DATELINE: Boys Will be Quarterbacks!
Are we seeing double? Are they separated at birth? Are they twins?
The Red Zone of NFL has given us a double dose of cutie-pie QBs. We are now in double jeopardy of wondering how the NFL can allow players to take the field before they can shave.
Josh Allen and Kyle Allen are among the new generation of NFL quarterbacks. They have leapt into the Internet social media and beefcake dreamboat category simultaneously.
They are not joined at the hip because we saw them in different cities on the same day. However, we still cannot tell them apart without a scorecard.
Of course, one is always a tad shocked to find out that the star players are so young that they look like teenagers who could play the Hardy Boys in a new cable series.
TeenBeat might be featuring them on the cover. They could play Tom Brady’s sons in a movie.
One of them plays for the Buffalo Bills and the other now has taken over the Carolina Panthers. They are not your average blue-collar city boys. They are fresh off the farm.
Gleaming smiles and boyish good looks are not the kind of tough guy image you expect from grizzled NFL leaders, like Troy and Peyton. This is the new generation following in the footsteps of botox Tom Brady, whose looks now try to defy the twenty-somethings whom he must play against.
Of course, there is a big difference between looking young and actually being young. We don’t know if the Bobsey Twins of Josh and Kyle will fall into the youth movement of 2040 and find silicone to fill their wrinkles and cracks.
Right now they are so adorable that you wish the time machine would hold still for a few years.
We wish them long careers and hope they never are able to grow a beard like Ryan Fitzpatrick and cover up those beautiful doll looks. Movie contracts are sure to follow.
DATELINE: In Search of Bible Treasure!
Sheba wows Solomon with Gold!
Zachary Quinto stays back in a safe studio while the treasure hunters seek out the real Bible treasures that are all part and parcel of a connect-the-dots secret plan.
Yes, Solomon was wise—and rich. In Israel he found the most valuable early metal: copper. It’s still increasing in value, and Solomon had enough smelted copper to plate his new temple. And, he was involved with a Queen from Sheba who brought him his weight in gold. He ended up with more tons than the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.
It seems it was Sheba who was the true gold digger, having a mine in Ethiopia, her home. The Ark of the Convenant was, however, the real treasure, which required a great deal of gold plating.
It was sent in hiding, according to Ethiopian scholars, to a vault guarded by a sacred monk 100 feet underground, but there are replica Arks in every church of Ethiopian churches. And, only true believers are satisfied with this theory.
Instead, the show follows a copper scroll at Qumran that is a treasure map: they think the scroll describes a golden loot of tons of gold. An American researcher has used these maps to target both the Ark and the cache of gold.
He feels that his map tells where the hills near Qumran are where these bible treasures are buried in location that the copper map notes.
Solomon and Sheba might have been a hot couple, but their son buried the valuables were in a deep cave where metal detectors indicate that the prize of tons of gold are hidden where Israel’s greatest treasures are protected by the country’s government. If it’s there, it may remain hidden and unexcavated.
Solomon was wise enough to become the first billionaire but money and power, even owning the Ark of the Covenant, did not bring him ultimate happiness. Only historical immortality, which is seldom satisfying when you’re dead.
DATELINE: Manning the Moon?
Tripping to the Moon!
Mooning the Man?
If you can forgive some of the silly statements, like “fictional hypothesis,” you may find the documentary Alien Moon intriguing enough to entertain, or to surprise with a bare elemental study. Consider yourself mooned.
The film repeats endlessly its main theory: the Moon is a hollow and unnatural object.
Going from there is an easy step for man, and a giant leap for skeptics. It seems that a hollow Moon may be an artificial satellite that traversed the universe looking for a planet suitable for terraforming for a humanoid race.
Guess who and where?
If there are surprises that are indisputable science, it is that information that moon dust is highly corrosive and likely would present major hurdles for colonists there. In fact, the allergenic problem could cause moon hay fever if it enters the human lungs.
If we have a big problem, we need a bigger dust mop.
