time with and listen to the disenfranchised. During his campaign swing to Southern California, it was announced that he’d be coming to speak one weekday afternoon at a park in Watts. The park was just a few short blocks away from our high school. All of us guys, wearing neckties as was the school policy, were as keyed up as little kids on Christmas Eve the day he was scheduled to appear. According to the local news, he be speaking at the same time we’d be getting out of our last class.

All the teachers (priests and non) totally understood why the student body didn’t have its collective mind on Shakespeare, fractions, the Tennis Court Oath, or St. Thomas Aquinas that day. The news of the Kennedy appearance was like telling a high school today that Beyoncé, Justin Timberlake and Jonas Brothers would be posing for photos and handing our free CDs in the school auditorium. Our entire school had that level of excitement…for a politician. Father Robinson interrupted our second to last class with announcements on the intercom. When his friendly drone began with “…as you gentlemen…uh… are very excited about the…uh…. community visit we’ll be getting from…Senator Kennedy….classes will be missed early today..” Cheers erupted from every single classroom as if our home team had won the World Series. Minority high school makes, plus the one white dude, dashed off campus where crowds were awaiting Kennedy’s arrival. He would pay attention to our plight. He would hear us. He would make things better. He would get us out of VietNam. Then…he appeared! Sitting up in a convertible, looking tanned and fit and alert. Ethel, his wife, by his side. His charisma was so intense that I gasped. They connected with the joyful crowd. A bunch of us spontaneously started running behind the car, waving at him. When I got home, I felt like I was radiating. I was so full of hope from having been that close to Senator Kennedy that I felt magnetic.

Two days later, I awoke for school. Usually, my mother had KFI radio station on because of its constant time and traffic announcements. I didn’t hear music. I didn’t hear the familiar voice of the morning DJ. I didn’t hear her Mom’s distinctive, business-like walk and she prepared for another day of public health nurse work and getting us ready for schoo. There was talking and commotion coming from the radio. I looked at my sister and brother and slowly walked into the kitchen. Mom, still in her robe, was sitting at the kitchen table looking at the radio. She was stone-faced, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“He’s gone,” she said. “He’s gone.”

I prayed my hunch was wrong, but I had a dark, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach that another Kennedy had been shot. A live radio reporter confirmed my hunch. Within a few days, I was a high school student who had gone from exalted feelings of hope for his future and the future of his country to being so afraid, so very afraid at something ill on the loose within it. I felt lost and scared.

The movie Bobby, with its all-star cast in 2006, did not do well at the box office. However, I thought it had some fine work in it. Actor Emilio Estevez directed a very heartfelt film about Los Angelenos whose lives were affected the night of Bobby Kennedy’s assassination at the Ambassador Hotel. I saw the movie in a small screening room so I could review it on the national morning radio show Whoopi Goldberg hosted here in New York City. There was one moment that brought nostalgic tears to my eyes. Nick Cannon played an idealistic young Kennedy supporter who talks movingly about the folks in his L.A. neighborhood running after Kennedy’s motorcade to greet him and shout their love. I was one of those people his character mentioned.

Robert F. Kennedy died on this day in 1968 from his mortal wounds. During his brief time, he worked hard to make this country a better place. I’ve never forgotten that. By the way, I would not see young people again so thrilled to be up close to a politician, so full of hope and so interested in the politics around them until Mr. Barack Obama was a candidate on his way to becoming our current president of the United States.

Remember that now iconic slap scene of Sidney Poitier’s from the Best Picture of 1967, “In The Heat of the Night“?

If I could, I’d like to reshoot that scene today with President Barack Obama and Dick Cheney.

What do you think? Leave a comment. Have a great Memorial Day weekend.

I jumped at the invitation to be a friend’s guest to last night’s screening for critics of the new Disney Pixar animated feature called “Up” and I’m so glad I did. I needed an emotional lift and that family pastime was just the perfect boost. It’s so cool!

The two main people, the 78 y/o Mr. Fredericksen holding a thousand colorful balloons, and little Russell, the scout who is on a serious mission to do a good deed for an elderly person, are two of the most memorable and lovable characters I’ve seen in a Hollywood release so far this year. If you have a chance to catch critics on TV review “Up,” I suggest you skip them. Critics today reveal way too much about movies’ plots and surprises. Mr. Fredericksen (who looks like Spencer Tracy in his “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner?” and “It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World” years) is a lonely, sophisticated gentleman who needs an adventure. He surely gets one when he and Russell drift into South America like Dorothy Gale drifting over the rainbow. They encounter another old guy, one who resembles modern-day Kirk Douglas.

