Monday
I am still way off balance from my
pal B getting locked up in prison. His was a huge presence in my
life. Knowing of his confinement is torment. I must also selfishly
say I miss his wisdom and empathy keenly. It just is not the same
world without B. To talk to. He knew me. He inspired me. He talked
truth to me.
I know he pleaded guilty to some very bad things. I still love
him. We humans make many mistakes, and some of them hurt other
people badly. He is still my dear friend and I miss him like the
cutting of a knife.
It has been raining here in L.A. for about five days straight,
maybe more. It doesn’t bother me. I know we need water desperately,
so it’s not a problem at all for me. Plus, we are not getting
really heavy rain. It is all fine.
Today, I got up early to drive to Studio City in the rain to do
a commentary for CBS. Alas, I was in such a rush that I did not
check my e-mails before I left my house. If I had, I would have
seen that the taping had been postponed to late afternoon.
Again, no problem. I am so devastated about my pal B that not
much else seems important to me.
Well, that’s not true. Last night, on my way out to Malibu to
check my mail, I called my great pal A, one of nature’s noblemen,
great, enormous help in my life at every turn. A is now in his mid
80s, and decidedly vague and getting distinctly more vague.
The only part of the conversation where he perked up was when I
told him how much I loved him, and what an indispensable friend he
has been. He snapped into lucidity for a few minutes, then wandered
again. Love is the answer to a lot of problems. Love is the answer
to almost all problems.
I was also disturbed yesterday by a text from a friend who said
she is cutting out most human contact to spend her time in prayer
all day long. Well and good, but how will she support herself? Her
modus operandi her whole life has been to be the mistress of
wealthy men, including some extremely famous ones. I believe she
has little in savings. I wonder how she will provide.
There is an awful lot of irrational behavior going on around me
and I do plenty of it, too.
Back to today. I went to my apartment that I keep for hiding and
sleeping and took a long nap. Then a long lunch with wifey and our
stunning daughter-in-law, Kitty, and our granddaughter, Coco. We
ate at Nonna and had steaks and carrots. I only mention this
because some of you might want to know the name of a good Italian
restaurant in Beverly Hills. It is called “Nonna.”
My granddaughter is lively and alert. Our daughter-in-law is
gorgeous and hard working. We are extremely blessed to have
her.
Then, back to the Valley to tape my commentary. It is about
economics and it is about yet another area where the GOP has
painted itself into a small, dangerous corner. The GOP looks more
and more like a party on a kamikaze mission and it scares me.
Then, home to pick up wifey and take her to see Skyfall
in IMAX. This is my sixth viewing of Skyfall. Second time
in IMAX, the best entertainment invention of the postwar era.
Skyfall, especially in IMAX, is addictive. It is a work of
art on a scale of genius that awes me. The acting — especially by
Daniel Craig and Javier Bardem — is stupendous. Javier Bardem may
be the best actor I have ever seen. Certainly, he is the best
villain ever — sly, sexually ambiguous, self-righteously crazy.
Above all, he is idiosyncratic and commands sympathy. He really was
mistreated and deserves revenge. You feel for him even when he
kills people. Daniel Craig is the ultimate James Bond. But in his
power and energy and creativity, Bardem has no acting peer that I
know of.
The art direction is uniquely great. The scenes in Shanghai (or
supposedly in Shanghai) are works of visual magnificence. Beyond
magnificent. Stupefying. Oriental and mysterious and also
commercial and immediate.
The direction is perfect. That’s all, just perfect.
But the sound — that’s the best sound I have ever heard. Beyond
perfect. Hearing it is like being drugged and escaping from all of
life’s problems but with no ill effects. The closing scenes of a
helicopter with a mini-gun attacking a manor house in Scotland are
like taking cocaine — only, again, with no ill effects. Just
breathtaking. I love helicopter sounds. We all do. Why?
Go see it soon.
Then home, to contemplate life without B and with my ultimate
career savior, A, fading into a worrisome vagueness. I am so lucky
I have Phil and John and Aram and Russ and Wlady and, above all, my
wifey. If I did not have her, I might as well be in prison, too.
And let’s not forget Julie Goodgirl.
I am not James Bond. I am not fearless and I am worried about
the future. Things are falling apart. Where is B when I need him? A
and B, missing in action.