Another curio of the film is the strange detail that there is a glassy surface on the Moon, likely caused by high heat not caused by meteors. And, the Moon seems to have strong radiation fields.
Of course, such films start off with acceptable points—and once you have accepted those, the leap is six times what a human on Earth might make.
There are structures, either there from ancient civilizations from another place, or are real estate still active by about 250 aliens who arrived from some place 40 light years away.
We again have governments censoring astronauts and scientists to protect us from the demonic elements that could undermine our fundamentalist religions. Until people go back there and enter the deep tunnels of the Moon, we may only experience more documentaries like this one.
DATELINE: APB FOR A&B (NOT ANTONIO)
Brady mask, life-size!
Tom Brady just lambasted the media for making up stories about his desire to leave New England. It’s just “hype,” according to TB12. It’s a bunch of horse pucky from people trying to make money off the Brady name and legacy.
You mean people like Robert Kraft? The NFL? ESPN? CBS? MNF? TNF? SNF? You mean corporate types like Under Armor?
Yes, we would concur that all of the above named are trying to make money off the TB12 brand—not to mention his trainer, his real estate agent, and sundry souvenir marketing gnomes.
It was the second assault and battery on the media by TB12 in a weak moment. Maybe his patience is wearing thin, but we aren’t sure why.
Deflategate never bugged him like rumors of leaving Bean-town half-baked if you want a dozen Super Bowl parades.
As for making money off Tom, we wish we could hook up to that choo-choo train, but the milk train doesn’t stop here anymore. Flora Tom Goforth is about to go forth. Just call us the Witch of Capri. Our name has once again been crossed off the guest list.
Of course, Tom—the man who hides the truth under a thickening layer of Botox—never directly responded to the notions counter item that he is selling his home and his contract is up after the season.
He did not give an answer that re-assured, like he wants to play in New England until the end of the line, or that he even hopesto be back in the area next year.
That hope was hung out to dry with his TV appearance that mocked his owner, beloved Kraft of massage fame. As Tom complained testily, you dastardly media are reading metaphors into fiction where similes will do.
Oh, Tom, you coy boy.
DATELINE: Going in Circles
For the seventeenth episode of this highly segmented season, Ancient Alienstackles in depth the ancient monument of Stonehenge, built, no surprise, by aliens or their stand-ins.
Of course, over the years, they have done bits and pieces on the topic. Now, they are putting full focus on the location that they now report is a hotspot of UFO activity, showing an unidentifiable spot in the sky that they claim is a flying saucer.
They also tease viewers with the idea that the builders of Stonehenge have “vanished,” which sounds a great deal like Roanoke Island colony, which is the following show on History Channel. There are no accidents on History’s network.
This week featured more hopscotch than usual, both in terms of logic and logistics. Our British theorists took over travel around their own country, keeping those pesky Americans out of the area: even Brit Nick Pope was relegated to studio duty.
The ancient theorists contended that there were many, many stone circles all around the globe, many predating the Stonehenge (which is a mere shadow of its original self), coming in at 75% destroyed.
It seems other circles are twice as old—and the heavy stones could have been transported by a race of giants whose DNA record has disappeared. How and why, you may well ask.
It seems the quartz crystals when compressed create a kind of electro-magnetic energy, meaning you needed heavy stones of a certain kind in a tight circle. This might be the means to create portals by which to travel. This is all reminiscent of the Nazi Bell circle (which no one brought up).
We also wondered why they had spaceships if they only needed to make magnetic portals by which to flee earth.
The show never addressed some of these questions but did note that crop circles were telling us how to recreate the lost technology of stone circles.
If you ask us, we have been going in circles for quite some time.
DATELINE: Sticking Your Neck Out?
No Pencil Neck Geeks!
All wrong, Nessie!
When you have a good one, you beat that horse to death—again. Or, in this case, that Nessie. In Search of…continues its highly impressive probe into the depths of an idyllic loch of Scotland.
Again, Zachary Quinto is around as a narrator, but does no visit to the site.
