You've got to see it...

Welcome to picture day -- the gorgeous and goofy.  Maui, December 2016.  To go along with yesterday's travelogue.

Security at the Grand Wailea breaking into my room when my key didn't work.  At least I think they were security.

Sunset at the Grand Wailea.

Not IN the mall, ON the mall.  Chickens apparently can't read because...

This was at Coconuts.  They were all over the strip mall -- answering the question:  "Why did the chicken cross the road?"  Because he was suicidal.

You gotta take a helicopter ride.

Our pilot.  Would you get in a flying thing with him?  He was actually great.

A couple of beauty shots from the chopper.

Can you see any sharks?

I'll spare you the seventy-five others.

Our waiter at Nick's Fish Market just before he set his sleeve on fire.  What a show!

Yes, it rained, but I was prepared.

Everybody takes pictures of their food.  Why not me?

This was after the waiter created this masterpiece and before he set himself on fire.

Feeding Rebecca.  With me and Rebecca's dad.

The highest rating a restaurant can have.  We do live in the age of "It's good enough" don't we?

I did a little writing while in Maui.

The sun setting on the over-privileged.

A Jewish cosabella.

People enjoying breakfast next to a construction site.

Annie & Jon stealing Christmas presents from the Kea Lani lobby.

A yoga class.  What position is "check for messages?"

A beauty shot.

Another beauty shot.

The Sashimi Napoleon is AWESOME.   The Soup of Yesterday is okay.

Doesn't this look like a warning that there is bacon in the ocean?

Always great to watch a football game in the snow when it's 85 and sunny.

Had to end with another sunset.  Aloha!

Mele Kalikimaka -- a travelogue

We just love Maui! It’s hard to spoil our enjoyment, even when American Airlines sent our luggage to Seattle, it rained upon our arrival, and we were locked out of our room at the Grand Wailea. But hey, that’s any Levine vacation.

We always go the beginning of December because no one’s there. Once the hordes start arriving for Christmas we’re gone. The last two weeks are nuts. Every lounge chair is like a Snickers bar in a fat farm.

Making decisions based on Hawaiian weather forecasts is like buying stocks based on Tarot cards. They have no idea. In their hourly report I’m surprised they get “night” right. Suggestion Accu-Weather people: Open a window.

Don’t tell anyone but “cloudy” in Hawaii is almost as nice as “sunny.” Sure you can get the same crippling sunburn where you’re begging for death, but it’s cooler, you’re not fighting Jeffrey Katzenberg for shade, and the sunsets are more striking (if that’s even possible).

Tourism in Maui is at a record-breaking high. But fewer Canadians are aloha’ing this year. Their dollar is in sad shape. But all that will change come January when half of America relocates there.

Favorite thing to do: Ask Siri directions. “Left on Ki’i’oni’oni Place, then right on Lumi’au’au Street” becomes “Left on Keeohoheeohnoloni Place and right on Loomanoomaloon… aw fuck it. Ask someone who gives a shit!”

There was a Maui women’s NCAA basketball tournament and several of the teams stayed at the Grand Wailea. You’d think Oregon State could find a different name to call their women’s basketball team other than the Beavers.

Friday night: Flash flood warning.

The first Saturday we splurged and rented a cosabella, which is really two attached lounge chairs with a hood. Shade costs more than Maui Wowie. So we’re relaxing, it’s serene, we’re reading our books when suddenly BAM! Loud Country music begins blaring from speakers now set up just behind us. It was the second annual Maui Singer-Songwriter festival – a passing parade of musicians serenading the pool area – all twanging the exact same damn song. She done him wrong, so he cheated on her, now there’s a custody battle for the kids and Chevy Tahoe. Meanwhile, no one at the pool was paying the slightest attention. Wrong crowd. You don’t schedule a Trump rally at Barbra Streisand’s house.

They sell fine (read: expensive) jewelry at the kiddie pool at the Grand Wailea, and believe it or not, idiot women buy it. Even rappers know better. 14 K Diamond rings are sold right next to the Shave Ice machine. Recently a woman lost a $100,000 ring in the water and thirty-five hotel employees ran to look for it. (Talk about service!) Shockingly, no one “found” it.

Saturday night: Flash flood warning.

