Another "Focus" Sample

Here's another sample from my "Focus" column. Enjoy.

There have been many actor/director collaborations during the history of cinema that have resulted in great and lasting works in the beloved medium. A notable example that comes to mind is the collaboration between director Martin Scorsese and the actors Robert DeNiro, and Leonardo DeCaprio. There are many others and this is just one of the multitude of examples that one might choose to cite.
A lesser known example of this type of collaboration, resulting in much tickling of the funny bone over the course of nearly a dozen films, would be the collaboration between director Blake Edwards and the late Peter Sellers.
Beginning in 1964 with “The Pink Panther” and continuing until the 1978 film “Revenge of the Pink Panther”-released less than two years before Seller’s untimely death from a heart ailment-these two unlikely partners in crime unleashed a string of comedies that continue to live on in the hearts of film fans everywhere. In fact, the influence these two had on each other’s work was so strong that director Edwards even went as far as to string together another entry in the “Pink Panther” series strictly from outtakes that Sellers had left behind in an effort to keep the magic going. Even though that latter film, “Trail of the Pink Panther”, didn’t work it was still an admirable attempt on Edwards’ part to acknowledge the creative impact they had made on each other during the years they had spent working together.
Most everyone is familiar with the series of “Pink Panther” films they collaborated on but not everyone is as familiar with their 1968 effort, “The Party”, the only non “Pink Panther” film they made together. Like so many other great films it was largely ignored during it’s initial run only to find another life on cable and video. In fact, when the film was released in 1968 it played in the Charlotte area for less than a week according to my research. If you haven’t seen the film, you owe it to yourself to find it.
If you are one of those who enjoyed the slapstick goings on of the series of “Pink Panther” films, then you’re certain to appreciate the onscreen antics of “The Party”. “The Party” tells the story of a bumbling Indian actor named Hrundi V. Bakshi, played by, who else, Peter Sellers. During the early scenes of the film, Bakshi single handedly destroys the entire set of the picture he happens to be working on at the time. He is immediately told by the director that he’s ‘finished’ and will never work in pictures again. His accident on the set is immediately reported to the head of the studio who absent mindedly jots his name down on the wrong piece of paper, which coincidentally happens to be the guest list for a chic Hollywood party the Hollywood mogul’s wife is in the midst of planning.
The rest of the film is a wildly improvised-the film’s actual script was only 63 pages- of side splitting sight gags as the clumsy Indian actor inadvertently wrecks the party and everything connected to it during the space of the film’s ninety nine minute running time.
As I mentioned earlier, the film was largely improvised and this was the desire that Edwards and Sellers had from the moment of the film’s inception. To accommodate the improvisational nature of the film, Edwards even went as far as to arrange for a TV camera to be mounted on the film camera for instant access, a revolutionary process at the time.
Throughout the film, the cast seems to be having a great time and enjoying themselves but this certainly wasn’t the case during the film’s production. Although this was the third film that Edwards and Sellers had collaborated on at this point, it was a well know fact that, on a personal level, they simply could not or would not get along. Much of this can be attributed to the mercurial temperament of star Sellers. During the film’s shoot, relations between the two men eventually deteriorated to the point that Sellers refused to take personal direction from Edwards and would only communicate via notes that were sent out from under his dressing room door. It’s a true testament to each man’s talent, and the exceptional supporting cast which includes Gavin McLeod (“The Love Boat”) and French pop singer Claudine Longet in her only starring role, that the film turned out so well. In fact, the film turned out so well indeed that it’s been documented in more than one Elvis Presley bio that this was his favorite film. And if it was good enough for the ‘King of Rock N Roll’ then maybe there’s something to it.

“The Party” is available on DVD from MGM Home Entertainment

It was twenty years ago today.....