However, there is now no doubt after the second part that this may be the best, most revealing documentary ever made on the Loch Ness Monster. In fact, the careful building of a profile, in an FBI mode, turns out to show the creature does not have a long neck and may have gills, accounting for so few sightings.
On top of that, they find a similar creature washed up on an island near Scotland in 1808—around the time a canal was built alongside a shallow riverway leading to the Loch. This means the creature had now a highway to follow salmon into the loch.
A scientist disproves the notion that this monster has a neck that can break the surface: it may be more akin to a sturgeon or shark in shape.
It means the migratory pattern of going from Sweden to Scotland is enhanced. It also indicates the creature’s cyclical appearances mean it is not thee annually but may come with a decade lapse.
They have visited the loch in a good year—and armed with new information, go under the frigid surface, 150 feet below to meet up fleetingly with something.
If you are curious or are a Nessie fan, there can be no more heavenly dive than Quinto’s two-part show.
DATELINE: Noserferatu-too much?
Has it been twenty years since Willem Dafoe took on the role of Max Schreck as Nosferatu? And, John Malkovich played the great German director. Shadow of the Vampireis meant to be film history, horror in cinema, and ultimately docudrama to end all vampire tales.
It was like watching Burton and O’Toole in Becket in some kind of twisted duo version of clash of titans. They quibble like Fredric March and Spencer Tracy in Inherit the Wind.Yes, their screen confrontations are on this level.
Is it comedy, satire, or history? Perhaps it is all rolled into one silent screen classic, as the original depicted shadows over substance. You may laugh at the foibles of movie makers.
Unable to film Dracula, Murnau, the Herr Doktor of cinema, filmed on some remote location where an unknown actor, of Stanislavski Method, turned himself into a real vampire. Or did he?
The conceit of the movie is that Max was no actor, but a real creature of death whom Murnau located.
The film is looney in its hilarity. When Max misbehaves on the set, F.W. Murnau denies him makeup. When Max Schreck begins to eat the cameraman, the two come to one of their marvelous argumentative scenes. Dafoe clicks his fingernails like a castanet and watches sunrise on film, moving us behind the hideous makeup. You can’t have a film like this without Udo Keir as well.
Two temperamental creatures want to make a movie to last for all time: and they do! Nosferatu’s spirit is captured in this behind-the-scenes account, however falsified or dramatized.
The ending is spoiled, purely preposterous, with Murnau directing the ultimate mass murders.
It’s koo-koo bird stuff, but dreams can be made of that too.
DATELINE: More of the Same Again!
$ Cash Down Logo!
To whet your appetite for season seven of the Curse of Oak Island, the series is beginning the season with early-bird specials. Fans cannot get enough of the Lagina Brothers and their motley crew of treasure hunters.
Tonight is a count-down of the group’s accomplishments over the past six seasons. And, you better believe they give credit to no one except themselves.
What have we got here? Well, it’s the same old wine in a semi-recycled bottle. Yes, the clever producers of the show have found yet another way to repeat, ad nauseum, the same events we have seen repeatedly, over six seasons.
Never let it be said that the Lagina brothers don’t know how to beat a dead horse. This is marketing at its most brazen. By packing the two-hours in the guise of a count-down, you have a way to introduce the show to new viewers. And, if you are an old hand, you should avoid these two hours, lest you are bored, bed-ridden, and/or your remote control is broken.
What’s more, the ever-irritating, fawning Matty Blake is your host, on the Lagina payroll.
To start, the show deals with 25 great discoveries over 220 years. So, you have to include all the historical data: like boys finding a hole and digging in pre-1800. You must include the reasons why Marty Lagina and Dan Blankenship had to move to Oak Island (after reading a Reader’s Digest article), and then you have to list the appearance of the Restall family, and on and on.
Forget those “bobby dazzlers” found by Gary Drayton. Those are at the end of the show.
What emerges of interest is the stuff the producers never think is interesting: like the fact that Oak Island is now a big tourist attraction, or that it has a money-making museum with unusual artifacts (TV props included).