Way back in my college years, I was writing a paper and came upon a quote that stayed in my heart. I can’t recall who said it but it goes “Marriage is one of the only adventures open to cowards.” By cowards, he didn’t mean folks who run from any sign of danger like scared chickens. I’m sure he meant folks who have settled for a simple life and don’t make a bold statement in the world like astronaut John Glenn taking off in a rocket ship, Jackie Robinson taking on bigotry in professional sports or women like Katharine Hepburn, Barbra Streisand and Oprah Winfrey shattering glass ceilings by taking on the tough world of show business their way. In that regard, Mr. Fredericksen is a sweet coward who had a great adventure.

He loves his house. However, there comes a point when the thing he loves keeps him earthbound. If he can’t let go of the past, that house will be like the chains on Jacob Marley in Dicken’s A Christmas Carol. Ed Asner does the voice of Mr. Fredericksen. A youngster named Jordan Nagai voices Russell and it’s one of most delightful cartoon voices since Thumper’s in Disney’s “Bambi.” He did a wonderful job. One of the elements that touched me — and there were several in “Up” — was the depth and poignancy delivered from simple dialogue in quiet moments between two characters just sitting and talking. Those kind of moments in real life are practically a lost art form because of technology. If thousands of helium-filled balloons actually carried a house overhead here in Manhattan, most folks wouldn’t notice because they’d be checking their Blackberry for messages about sample sales and “American Idol.” We’re blinding ourselves to the special things and people around us, near us. Russell talking about his dad — well, that kind of touching eloquence alone is a main reason why I’ll be paying to see this feature again when it opens.

Clever, inventive, fun, funny and very poignant, “Up” provides the kind of lift a lot of us need right now. Thumbs “Up” to Pixar.

Thanks to a good friend who’s taking me as her guest, I get to see Pixar’s “Up” tonight. Have you seen the trailer to that animated feature? It’s delightful! It has a cute Asian-American kid and a silver-haired, well-dressed old man who looks like he was inspired by Spencer Tracy in “Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner?” I’ll give you a review tomorrow.

The job hunt continues. This I’ve learned. Executives at Sirius Satellite Radio must have been instructed never to answer emails. A few years ago (notice the word “years”), I was a guest co-host on a weekday show hosted by writer/humorist Frank DeCaro. An executive dropped by the studio to meet and compliment me on my work. He hoped I’d come back. I did, several times. I emailed the executive that I’d be a good addition to his programming line-up as an entertainment contributor, a co-host or a segment producer. I emailed him several times through the years that I was asked to return to be a guest co-host on Frank’s show and appear on others. I never got a response. On Monday, two weeks ago, a former NBC exec I met urged me to contact a friend of hers who is also an executive at the same radio network. She felt I’d be a good fit for Sirius. Again, I was specific in pitching myself politely and briefly in an email. I included the former NBC exec/friend’s name. I got no response.

Producers with Oprah’s show not only responded to my emails but gave me tips for future job hunting. There was no job for me at Turner Classic Movies, but the Vice President of Programming not only answered every email, she made it obvious that she’d watched my interview demo reel by complimenting me on certain questions I’d posed to the stars. Personally, I think the Sirius executive branch could learn a thing or two on business etiquette from Harpo Studios and TCM.

I’m doing spring cleaning. I usually don’t but this recession has made it a necessity. I need to cut down the clutter in case I need to relocate for work. I think these hard times are forcing all Americans to re-think how much they need. Remember the house you grew up in? I do. Mine was a simple ranch-style house that my dad got with help from the G.I. Loan after WWII. We lived on a nice, suburban cul-de-sac in South Central L.A., just the five of us, before Mom and Dad divorced. Then we were four in that house. Starting in the 1990s, it looked as though the average American house for five or four was the size of the Von Trapp Family mansion on “The Sound of Music.” Also, you practically needed a step ladder to get into the SUV, which became the standard, gas-guzzling family car. This recession bitch-slapped us back into the reality that we can get by with less.

I’m off to work on reinventing myself so that I can gain employment. Wish me luck. The same to you. Come back tomorrow from my review of “Up.”

Who knew that, come the end of April, the new fashion statement for spring would be a blue surgical mask? As if we didn’t already have a full plate of drama with this recession, the increasing ranks of the unemployed, foreclosures and two wars, now swine flu has returned to give us that “I Love the 70s” feeling. Back in ‘76, swine flu shots were all the rage.

In 1976, we didn’t have 24 hour cable news outlets. This week, to me, TV news people seemed like they would not be professionally satisfied until Americans were running and screaming in the streets like people in a 1950s sci fi horror movie when the city has been taken over by a giant radioactive crab. Out of all the millions and millions of citizens in America, one poor baby died in Texas and network news poised us for a pandemic. As if we could afford the medicine. Hello!!!!! We’re all broke and looking for work!