I'm the type of person who remembers names, dates, etc. with little to no effort. I'm also a very sentimental sort of fellow. Sentimental to my own detriment at times. Anyway, I was thinking about where I was twenty years ago today and how much my life has changed in the ensuing two decades that have passed. I now have two wonderful children that I could not have fathomed all those years ago and yet I still sometimes long to do it all again. To go back to that time and place and to see those people again just one more time.
March 30,1988 was a very exciting day for me. I was a senior at my high school with only two months left before graduation. I had been somewhat shy for most of high school days but during the last several months of my senior year I had begun to come out of my shell and do the social networking thing. I made lots of friendships during the last three or four months of my senior year but there was one thing I could not seem to get no matter how hard I tried. That one thing that I wanted so desperately was the love of a girl two grades below me.
Her name was Wendy and our paths had crossed for the first time back in January of 1988 in my library science class. I had spotted her on the couch softly crying. She was strikingly attractive with the classic combination of blonde hair and blue eyes. This was her first year at our school. She had moved to our town with her mother and brother at the end of the previous after being raised and bred in some northern town I can't recall the name of. The reason for her sadness was a combination of homesickness and some cruel remarks that had been made in jest regarding her northern accent. It was more than she could take and she had broken down.
I sat down beside her on the couch in our library. We talked for a moment or two and then she left. I had tried to make her feel better and she seemed to be in better spirits when she left. During the next several days I found I couldn't get her off my mind no matter how hard I tried. I knew in my heart of hearts that a girl like that was simply out of my league but you couldn't convince a romantic fool like myself of this.
Imagine my surprise when I found her sitting at my kitchen table along with my sister and my next door neighbor some three days later. As luck would have it, my next door neighbor had developed quite a friendship with Wendy unbeknownst to me. It wasn't long before I began my daily ritual of interrogating my neighbor to keep myself up to date on Wendy's love life.
Through my next door neighbor I found out that, no, Wendy did not have a boyfriend. I also found out through my neighbor all about Wendy's likes and dislikes. Especially her musical tastes, which I'll come back to later.
In no time at all I mustered up the courage to get my neighbor to deliver a note to Wendy. In the note I simply asked if she would consider going to the senior prom with me. She promptly replied saying the thing was she would not be going with anyone that year, but thanks for asking anyway. Well, that was my first plan to win her heart and it had surely backfired. Back to the drawing board.
Her visits to our house became more and more frequent. I became so enamored with her when she was visiting our place I found I couldn't even hold solid food down. I had been slightly overweight before I had met Wendy and, up until meeting her, had paid little attention to diet. With my appetite dwindling more and more everyday it wasn't long before the pounds melted off. I went from 178 pounds/36 inch waist down to 138/32 waist in just over a month and a half. Later on I would credit her with inadevertently getting me to come out of my fat coma and start keeping myself in shape but at the time I gave no thought to that. I just knew she was wrecking me emotionally. I was so smitten with her and there was nothing I could do about it.
It didn't help matters that one of my coworkers at my part time job lived in the apartment next to hers. There seemed to be some connection to her everywhere I went.
It wasn't long before I came up with a plan. I knew Wendy loved the group Aerosmith. Aerosmith was in the midst of a monstrous comeback after nearly a decade spent in an alcohol and drug induced stupor and their tour was selling out everywhere they were going. They were clean, sober, and had a massive hit on their hands with the song "Angel". Of course, it goes without saying that the lyrics to the song pretty well summed up my feelings for Wendy at the time but I digress. The point of the story is that Aerosmith was on their way to the Charlotte coleseum and would be performing there on March 30, 1988 with their opening act, White Lion, another favorite of Wendy's. My plan was now complete.
My plan was to buy three tickets to the show. One for Wendy and I and another ticket for my neighbor. I assumed Wendy wouldn't consider it a date if my neighbor tagged along and the drive down to Charlotte would provide the perfect opportunity for the two of us to get to know each other better in a non pressure situation. Along the way, I would try to win her over with my personality since I felt that I most likely wasn't up to her physical standards and I felt this was my only chance of wooing her.
My neighbor agreed to buy her own ticket and she ran the plan by Wendy. Wendy agreed, I went down to purchase the tickets ($17.50 each back then and a lot of scratch for a 17 year old, minimum wage kid) and we were all set to go on that Friday. I even talked my mom into writing a note to get me out of class early so I could slick up my dad's 1977 Chevy Silverado that I routinely drove to school.
That afternoon, after fininshing the wash job on my truck, I walked outside as the school bus deposited my neighbor in front of her house. I could tell by the look on my neighbor's face as she got off the school bus she had bad news to report. I had known in my heart all along that my plans would somehow be thwarted before they ever came to fruition and this was the confirmation I was waiting for. No, Wendy wouldn't be able to make it. Her brother had a fever, her mother had to work, and there was no way out of her babysitting chores. Later on I would find out that Wendy had, in reality, stayed home to partake in some underage consumption of alcoholic beverages with a notorious party girl from our school she was known to sometimes keep company. This was where the truth of the matter lay but again, I digress.
As for me, I was heartbroken and beyond depressed. My neighbor quickly came up with a plan to invite our neighbor from across the street and the three of us went on anyway. We even stopped off and had dinner along the way. We had a nice enough time, had a few laughs on the drive, and listened to pop tunes on our journey. I can remember hearing "Rocket 2 U" by The Jets in particular. And the concert itself was a pleasant diversion. It was my first experience at a rock concert and, being the naive and sheltered small town boy I was, I saw and smelled things (I'm thinking of the open smoking of weed in a public place here) I had never experienced before. It was fun enough, I just wished Wendy had been there on that night some twenty years ago.
As for me, the answer to the question is, no, I never did get a date with Wendy. Probably for the best. Had we dated, gotten serious, and married it most likely would have ended in divorce. You know, the old mixing oil and water thing. She's married now and moved on. She left our town the next year and moved on to Salisbury, though she still used to come and visit my neighbors for years after she left on weekends. We even used to see her at our place from time to time. She was always pleasant enough but you could tell she probably thought I was pond scum. I'm told she still lives in Salisbury and she's still pretty as ever. At least that's what my neighbor says.