You see throngs of tourists being led by some of the TV show personalities in walk-arounds. You begin then to see the mammoth scale of this money-maker for History Channel, and the Lagina family.
There is never a discussion of cost of security, or other requirements to protect the island. It must be steep: Oak Island is no longer a forgotten speck off the coast of Nova Scotia. You are looking at a Grand Canyon of Mysterious Tourist Traps.
DATELINE: Zachary Quinto & Loch Ness
The return of Zachary Quinto’s series In Search Of... is a welcome sight!
With spectacular new photographs of the Loch Ness and with an assembly of rare and remarkable historical documentary footage, you could have in a two-parter, the most thorough and entertaining investigation yet. In Search of..is back with even better production values.
There is the colorful background provided for a full report: over 1400 years ago, it was thought to be a dragon—which certainly transformed the artistic depictions and sent them in a popular direction.
If there is a drawback to the episode, it is that Zachary Quinto is seen standing in front of a screen image of the Scotland territory. He did not make the trip. Unlike the previous episodes that put him central to the action, he is here merely a voice-over with an occasional image.
That logistical concern may be overlooked when it comes to careful assessment of evidence and no-holds punches that we have come to expect in the series. Alas, part of the charm of the show is seeing Quinto on location, actually interviewing people who appear.
One new piece of info features a similar creature in a Swedish cold-water lake, which is reachable by the North Sea from Scotland. Their histories and descriptions are identical. The Loch Ness monster may well be a migratory fish or some sort.
Ending the first part is the theory that a 30-foot Atlantic or Baluga Sturgeon may be an armored version of Nessie.
DATELINE: Time Capsule to Disco World
Roy Cohn with Schrager & Rubell
For less than three years, a couple of Brooklyn entrepreneurs managed to create and to put on a 1970s theatrical experience called a disco club. It was Studio 54, on the heels of downbeat Watergate. Dance and music was where and when diversity became a fad lifestyle of Manhattan life.
Now a documentary gives us a horror story wrapped in glitterati and cheap sequins.
Studio 54, as a documentary, is a fairy tale with a sledgehammer of social cautions and moral outrage.
Steve Rubell was the more recognizable name: and his partner in business was Ian Schrager. After researching gay, black, traditional nightclubs, they decided to make a dilapidated old CBS studio where Captain Kangarooonce romped, into the disco generation’s celebrity baptismal.
Studio 54 was the place where you found throngs and mobs of stunning beautiful young men: Cartloads more than you might ever suspect could be found in a swarm.
Glitz and chintz made a spot for beauty and money to become a lifestyle passport. In six-weeks they put on a show where a balcony gave patrons with lorgnettes a chance to ogle Warhol, Jagger, Paul Newman, Sinatra, Liz, Liza, Liberace, Cher, Cary, Bianca, Truman, Halston, Barishnikov, Michael Jackson, and every name of the era in one hopped-up setting.
You put the best-looking man out front as the doorman, and you watched a happening happen.
Director Matt Tyrnauer puts together a Zeitgeist film to capture spirit, energy, and history, as a spot where glamour had its last stand. Movie stars, musician superstars, and ordinary beauty, cavorted together with freaks to pulsating lights, music, and—gulp, drugs.
There were floor shows like Las Vegas fantasies with performers who transcended their roles with the patrons.
It was America’s Fall of the Roman Empire: the god-awful punishment awaited, pestilence and plague on all your houses: AIDS. Rubell was the epitome of the age, a gay man in massive denial about his identity and living out his suicidal excesses until the roof caved in. He went in the first wave of incurable and shunned AIDS victims of the late 1980s.
His partner’s father was one of Meyer Lansky’s mouthpieces, though Ian Schrager knew nothing about it.
As if a fall from grace was ever possible without some satanic majesty, one of the biggest frequenters and closet queens of the age, the evil Roy Cohn became the attorney for the club (and later for Donald Trump). It underscores the tale and takes it into the realm of hallucinogenic socio-political shock. No liquor license? Arrested? Schrager and Rubell called Cohn.