After a couple of nights at the Grand Wailea, Debby and I moved to a nearby villa and awaited the arrival of our son Matt, his wife Kim, and our first grandchild, Rebecca (is six months too early for surfing lessons?). Our daughter Annie and her husband Jonathan would join us a few days later. I would tell you how many days we were there but you’d hate us. The villa was lovely. We promptly locked ourselves out on the lanai and had to call security. “The Beverly Hillbillies go to Hawaii.”

Then it took us four days to figure out how to turn off the ceiling fans ignoring the remotes that were only in the rooms with ceiling fans.

Monday night: Flash flood warning.

The Kihei police station in the Kihei Town Center is now an Indian restaurant. Let the crime spree begin!

My son knows how to party. His flip-flips had a bottle opener in them.

“Panties in Paradise” in the Gateway Center had a sale. That’s the only reason I was in there. Hey, I’ve got to bring back gifts for my fellow UCLA faculty members, don’t I?

Wednesday night: Flash flood warning.

While taking our morning walk along the beach one day we bumped into my accountant (who was staying at a more expensive place). He said, “Have a great trip, and you might want to get used to the taste of Spam.” I wonder what he meant by that?

We always hit Matteo’s Osteria. The only reason to go to Hawaii is for the pasta. Our friend Michael was named the Maui Server of the Year – an award that still ranks higher than a Golden Globe. Not sure what exactly Michael received, but I’m guessing it’s either a handsome plaque or a twenty-dollar tip.

Thursday: No flash flood warning. Just a tsunami alert.

So taking stock: A possible tsunami and both Matt & Kim were sick. But again, that’s any Levine vacation.

Our unit was considered a “penthouse,” which should have brought us some comfort during the tsunami alert except our “penthouse” was on the first floor. What exactly does “penthouse” mean in Hawaii?

Very relieved the tsunami didn’t materialize. I saw the movie. Other than Naomi Watts whooshing by there would be no upside to it.

Annie & Jon finally arrived, having been routed through Seattle. The airline must’ve thought they were our luggage.

Every girl on the beach now has a tattoo. Imagine a remake of those Beach Party movies but with biker chicks.

Friday night: Flash flood warning.

The health department is not as stringent as they are in Los Angeles. Instead of restaurants being rated A, B, or C, the highest grade you get in Maui is PASS. That’s reassuring. The grades are PASS, CONDITIONAL PASS, and ANY PLACE SELLING POI.

Annie posted this on Facebook: “Matt Levine and Kim Shultz left Jon and I alone with their baby for a day. Big mistake. Huge.”

Perfect for the series I always proposed. Just as there were “Muppet Babies,” I always thought a great series would be “Cheers Babies.” She could even keep her real name.

Sunday: Flash flood. One to two inches of torrential rain an hour. The Honoapiiani Highway (try saying that, Siri) was closed. Cabana prices were reduced. It was the worst night of rain they had on Maui in over three years. (ANY Levine vacation.)

I took the brunt of the storm. Watching the DICK VAN DYKE SHOW in color on CBS several lines of dialogue were obscured during a flash flood warning. And an annoying scroll appeared at the top of the screen telling people to evacuate. Otherwise, there were no injuries or cosabellas washed out to sea.

Waiters are so programmed these days in waiter-speak that they even ask sharks, “So how were the first few bites?”

Certainly a trip highlight was a one-hour helicopter ride over the island. Despite our pilot being Otto, the bus driver from THE SIMPSONS, the ride was spectacular. Volcanoes, waterfalls, lush forests, a valley only accessible by air, the polar bear from LOST; every ten seconds another startling view. They don’t let you take selfie-sticks on board so that cut the number of passengers way down. It’s a phenomenal experience and now I never have to drive to Hana.

We wanted to see snow but there was none at the top of Haleakala and we didn’t fly over the Queen Ka’ahumanu Shopping Center.

Nick’s Fishmarket in the Kea Lani Hotel features the dessert of death --Strawberries Panzini. It’s a plate of strawberries engulfed in blue flames. Have ordered it twice and both times the waiter has set his sleeve on fire. The trouble is it’s hard to get coffee refills when your server has been rushed to Urgent Care.

“Goggles” is not a good look for me. Even fish were laughing.