A sample of my column from the "Focus" newspaper

Recently I've begun writing for an entertainment newspaper that runs out of Hickory NC called "Focus". The following is a sample from this week's column.

In the past several years a new film genre has arisen. I have dubbed it the "Subtle Horror Film". Basically what happens is that the film takes place in a somewhat ordinary setting, adding layer upon layer of menace in the plot, until it all reaches a fever pitch. It then usually culminates in a horrific plot twist that totally changes everything that has gone before. Some recent examples of this types of film are"The Sixth Sense" and "The Others"(similar title no less). I don't know if any of today's crop of filmmakers have seen Robert Mulligan's 1972 film "The Other" but they certainly owe alot to this landmark film. "The Other" is a film that I grew up with, so it may be hard to give it a fair critical evaluation. I originally saw the film on the CBS fridaynight movie sometime in 1977 while spending Friday night at my grandparents' house and even though I was only six years old at the time, I immediately knew that I somehow had struck cinematic gold. The film starts innocently enough and the first half hour plays like an episode of "Little House" or "The Waltons" and it basically follows the exploits of a pair of twins who seem to always be around when tragedy strikes on their Connecticut farm. But there's more than meets the eye here and to reveal any more of the plot here would be a real disservice. Suffice it to say that by the time film is over two things will have happened. 1)You will be disturbed. PERSONAL NOTE: It wasn't until viewing the film some fifteen years later that I fully understood theimplications of what took place in the chilling final half of the film. (2) You will want to discuss this film with the first person you bump into who has seen it. This is a great film and for better or worse it (like a few other films) has truly helped to shape my likes and dislikes in films.I must also make mention of the technical credits. Robert Surtees incredible camerawork is a bag of tricks unto itself. Jerry Goldsmith delivers an outstanding score and Tom Tryon wonderfully adapted hisexcellent 1971 bestseller into one of the best examples of how to faithfully translate a book to film. Last but not least, the greatRobert Mulligan whose eerie staging of certain sequences should have earned him an oscar nomination. Unjustly forgotten when released in May 1972, do yourself a favor and see this horror classic.