Downfalls are good for the soul and bad for the soulless.
DATELINE: Old Overnight?
We know Tom Brady infamously jumps off the cliff in the off-season, diving into a pool near his vacay estate in Costa Rica Plenti. Now, after years of ominous predictions, have we just witnessed the aging phenom being pushed by the Grim Reaper into a new phase?
Though the Patriots won their fourth game of the season, undefeated still, it was the worst performance by Brady in a winning cause in his career.
No touchdowns—and an interception in the endzone. His QB rating is on a par with Trump’s popularity poll numbers.
Yikes, he could not do much at all. We blame the team management for disarming him: every season they take away one of his best weapons, the latest is the release of Antonio ‘who me a violent offender?’ Brown who made life easier for Tom.
Head Coach Bill Belichick has made it his mission to divest every weapon that Tom likes from the team. Where is Amendola? Gone with the wind. Where is Edelman? Playing hurt, and Tom scrupulously avoided throwing to him.
His best receiver was wearing a Mae West corset under this jersey, which made him look like a candidate for the RuPaul Drag Show. He played gamely with a busted rib or two. No one wants to confirm how many cracks they found in the ribcage.
His go-to second bananas, like James White and Phil Dorsett, were MIA when it came to push and shove.
Tom was also making decisions that rival those of a rookie QB—going for glory and long passes when shorter and less spectacular will do. It was all reminiscent of past aging QBs who refused to admit there is something rotten in the state of their game.
Tom still looks personally spectacular, dapper and smooth, resembling Adam Vinatieri’s son rather than his contemporary. However, under the creamy Botox layer beats the heart of a man who just fell off a cliff.
DATELINE: From Wine to Cigarettes
‘Swedish’ lady sells coffee!
We now interrupt your viewing pleasure for a word from many, many sponsors from the alleged Golden Age of Advertising. For you more historically-minded, but young readers, that’s apparently the 1960s when this documentary collection of old black and white commercials dominated the airwaves.
The World’s Best Commercials is a misnomer at best. It was surely the Era of Advertising.
Your favorite TV show or movie was at the mercy of two or three minutes of sales pitches with a curve ball—or maybe that’s a screwball.
Yes, you may have the mad impulse to turn the channel, but you are facing 90 minutes of unrelenting, idiotic, culturally-altering advertisements, often lasting a minute in length. You will see rare cigarette and wine commercials, complete with marching cigarettes (after all, LS/MFT).
Attention spans were greater back then, or sponsors fewer.
In any respect, you will shock your sensibilities to learn about the Swing-Ding in which kids give themselves a self-propelled concussion with a tie-on toy. You wil meet again the “Swedish” Mrs. Olson who hucksters Folger’s coffee. You will learn that Miami is a hotspot as America’s Riviera.
And, without any organizing principle, or narrator, you simply sit back and are hit repeatedly with an endless barrage of products, many that are now gone (we think) or evolved into something else. We saw Baggies in three sizes. They were all the suburban rage back then, when you could pour silver dollars into them—and they would not rip or shred.
Several times we were moved to get up and go to the bathroom.
This compendium has nothing to do with quality, but likely what was readily available to the producers of this collection. Were we the only masochists who would force this stuff upon ourselves? If you are a student of sociology, marketing, or sociological marketing history, this film will thrill you.
This stuff is campy and may have even been humorous in its day.
You clearly see what was on the minds of the people controlling the purse-strings in those days: suburban Mom. Kids, husbands, pets, all were at her whim to purchase or allow such items into the home. If you want to know who the big powers of the era were, this little ad ditties will tell you.
Pay TV reportedly was to end this blight on America’s vast wasteland of free TV.
DATELINE: Roots of Superhero!
Boundless Leaper, George Reeves!
Let’s go back in time to the thrilling days of yesteryear! No, wait, that’s the wrong one: “it’s a bird, it’s a plane,” no, no….You guessed it. We took in a short black and white classic of TV special effects: Superman from 1951, the premier episode of the series starring George Reeves.