Speaking of which: Coconuts fish tacos are a must. Note: They do not serve chickens – either as an entrée or customer. There are live chickens walking around their outdoor patio. This is not uncommon in Kihei strip malls. Suddenly, grading a restaurant PASS starts to make sense.

And then there’s Sansei for the best sushi you’ve ever had. The keys are: make reservations early and never ask what exactly you’re eating.

The old Puunene Sugar Mill closed. I will miss those smokestacks always spewing out God knows what. It’s a little bit of Pittsburgh in paradise. They say the mill opened in 1870 and now it’s kaput. Goddamn Splenda!

Matt, Kim, and the baby headed home last Thursday. Their non-stop Alaska flight from Maui to San Francisco turned into a direct flight to Honolulu, where it was then cancelled. They had to scramble and get on a United redeye and kill six hours in the airport. Great fun with a six-month-old. (I’m telling you – ANY…)

Annie & Jon didn’t want to leave. They were considering barricading the door and becoming squatters. Jon: “Special instructions for Amazon deliveries: Go to the front balcony, throw it over.”

All in all, a wonderful trip. No one lost a diamond ring in the ocean, our rental car had brakes, and for the first time in years no one had to see a local doctor! Hopefully you too can soon go to Hawaii. Or a Cineplex showing MOANA. When I saw that movie and all the trials Moana went through, I thought, “Yep, any Levine vacation.”

Aloha and Mele Kalikimaka

(More photos tomorrow!)

Dont cut the CUT TO's

Scripts are always too long. They just are.  Even when they’re the right number of pages. Read aloud and time any script. It’s too long. You have to make cuts.

And in many cases, that’s not easy. We have an expression in the writers room: kill your babies. (Lovely expression, isn’t it?) What it means of course is that you have to cut stuff you love. In comedy scripts that usually means laughs. Why? Because story is most important. If you take out story steps the audience might no longer be able to follow the narrative. Jokes are the tinsel and ornaments we hang on the tree.

Or you discover you have five versions of the same joke. Two (or four) have to go.

Whenever I have a long speech I always go back and trim it. You’d be surprised. There are ALWAYS trims.

When you’re on a show you sometimes have the luxury of saying, “I know the script is long, but let’s hear it. Once we hear it we’ll get a better sense of what’s working and what’s not and then we’ll make our cuts.” The good news is the decisions are easier; the bad news is that you might have a lot of other work to do on the script and even before getting around to making the cuts you’re going to be there till 2 A.M.

And sometimes you just “know” going in what’s eventually going to have to come out. You’re just delaying the inevitable. And the leaner and meaner you make a script before production begins, generally the easier your life will be.

Another advantage of being on a show is you can start an S.O..S. file (Some Other Show). You can bank jokes for later use. This doesn’t help much if you’re writing a screenplay.

Writer/blogger Earl Pomerantz has an interesting theory. He says you can always just lift page 8. As crazy as that sounds he’s often right.

But here’s what you don’t want to do (although many people do): widen the margins, futz with the template, and squeeze more content onto the page.  The greatest insane example of this comes from when I was a Story Editor on MASH. The script was too long so our head writer decided to take the “CUT TO’s” and “DISSOLVE TO’s” out. We said, “What difference does that make? The script will still read just as long.”

But he insisted and we took out all the transitional commands and sent the script off to the 20th Century Fox typing pool, where they re-typed scripts for printing. They didn't have the script five minutes before we got a call from the head of the department. “What the fuck do we think we’re doing?” As this head writer tried to explain to her his reasoning, my writing partner David and I ducked into our office where we laughed for five minutes.

The next day the printed script arrived. The “CUT TO’s” were back and surprise, the script was still too long. That night we went back and took out dialogue. Turns out that works better. Who knew?

Strict page counts are deceiving. A script with long block speeches can be 30 pages and be way longer than a 36 page script where everyone speaks in a line or two. The key is don’t try to fool yourself.

A universal truth is scripts get better when they’re shorter, tighter, funnier, with a better flow. I have way more to say on the subject but blogposts get better when they’re shorter too.

So I'll just conclude with happy ornament removing.

