Spring Ass-Backwards
Happy April. This is the twenty-eighth issue of Rabbit Rabbit Rabbit — it’s just like all those other email newsletters, except no one’s life depends on it.
I figured two interesting items once a month was not a lot of writing to ask of a someone who is ostensibly a professional writer. But every month, like clockwork, here’s me telling you why you’re getting another half-assed newsletter hastily cobbled together at the last minute. This time the lame excuses include — but are not limited to — bad baseball, Daylight Saving Time, too much work, and the end of democracy. In other words, it’s the spring of 2025 in the US of A.
Glengarry Glen Blah
Was “self-care” even a term any of us knew prior to the 2016 election? Anyway…
As the world burns around me, I’ve found that live performances make for good, “This is fine”–type distractions. It’s more difficult to go down a doom-scrolling black hole when you’re preoccupied by people doing things — art, music, acting — right in front of you.
In the last month, I’ve seen: two Chekhov plays (The Seagull, Vanya), two Maria Schneider concerts (London, Stockholm), The Iron Maidens, Elizabeth and the Catapult, Meshell Ndegeocello (don’t sleep on that one), and an all-star Broadway production of Glengarry Glen Ross — which was good, not great. Since there’s no Letterboxd for theater reviews, I’m dumping my impressions of that one here, as another distraction (and, yes, content filler).
The cast of this Glengarry includes at least two comedic legends: Michael McKean as the hapless George Aaronow (Alan Arkin in the movie) and Bob Odenkirk as the desperate Shelley Levene (Jack Lemmon). Plus, Bill Burr as the disgruntled Dave Moss (Ed Harris), Kieran Culkin as the big dog Richard Roma (Al Pacino), and a relative unknown, Donald Webber, Jr., as John Williamson — the snide office manager played by Kevin Spacey in the movie. Apparently, Webber was in a couple episodes of Severance, but I couldn’t place him offhand.
Surprisingly (to me), it’s Culkin who seems to be the biggest name and most studded of the cast’s stars, judging by the audience’s reaction when he first appeared on stage. (I hate the interruptive, fawning clapping! Makes the whole thing feel like a sitcom.) I assume its due to the popularity of Succession, and that his character in Succession is also a real go-getter type — and maybe that association helps bolster his performance here. But I’ve never seen Succession, and I kinda thought he was just OK in this.
But I did think it was funny that he’s shorter than the rest of the cast, like Al Pacino was. And he had a floppy haircut, too — also like Pacino in the movie. It’s hard to watch any of these performances without comparing them to the movie (which still holds up!) — and Culkin definitely seemed to borrow the most from his blowhard counterpart (except with maybe an added tinge of angst).
On the other hand, Bill Burr was perfect for his part — different than Ed Harris — wry, self-deprecating, and irascible, instead of righteous and tortured. McKean also finds a funnier way of playing the feckless George. And Odenkirk was a good Shelley: funny, sad, tragic.
In the Playbill article, Odenkirk shares an anecdote, which maybe helps inform why this Glenngarry has such a different vibe than the movie:
I wrote to David Mamet 20 years ago, and I said, “I have two requests. One, can we do an all-comedy version. Two, can we change it from land they’re selling to pots and pans?” And I never got a response.
And this Glengarry is funny. But at the same time, with the notable prevalence of fathers and their teenaged sons in the audience, you get the worrisome feeling that, like with Fight Club and Wall Street, people are missing the point: that toxic masculinity is bad actually, that greed is not so good, and that “second prize is a set of steak knives” and “third prize is you’re fired” is not just funny, but also what’s debasing us. We continue to glorify the capitalist, libertarian weasels among us, just because they drive an expensive car.
A brief aside — and another dark thing: Bill Burr went on Conan O’Brien’s podcast to promote his new comedy special and the play. But by the end, they ended up veering into bleak world history, observing that Köln looks the way it does now — modern except for the iconic cathedral — because everything else in the city was flattened by Allied bombing in WWII. And Stockholm looks like the opposite — idyllic and quaint — because they avoided taking a side, remained out of the fight, and so the city emerged from the war largely unscathed. Right now, with the way things are going these days, it’s hard to say what’s worse: evil and retribution on one side, or bloodless, self-serving, self-preserving neutrality on the other. Anyway…
In the end, my biggest complaint with the play was this: The actual performance was well under an hour and a half — but there was a 20-minute-long intermission. It makes sense to have some kind of intermission to break up the two halves of the play: The setup of the night before and the mystery of the day after are part of what makes it such a compelling drama. But a 90-minute play doesn’t really need an intermission at all — especially not one so weirdly long — which I assume is only because they can sell more T-shirts and $20 drinks. (I had a Maker’s Mark — what else was I going to do with all that time — poured in a plastic souvenir travel coffee mug, like you’d get at a ballgame.) Viva, Das Kapital!
The Boston Red Sux
For the first time in a while, the Red Sox made noteworthy waves this offseason, acquiring pitchers and sluggers like a team that actually cares about winning again. But five games into the new season and they still suck — just like the last season. (Always sucking: now that’s an American tradition.)
Our two big bats in the middle of the order are a combined 1 for 32 hits — with our star slugger striking out at a historic rate, starting the season off 0 for 19 with 15 strikeouts. The whole team has repeatedly come up empty with runners in scoring position, played their way to a 1–4 record, and is already at the bottom of the American League East. It’s not what you want to see.
Though, of course, bad baseball is not even close to the worst thing happening in America right now. My privilege is being able to complain about a game with men wearing pajamas. At least, the Sox didn’t lose today.
Bonus: Suspended in Gaffa
As half-assed as this newsletter is, instead of two features, you get three. Another escape…
I love everything about this cover of Kate Bush’s “Suspended in Gaffa” by Leah Kardos, who also wrote a great 33 1/3 book about The Hounds of Love.
The singing, the wailing, the editing, the guts to even attempt a cover of such a wild song, the commitment to the bit, the big-ass bass drum. Good stuff.
Other rabbit holes
DOD v. DEI. The chickenshit racists running the Department of Defense try to memory hole the legacy of Jackie Robinson.
DIY USD. Got a 3D printer? Make your own Harriet Tubman protest stamp and turn your twenties into FUs to the current regime.
BLM FTW. A new study “provides the first causal evidence that the Black Lives Matter (BLM) protests following George Floyd’s death had a significant impact on the 2020 US presidential election”, finding that “counties with BLM protests experienced a 1.2–1.8 percentage point increase in Democratic vote share compared to similar counties without protests”.
And that’s it for this month. Thanks for reading my monthly homework assignment. Have a good one.
jf