We expected campy silliness, but the ridiculous was overwhelmed by the sublime.
It really is the progenitor of the superhero craze that sprang out of its low-budget roots: yet, the great council of Krypton ignores Jor-el, the young scientist (Robert Rockwell, no less) who predicts that the planet’s environmental climate problems mean instant evacuation.
There are more nay-sayers in the leadership ranks than at a Trump Cabinet meeting. We swore one of the cabinet members on the show was Wilbur Ross. They scoff at the nuclear winter predictions, and refuse to build a bunch of spaceships to go to Earth where this race of supermen could enslave us all.
Thank heavens, the baby sent out in a nick of time is the child of the enlightened—and he has come to Earth to save humanity. He will do it by working for the fake media, where stories like a man flying faster than a bullet saves a man hanging off a dirigible.
Thank heavens the baby was rescued from the spaceship by Ma and Pa Kettle, er, we mean Kent. They only talk like Marjorie Main and Percy Kilbride. When Clark’s father dies, he must go to Metropolis, and the rest as they say is history.
We were a tad surprised that a children’s show (as it was billed) featured destruction of an entire race of people, and then the death of a stepfather! Wouldn’t happen in a movie today, or would it?
We love the years passing by—from 1926 to 1951 when Clark cleverly hides his identity as a mild-mannered reporter with eyeglasses.
The cast was stellar: John Hamilton as the Editor of the Daily Planet, irascible and cantankerous. The first Lois is Phyllis Coates, more cynical and career girl than the later Noell Neill. We were also bemused that playwright Jack Larson lied to his friends back on Broadway—who never knew he moonlighted as Jimmy Olson, cub reporter.
It was a telescopic twenty-minutes that glossed over much to fit the story to the pilot episode. We think it is instructive to see how a movement that has taken over Hollywood and movies began.
DATELINE: Clothes Make the Woman
Halston, Taylor, Minelli at Studio 54!
Fashion designer extraordinaire, Halston was part of a generation that self-immolated by 1990. Most of them were gone: trend-setting, pop culture icons: notably Halston (he only needed one name, like Liberace). A fascinating documentary aptly named Halstontells the tale.
The 1950s gave young talents like Halston and Warhol a youthful connection to fame, but it was by the 1960s they took charge of their lives. Halston was a gypsy of America, living in no true fixed abode. So, he was likely to be self-made.
He was ambitious and flamboyant, ready to take his energy and ideas into all kinds of creative realms. He was the pioneer who made Europe take note of American fashion, though he was later given rivals like Perry Ellis and Calvin Klein.
Halston tried to stay ahead of the curve, branching out into aesthetics like perfume with bottles as arty as popular. He melded movies and fashion together, finding that his association with people like Liza Minelli and Elizabeth Taylor were ways to grow socially and artfully.
It started to go wrong when he splurged into Studio 54 with Warhol, Capote, and the raft of disco dollies. It was, some said, the beginning of a dissolution.
The documentary never says much about his aging, but it’s there: clearly losing youth to something harder. He became as hard as his looks, or perhaps his looks took on his personality: moody, bossy, self-centered. It wasn’t pretty, when he started to be less pretty.
Others thought his greed was the deciding factor that led to his destruction: he sold out to J.C. Penney, going from class to mass appeal. It alienated his well-to-do friends and undermined his name. He actually sold his own name, and lost control of it.
The end featured more intrigue that Ancient Rome, as he was pushed out (literally locked out) of his own empire by locksmiths and Playtex bra people who bought his name. A few thought it was drugs that did him in, if not promiscuity.
It was the 1980s and the deadly virus that swept through art circles in theatre, fashion, music, especially in New York, took him too. Andy Warhol once said that he’d want Halston and Elizabeth Taylor as his chums because they were so nice.
This celebrity name-dropping documentary may stir memories in a generation grown old. Halston was loved by many people who felt he epitomized tragedy by the end.