Small Town Observations

As I'm sure I've mentioned elsewhere in these blogs, I've lived in the same small town that I grew up in all of my life. I didn't intend for it to happen this way. As a young man in my early 20s I had an incredible desire to leave my small town and have some life experiences. What happened you might ask? Well, at first I was afraid to leave and venture out into the great wide open with little to no marketable skills. It didn't help matters that my father threw cold water on the idea of my leaving any time I would bring it up. Looking back on things, I now realize that it was my father who was the scared one. He was afraid of my leaving because he hates to travel and most likely would not have come to visit. Especially if I had moved to Southern California, which is where I wanted to go in the first place. I mean, if you're any sort of serious movie fan, and I always was, then you simply have to go to where the movie business is. Instead of going and living out my dreams, I became romantically involved with someone, got married, and watched the dream of my marriage eventually turn to dust. Meanwhile, my father got what he wanted. I stayed behind and I've never been no more than a twenty minute drive from him in the last 13 years. I fathered two wonderful children along the way, whom I love very dearly. Now they live 80 miles away with my ex wife. I live in a typical, lonely guy, one bedroom apartment. I have traded in my hopes and dreams somewhere along life's highway for this life of solitude in my smalltown. My town offers little to no opportunity in the career department or in the romance department. I suppose that's why I've held mostly disappointing, menial jobs that I'm overqualified for during the last 15 years or so. Not all of them have been bad but none have been what you could call fullfilling. They pay the bills and that's it. Well paying, dead end jobs. And of course, I shouldn't even mention the fact that I haven't had a date for the last year. Need I say anymore about that. For someone who has so much to offer a good woman that's a real shame. The pain of the disappointment in my life is so intense that it's the first thing that strikes me when I get out of bed. I seem to always wake up with a sinking feeling. I feel absolutely powerless to change my situation because changing things might limit the amount of quality time I can spend with my children. My children come first and foremost and so I've learned to live with the pain of disappointment, unfulfilling jobs, a family that doesn't understand me, and a love life that's a joke as a trade off for my two beautiful children. Still, the pain is too much sometimes and I don't know who to turn to or where to go. I pray every day that someone special might come into my life so I might have one to share my life with but nothing ever changes. My life just seems like an endless journey to nowhere most of the time but I'm still thankful for what I do have. I'm just curious to see if it will ever change.

I'll talk more about life in the typical small town and why it's not for me next time.

I'm related to whom?

Something happened to me yesterday that happens to me every so often. Actually it's something that's been going on for most of my life but since I live in a small town I guess I've always taken it for granted that this type of thing occurs everywhere. As I've gotten older I've come to discover it's a thing that's strictly unique to the south.

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with a family member who is very near and dear to me. This person will go unnamed in this column so as not to embarass the guilty party should they read these musings. I suppose they will know who they are anyway but I digress. As I was saying, this person mentioned to me they had recently discovered that my family was related to someone whose namesake appears on a major building in our small town. Specifically our local concert hall which is technically known as the 'Citizens Center'. I was taken aback by this piece of information that was being passed on to me. The first thing that crossed my mind was 'Why should I care?'. Instead of saying just that, however, I feigned interest so as not to be disrespectful to the member of the family who so enthusiastically relayed this useless piece of information to me.

I love my family. Don't get me wrong about that one, but when I say I love my family I'm referring to my children, my parents, my siblings, and, perhaps, a few choice aunts, uncles, and cousins. Beyond those previously mentioned I have zero interest in who I'm related to. Frankly, I don't give a frog's fat ass if I'm related to someone who has some small town building named after him. If I didn't have a close and personal relationship with him at some point, I just don't care. That may sound selfish but that's just the way it is.

The truth is that I get this alot in my corner of the world. When you meet someone in my town they don't ask you about yourself, your accomplishments, likes or dislikes. The first thing they usually ask you about is if you're related to cousin so and so or did you know such and such person who shares the same last name as you.

For many years I assumed this was a natural thing and then a while back I was having dinner with a friend of mine who was born out in the midwest, took a job here and stayed for 27 years and has since moved on. He told me the first piece of conversation that came up with many of the people he had met in our town over the years was the inevitable mention of who was related to whom. He said that he had determined it was simply a symptom of a small mind to some degree. I'll have to second that emotion.