Later this morning, New York’s Mayor Bloomberg reveals his new budget plan. Last night, local news anchors reported that the plan will not be pretty. More layoffs, higher taxes. The one bright light — teachers, cops and firefighters will not be subject to the layoffs. I usually watch the mayor. When he has a rough day and speaks to the press, he always sounds like Corky St. Claire in “Waiting For Guffman.” He’s had a rough week. He was really pissed at the White House fly-over in downtown Manhattan that no one remembered to tell him would be happening. It caused panic, understandably, when New Yorkers saw a low-flying passenger plane like they did on Sept 11th 2001. The mayor was mad and went very Corky. I expected him to say “Whoever in Washington forgot to tell me about this White House photo shoot stunt, I hate you and I hate your ass face!” Then he’d storm out of the press conference, scurry back to the Governor’s mansion and take a bubble bath just like Corky did when the Blaine Community Players pleaded with him to come back and direct them.

While he’s speaking on local TV this morning, I will be at an audition. Yes, I have an audition today. It’s a commercial project. Say one for me. I really want it. In the meantime, I really hope you have a good weekend. I think we all deserve one.

Rent “Waiting For Guffman.” A brilliant, hysterically funny mock-documentary on community theater.

Did you see KC, formerly of KC and the Sunshine Band, perform in last night’s “American Idol” disco wrap-up show?

OK. Am I the only one who thinks that KC looked like Tony Soprano working on a cruise ship? Just wondering.

As for David Archuleta, I still feel that kid should go on tour in a revival of “Annie.” A wide-eyed, spunky youngster trying to survive the economic depression of the 1930s — hell, he’d be perfect casting in a perfectly-timed revival. Don’t you think?

It’s been a while since I’ve been here. How are you?

I bet we’re all familiar with the famous quote from the opening of “A Tale of Two Cities” by Charles Dickens: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness…”

Man, does that not accurately describe last year and this year? Doesn’t it seem like, just yesterday, President Bush was telling the nation that “the economy is strong”? Now look at us. I got laid off last year. This year, like many of you probably, I’ve been stressed about bills. I’d been pretty good about paying my bills on time until our national economic nightmare appeared last year. The problem had been present for a long time but we didn’t see it. Then the horror became evident, like that monster in the 50s sci-fi movie “Forbidden Planet.” Doesn’t it seem like there are more Americans out of work than actually at work? How many more homes will be foreclosed? And what about folks like yours truly who rent? Don’t think these times are easier for us because we don’t have mortgages.

Last week, I needed an Easter rejuvenation of some kind. I watched a DVD of the restored Hollywood classic, “The Wizard of Oz.” I know that today’s generation is all about “Wicked.” I’ve never seen that Broadway musical that puts a new spin on the story we babyboomers anxiously awaited in our youth. I’m of that generation that remembers the annual network special presentation of the 1939 MGM classic. THAT was must-see TV, a special night for kids all across the country. Even though most of us were watching it on black and white television, it was still magical.

When I watched it again a few nights ago, I was so slack-jawed, you could’ve put a pineapple in my mouth. It was even better than I’d remembered. Not only did I find fresh nuance in Judy Garland’s perfectly modulated performance as Dorothy, a role she was technically too old for, I was absolutely marveled at the brilliance, the genius of the production. All the music — songs and lyrics and 99% of the background score — was written for that film. That’s a lost art today. “Over the Rainbow” has become a standard in American pop music. I laughed more last week at the sublime cleverness in the lyrics to “If I Was King of the Forest” than I did back in the 1960s. The movie is rich with heart and wit and hope at a time when the country needed it. America was still feeling the slap of the Depression. Viewers could connect to Dorothy, a simple girl on a struggling farm in a barren, flat Kansas. What happened to her parents? Did she have ever have siblings? We only know that she has Uncle Henry and Auntie Em. And Toto too. Dorothy has known unhappiness at a young age. We sense that. Garland’s sweetly somber performance is just right.

As for the Technicolor — oh…my…gawd! Dazzling! If you’ve never seen the restored version, you’ve never really seen the ruby slippers. I wanted to wear them. Recently, I got some bad news about a new job. The show is out of production until September. When Dorothy is close to getting what she wants, she’s disappointed. She says to the kindly but incompetent wizard, “I don’t think there’s anything in that black bag for me.” How many of us feel like that right now? Can I see a show of hands? But the movie gives hope at the end. That’s what I needed. Hope. And fun. And Technicolor. And the voice of Judy Garland. My spirit was restored. That’s what one should feel at the Easter season.

Wish me luck job hunting and rent paying. The same to you. Leave a comment to let me know how you’re dealing with things.