Driving Miss Zsa Zsa

Sorry to hear that Zsa Zsa Gabor passed away yesterday.  She was 99.  I had one encounter with her back in 1969.  I recount it in my book, THE ME GENERATION...BY ME (GROWING UP IN THE '60s (which would make a WONDERFUL Christmas gift.  Hint hint.  You can order it here.), but I thought in honor of Miss Gabor (who was a Mrs. nine times), I would share it today.   This was when I was an undergrad at UCLA. 

Taking Italian “Pass/Fail” allowed me to barely pass and satisfy the language requirement. But I still speak it worse than the waiters at the Olive Garden. I was not enjoying Psychology so I thought I’d transfer into the Television/Film department. They told me I needed to submit a film or television program that I had made. I said, “Uh, isn’t that what I’m supposed to have AFTER I graduate and after you’ve taught me how to do that?”

Transfer request denied.

Still, I took a lot of television and film courses anyway.

There was an extra-curricular TV talk show that aired closed-circuit in the dorms. I volunteered to be a gofer. I’d like to say I gravitated towards television because I wanted to expand my horizons, but the truth is the assistant director was the heiress of a major national furniture chain and I had a major crush on her. I so wanted to sleep with her and get a discount on a new dinette set. Alas, "the store was closed" on both accounts.

One of my assignments was to pick up the guests if they didn’t wish to drive themselves. First up was Zsa Zsa Gabor. She was an actress/personality known more for her nine marriages than her stellar film work. She was one of the Gabor sisters (Eva and Magda being the others of course). Her movies were, uh... never mind, just think of Zsa Zsa Gabor as a 50-year-old Hungarian Kim Kardashian. She was appalled that I showed up in a Ford Mustang – like UCLA was going to send a stretch limo for Zsa Zsa Gabor.

We’re driving along in silence. Me in the front and she in the back as if she were in a limo. All I needed was the little hat. Finally, I decided to make a little conversation. I asked her what I should do about the furniture heiress. “Vell, get a new car, darlink,” was her first suggestion. I don’t recall her other tips (probably buy her expensive silverware); I just recall thinking how absurd this was that I was getting love advice from Zsa Zsa Gabor.

All I want for Christmas...

is Jews.

My Christmas movies recommendations

A CHRISTMAS STORY is my all-time favorite holiday movie. I’ve seen it probably fifty times, but I don’t think I’ve ever actually watched it from the beginning to end in one sitting. Like most people, I catch the annual 24-hour marathon on TNT or TBS or one of those networks with a “T” and see various segments at a time. Usually, by the end of 24-hours I’ve pretty much seen the whole film, albeit disjointed.

But there are other Christmas movies I recommend as well.

DIE HARD certainly. A company Christmas party goes bad but like Santa saving the day, Bruce Willis sweeps in and kills a lot of people.

LOVE ACTUALLY – Eight different stories interweave in this delightful romantic comedy (although it's much maligned). You’re bound to be charmed by at least three.  And you get Keira Knightley before she felt the need to change her body image.

BACHELOR MOTHER – Okay, this is an obscure one. 1939 starring Ginger Rogers and David Niven. A screwball comedy set in a department store filled with misdirection and confusion. Warning: Ginger doesn’t dance.

BAD SANTA – Very dark comedy starring Billy Bob Thornton as a Santa who robs stores. People either really like it or they loathe it.  Sort of like with IT'S A WONDERFUL LIFE.   The sequel is coming out this year.  Can't speak for it. 

SANTA CLAUS CONQUERS THE MARTIANS – All you need to know about this 1964 sugar plum is that 8-year-old Pia Zadora plays a Martian child.

ELF – worth it for Bob Newhart alone.

HOME ALONE – A John Hughes classic. The Macaulay Culkin “AAAAAAA!” movie that is still funny year after year.

STALAG 17 – Most people don’t think of this Billy Wilder classic set in a World War II German Prisoner of War camp as a holiday yarn, but it was set during a Christmas season. And it is a phenomenal movie.

SUSAN SLEPT HERE – This 1954 comedy starring Dick Powell and a very young Debbie Reynolds is one of my favorites because it takes place in my neighborhood and I think you can see my house from Dick Powell’s balcony. I don’t know if the movie’s any good. I’m always just looking out the windows.

