Vital Viewing (Serenading Second Banana Edition)

 

Singer and comedian--no, no, that's not right--comedian and singer--no, I had it right the first time--singer and comedian Dennis Day was born on this day in 1916 (he died in 1988.) Day thought of himself as a singer first and a comedian second, and I have to respect that. Yet watching this clip from the once-popular game show What's My Line, it's hard for me not to think of him as first and foremost a comedian:

If you haven't figured it out, the way the What's My Line mystery guest segment worked is the blindfolded celebrity was allowed to keep asking questions as long as each answer approximated a "yes".  A "no" and the next celebrity to the right got their turn, or if you were at the very right, as was Random House publisher and best-selling joke anthologist Bennett Cerf, then the next celebrity up would be the one at the very left, in this case Broadway gossip columnist and occasional true-crime journalist Dorothy Kilgallen. Dorothy's string of correct guesses was unusual. In most cases, there's were enough "no" answers to go around, assuring each panelist got a chance to ask a question. I suspect it was no accident that the line of questioning began with stage and radio actress Arlene Francis, that the producers hoped that the segment would reach an exciting climax once radio comedian Fred Allen's turn came up. If I'm right, then obviously, things didn't go according to plan. Why does it matter? Well, in the larger scheme of things it really doesn't, except that Allen previously had been engaged in decades-long mock feud with...

...radio, and by this time, television comedian Jack Benny, Dennis Day's long-time boss. As it was, poor Fred had to settle for blurting out Benny's name afterwards, but it would have been a lot cooler, and a lot funnier, if the acerbic comic had guessed the answer instead of Kilgallen. Oh, well, at least you know the contest wasn't rigged. As for whether Day was first and foremost a singer or a comedian, we have Benny to thank for that bit of confusion. Day indeed started out as a singer. Mary Livingston, Benny's wife and radio show castmate, had heard the 23-year-old Day sing on some local New York program and told hubby about it. Benny liked what he heard and hired him on, a big break for Day since he was now heard coast-to-coast. But he couldn't just sing, he had to perform comedy when asked to do so, and as time went on, he was asked to that more and more. Day was most certainly as good a comedian as he was a songster, more than holding his own with program regulars Livingston, Eddie "Rochester" Anderson, Mel Blanc, Frank Nelson ("EEE-yeeeeeeeesssss?") Phil Harris (a band leader first and Baloo the Bear second?) and Benny himself. You just heard how good he was with the mimicry, but he became best known as the smiling innocent who couldn't help but get on the dryly prickly Benny's nerves. 

It's more than nerves at stake in this gangster film parody:

Given the all the shootings in public places--there's been several just this past week, including that one in Buffalo--you may question whether the gunplay in the above video is an appropriate subject for humor. But that sketch is from 1960. Back then, as far as the average person was concerned, shootings in public places mostly happened in fictional movies and on fictional TV shows, and not on the nonfictional news found on yet-to-be-invented smart phones. So give Benny and his writers some slack. In the meantime, Turner Classic Movies fans may have recognized the first gangster to succumb to Jack's bullets. It's Dan Duryea, a supporting actor mainstay of the 1940s and '50s genre we now call film noir. Gunplay for him was rare enough outside a movie set that he could make fun of it, and himself.

By 1968 both the long-running radio show and the long-running TV show were off-the-air, but Benny and Day occasionally found things to do together, such as this Texaco commercial. Day is in his early 50s by now, but gamely still plays the insouciant youth of yore:

Life before the self-serve pump.

OK, I've said Day was also, even primarily, a singer, but what did he sing? Usually novelty-numbers, especially when he sang on TV. But the son of Irish immigrants seemed particularly drawn to...

...Irish songs (or songs written in America about Ireland.) Here's one such song. Longtime Benny announcer Don Wilson provides a bit of musical accompaniment towards the end:

Maybe Day was a singer after all. A comedian shouldn't let the announcer have the last laugh.

Dialect comedy has fallen out of favor in this century, arguably for a very good reason. By poking fun at foreign (as well as homegrown ethnic) accents, it encourages xenophobia and racism, which so plagues present-day politics (and, increasingly, present-day police dockets, hospitals, and cemeteries.) Yet I don't think Dennis Day's intent in the above video was meant to be so harmful. It was all in fun, and, besides, the British, French, and Germans haven't historically been among the more oppressed groups to make a home on these shores. The Irish are a different matter. If you go far enough back in time, you'd find they were a put-upon group in the early days of our republic. But as Dorothy Kilgallen already told you, Day was really Owen Patrick Eugene McNulty. Jack Benny (Benjamin Kebulsky) was another first-generation American, in his case the son of Russian Jews. It all harkens back to an earlier "great replacement" that took hold on an island named Ellis, one of those occasional moments in our nation's history when people aren't afraid of foreigners, or the descendants of foreigners, whether they have accents or not.