In the scheme of life why does is it really matter who you're related to? In my opinion, the family you're born into is nothing but a fluke anyway. I simply find it hard to believe that the family one is born into is predetermined. The place you're born in and the people who are your caretakers is based more on luck than anything else. I don't know why people have such a hard time acknowledging the role that luck plays in life. It seems some people do. As for me, I would rather have deep, intellectually stimulating conversation any day of the week. Discussing whom a given person is related to is about as far removed from thought provoking conversation as I am from playing football. I suspect it's yet another symptom of life in the south but maybe not. All I know is that I'll always have zero interest in what's ailing cousin so and so and, even though I may pretend to be interested, the truth is I could probably care less.

Story of a Life Chapter One

(Preface) I see that as of today not one person has evaluated any of my musings. I guess I'm as popular on the internet as I am in real life. I shouldn't be surprised as this seems to be a pattern in my life. For the last several years my life has seemed to be an endless journey headed to nowhere with very few surprises. Lately, I've been wondering where I took that wrong turn. With that in mind I decided I might use this blog as a way to tell my life story. The creative writing class I'm taking requires me to blog at least once a week so why not turn it into something useful. I've been trying hard to come up with things to talk about for the past few months and it seems that using this forum as a way to chart how I got from there to here might be something that someone might actually want to read sometime as opposed to the crap I've been posting up to this point. Anyway, for anyone who knows me and wants to know my life story here it is, told in my own inimitable fashion.

The Story of a Life
by
Adam Long

Chapter One

I 've often heard that the great cartoonist, Charles M. Schulz, used to tell people quite often that his greatest talent was living backwards. Those who knew him well have often said that if he could have had anything at his disposal he would have loved to have had a time machine to take him back to where it all began.

I've often felt the same way. I am fully aware that it's not a good thing to live in the past because you miss so much of life in the present. Still, no matter how hard I try, I find myself living in the past much of the time. My mind drifts back to the times of my life when opportunities stretched out in front of me like so many miles of open highway. To simply say that I'm nostalgic would be the understatement of the year.

I was in a very sentimental mood one afternoon several years back when I decided to pull some of the local newspapers from the days before, during, and following my birth on August 1, 1970. I wanted to see what was happening on the national level and around my hometown of Lincolnton, NC.

On the national level, the veteran newsman Chet Huntley was signing off on his last broadcast.
Also, some containers of turpentine had been mislabeled as castor oil and several people had nearly died as a result after ingesting the turpentine.

A curious five year old boy named Dennis Glen Simpson had just turned five on, July 31, 1970, the day before my birth. Dennis resided in the small town of Belmont, several miles Southwest of Charlotte. This little five year old boy was attempting to cross highway 74 over several lanes of traffic when he was struck by an oncoming car driven by one Dennis Michael Crews. The car skidded ten feet but to no avail. The boy was thrown into the air and died instantly. I can't help but wonder where his parents were or if his family thinks of him after all these years. He would be exactly five years older than myself. I wonder what his life would have been like had he lived.

The movies would become an important part of my life over the years so it's interesting to note what was playing in theaters in our area at the time. The Village in Gastonia was playing "2 Mules for Sister Sara" at 5:30, 7:30, and 9:30 and coming August 5 was "Airport". The Webb in Gastonia had two movies that were more to my taste, "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls" and "Myra Breckinridge". The Belmont Drive in had "Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice" and Diane 29 in Besemer City had "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid".

The events leading up to my birth were almost as difficult as the birth itself. A terrible storm rocked the area and the road that my parents usually used to get to the old site of the Gaston Memorial Hospital were washed out. My dad was doing the driving as he usually did and somehow found a way to navigate through the treachorous condtions and get my mom to the hospital.

The doctors had told my mom that her due date was July 7. As it turned out, mom had to wait for nearly another month before her water broke. On August 1 at around 11:30 in the evening, and after quite a few hours of labor I might add, I was on my way to making my grand entrance onto the stage of life. My birth was physically difficult for my mother and my father was greatly concerned about her. Luckily, after several days she snapped back to her old self and was allowed to go home.

My dad always says that I was angry the first time he ever laid eyes on me and I've been angry about one thing or another ever since. That is true for the most part. I'm very intense by nature. Always have been, always will be. There's no denying it and if you can't beat it, then join it I say.

Story of a Life Chapter One