There you go. I know it’s a short list, but if I see one more Scrooge reboot or fantasy with Jim Carrey in make-up I think I’ll vomit. Oh, and one final warning: There are a lot of bad Christmas movies and a lot of bad comedy movies but MIXED NUTS might be the very worst of both. It’s the “Aunt Edna’s Fruitcake” of holiday films.

What are your favorites... and least favorites? 

Thanks!

Thanks for your encouragement on my podcast venture.  And thanks for your input.  Just as I don't want my blog posts to be too long for easy consumption, I don't want my podcasts to wear out their welcome.   So a half-hour to maybe forty minutes it shall be (unless I get a great interview and then the length will be whatever). 

I will let you know the progress.  I hope to get it off the ground very soon.   Thanks again.

Friday Questions

Aloha. Here are some Friday Questions from paradise.

Wayne starts us off:

Now that Mike Nichols is no more, who is the top director of comedy plays?

I don’t think there is only one. Joe Mantello is pretty hot. So is Scott Ellis. And Jerry Zaks. I’m sure there are one or two others. Or seven.  At the moment I'm 7,000 miles away from Broadway.  What do I know?

From Stephen Robinson:

Do you think late-night TV has gotten too overtly political? My memory of Carson or Bob Hope specials might be too rooted in youthful nostalgia but it seemed like the political humor was less "personal" and could appeal to anyone regardless of their political affiliation. Yes, these are very contentious times but so were the 1960s. This isn't to say that I don't think there's a place for political humor but I've seen clips of Samantha Bee and even Seth Meyers and they come across more like slightly funnier Keith Olbermanns (and I say this as someone who enjoyed Olbermann's COUNTDOWN series).

Political humor is in now. Jon Stewart on the DAILY SHOW and Stephen Colbert on THE COLBERT REPORT showed there was an appetite for political comedy. With the 24 hour news cycle I think world affairs are more in the forefront of people’s consciousness and late night hosts are just reflecting that.

But let’s see how funny this all seems in another month when we have our new president. When the insanity is too real we might not be laughing. (NOTE: Let this not be a cue to start arguing politics in the comments section. I will delete them. I’m on vacation and not in the mood. Thanks.)

Friday Question from Jim S.:

Whose career would you have rather had, Larry Gelbart's or Ernie Harwell's?

Boy, that’s a tough one. For those who don’t know one or both of these gentlemen:  Larry Gelbart was a brilliant comedy writer – the Mozart of the form. Among his many credits are TOOTSIE, FUNNY THING HAPPENED ON THE WAY TO THE FORUM, OH GOD, and creating the TV version of MASH.

Ernie Harwell was a Hall-of-Fame baseball announcer who called games well into his 80’s. He announced for the Brooklyn Dodgers, New York Giants, Baltimore Orioles, but is primarily known as the longtime voice of the Detroit Tigers.

Both were consummate gentlemen. I was honored to be their colleague, friend, and in the case of Larry Gelbart, co-worker.

Both were masters at what they did, both deeply loved what they did. Larry’s legacy will last longer than Ernie’s. His work, especially through MASH, will live on decades. But Larry passed away in his early 80’s and Ernie made it into his 90’s and remained razor sharp. So there’s that.

At the end of the day, if I was forced to choose, I think I’d pick Larry. But I’d be lucky just to have half the career of Ernie Harwell.

The deciding factor: As much as I love baseball announcing, comedy is just part of my DNA.

And finally, from ScottyB:

Last night, I was watching the latest episode of "Designated Survivor," which has been pretty damn riveting. However, the first five minutes (or a similarly painfully long amount of time) were spent listing what seemed like 50 producers, co-producers, executive producers, co-executive producers, associate producers, consulting producers, etcetcetc. I'm sitting there thinking holy shit, the number of producers on this show must outnumber the number of extras.

So my question: What the hell?

Most of these are writers. A “produced by” credit means a line producer, someone who is in charge of the actual production. But all the co-executive producers and supervising producers and co-supervising producers – they’re just writers. They get bumps in pay depending on their title.

Ironically, the one title that isn’t given (because it isn’t sexy enough I guess) is the only title that matters. Show runner. He or she will be listed as “Executive Producer.” But when you see those titles go by just think “writer, writer, team of writers, writer.”

What’s your Friday Question? Leave it in the comments section. Mahalo.