 

 

Quips and Quotations (Hungarian in Hollywood Edition)

 

He always said that if he hadn't had an accent, he wouldn't have been typecast in pictures. But if he hadn't had an accent, he wouldn't have become a star by being cast as Dracula!

--Basil Rathbone

Vital Viewing (Schlemiel! Schlimazel! Hasenpfeffer Incorporated Edition)

1943-2018

 It seems that during a flurry of Christmas posts, I let Penny Marshall's passing fall to the wayside. I should state right here that I'm neither legally nor morally obliged to comment on every famous person who dies (in case you're eagerly awaiting that George H.W. Bush tribute), but this really was negligence on my part, as I was a fan of her work, first as Oscar Madison's lackadaisical secretary Myrna on The Odd Couple, and then, what's she's best know for, Milwaukee bottle-capper Laverne DiFazio on Laverne and Shirley. She later became a filmmaker, with such popular and critically acclaimed movies as Big, Awakenings, and A League of Their Own to her credit. The woman was talented. In the following clip we find her, at the height of her L+S fame, talking to Dick Clark:

That was a Bronx accent? All this time I thought it was Brooklyn! But then...

...living as I do in flyover country, what do I know about New York City accents?

Maybe if I took a crash course...

Now, I know this woman is definitely from Brooklyn, and if I really mull it over, her accent is a bit different from Penny Marshall's. But I've never really mulled it over...until now.

Brooklyn, but doesn't sound anything like Streisand, even when you take in account the different gender.

From Brooklyn, and same gender as Streisand, but, if we can talk, sounds more like King.

Finally! This guy is from the Bronx, but doesn't sound all that much like Penny Marshall. Again, different gender (but even so, he sounds more like Streisand's brother.)

Speaking of brothers, here's Penny's brother Garry. He's best known as a writer, producer, and director, but did a bit of acting when he played the network president on the original Murphy Brown series. And even he sounded a bit more like Larry King than Tony Curtis did. Perhaps he's the missing link between Brooklyn and the Bronx.

Queens, an entirely different borough from either the Bronx or Brooklyn. But, you know, I never felt the two pictured here had quite the same accent. Of course, they're fictional characters. In real life, she grew up in Manhattan, and he grew up in...Queens. So his was more genuine. No wonder he caller her a dingbat.

Queens. And she sounds much more like Edith than Archie, even though Jean Stapleton's not really from there, and Carrol O'Connor is! I take back the dingbat remark.

Also Queens, since she was married to the King of Queens. But she doesn't sound anything like Archie or Edith.  In real life, the actress herself was born in Brooklyn (so she was trying to pull a fast one on us!)

Bingo! This memorable TV character is indeed from the Bronx. However, Valerie Harper, the actress who portrayed her, was born in a village just across the Hudson River, and, as her father was a lighting salesman, moved around the country a lot while growing up, freeing her from any type of identifying accent. Another interesting factoid: Harper partially based Jewish Rhoda Morgenstern on her Italian grandmother (maybe the thinking was that the WASPs in the viewing audience would find the two ethnic groups as interchangeable as a Bronx and Brooklyn accent.)  

Brooklyn, soitenly.

 The Distinguished Senator from Vermont is originally from Brooklyn, though I imagine it was his political views, rather than his thick accent, that so captivated college-aged voters back in 2016.

 She may hear cases in Hollywood these days, but this magistrate is originally from Brooklyn, as her accent makes clear whenever she talks from the bench.

The Bronx, even though the Sunshine Cab Company is in Manhattan. Well, people often relocate for a job.

 The longtime (1971-2017) New York congressman was born in Harlem, grew up in Harlem, and still lives in Harlem--despite having a Bronx accent. Go figure.

 The Bronx. Sounds more like Charlie Rangel than Charlie Rangel sounds like Charlie Rangel.

The King of One-Liners. Of course, he's from Brooklyn.

Another comedian from Brooklyn. Thick accent often used for humorous effect. But these days he spends less time cracking jokes and more time issuing denials. 

 Yet another comedian from Brooklyn, but he doesn't have a trace of an accent. Unless he's from Brooklyn, Ohio (we have a Broadway too here in Cleveland, but that's beside the point.)

Now, Paul Newman did grow up in Cleveland (he spent his summers home from college working in his uncle's sporting goods store, where my mother and her high school friends would hang out and gaze longingly at him), but in 1981 spoke with a--well, had that movie been titled differently, I would have sworn that was a Brooklyn accent!

 Born and raised in Brooklyn. Very pronounced accent in Welcome Back, Kotter and Saturday Night Fever. In other roles, he sometimes dials it back a bit, but it never disappears entirely.  In fact...

...you can even hear a trace of it in this movie!

Hizzoner grew up in the Bronx, but doesn't sound much like the other Bronx residents I've mentioned. Seeing as he needed to convince all five boroughs to cast a vote for him, perhaps he tried to make his accent as generically New Yawk as possible.

 He played a Transylvanian, but the actor himself grew up in Brooklyn. That said, if he and Ed Koch from the Bronx were in the same room talking when the lights went out, I think you'd have a hard time telling which was which.

 Queens, and still has the accent (maybe he's the son Archie Bunker gave up for adoption.)

 OK, that last joke was a bit unfair--to the people of Queens. This guy also was from there. Back in the 1980s, some thought his accent (as well as Italian name, and rumors of ties to the Mafia) might hinder his chances to become President. For whatever reason, he never did run. Incidentally, not only were the Mafia rumors unfounded, but two years ago a Sicilian hit man claimed there were plans in 1992 to whack the then-New York Governor during a visit to Italy! The hit was called off after whatever Godfather in charge saw just how big his security detail was.

Ever hear him talk? Thick Brooklyn accent. But as with Streisand, it disappears entirely when he sings. 

Brooklyn. I don't know if the "Wah, wah, wah" would have necessarily given him away, but he talked differently than everyone else on Happy Days, including cousin Fonzie.

I don't know if it entirely accounts for his broadcasting style, but the man who Monday Night Football fans once loved to hate grew up in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn. Sounds like a campy Larry King.

Daphne and Skippy sometimes sounded like they might be from Brooklyn or the Bronx--anywhere but Mayberry.

Mel Blanc, who voiced the wacky wabbit for so many years, once said his speech was a combination of a Brooklyn and Bronx accent. Maybe so, but to my ears, the hare sounds kind of like Cyndi Lauper, from Queens.

 As you can see, when it comes to pop culture representations of New York City accents, Brooklyn beats the Bronx (and, of course, Queens) about 2-1, so I think I can be forgiven for mistaking Penny Marshall for a Brooklynite. I mean, where else was I supposed to think she was from, Wisconsin?

Speaking of Penny Marshall, let's get back to the matter at hand...

Laverne and Shirley never got much respect from the critics. The 1970s was the era of the cerebral sitcom, and The Mary Tyler Moore Show was the gold standard that all else was measured. But L+S came from a more lowbrow, farcical direction, and, if you accept that, as I do, then it was for a number of years one of the funniest shows on TV. Plus, though I wasn't around to witness it first hand, my gut tells me that not since The Honeymooners had there been a more faithful depiction of 1950s working-class life. And remember, The Honeymooners was actually made during the 1950s. Laverne and Shirley had to recreate it some 20-odd years later from scratch. And did so beautifully (at least up until a head-scratching move from beer-drenched Milwaukee to sun-soaked Los Angeles.) However, the biggest reason for the show's success may have simply been the comic chemistry between Penny Marshall and Cindy Williams. This may sound sacrilege to some, but they were, at least at times, on par with Lucille Ball and Vivian Vance, they were that good. Marshall and Williams had an interesting, even fascinating, relationship. They were already friends when Penny's brother Garry asked the two to play a couple of girls from the wrong side of the tracks who go out on date with Richie and Fonzie in an episode of Happy Days, which then became the springboard for their own series. Ironically, it was the very success of that spinoff series that proved disastrous for Marshall's and Williams' friendship. A rivalry developed, the two started feuding. The crux of the problem seemed to be Williams' belief that the show favored Marshall, that she got more lines and airtime (speaking for myself, I remember the two actresses being in virtually every scene together. You saw one, and there was the other. Still, the sitcom was produced not just by Penny's brother but her father as well. Cindy would have been less than human if all that nepotism didn't occasionally get under her skin.) Then Williams got pregnant and dropped out of the series. Laverne and Shirley without Shirley? Not surprisingly, the show tanked in the ratings, and was cancelled in 1983 after eight years on the air. The good news is that, after a cooling off period, Marshall and Williams became friends once again. A few years ago, Cindy was quoted as saying the two often watched TV together. If that's not a sign of closeness, I don't know what is.

Friends or foes, here's Penny and Cindy at their best:

Ah, to be young and single.

And, finally...

 Yep, it's almost upon us, and I just happened to come across a clip of Penny Marshall arriving at a New Year's Eve party. Watch:

I hope she had fun.

RIP Penny.