Remembering Frank Sinatra on the ten year anniversary of his death
May 14th, 2008 by Scott Marks
The last time I saw Frank Sinatra was when he opened Chicago’s United Center in October of 1994 and just about everyone was preparing for the worst. It had been six years since Frank brought the ill-fated Rat Pack reunion to Chicago and many were saying that this would be The Voice’s last groan.
Dean was not functioning in top form and by the time the reunion tour reached the Windy City, he was replaced by Judy Garland’s daughter Liza Minnelli. Liza was so much younger and more energetic than Frank and Sam that at times she appeared to be more their floor nurse than a co-headliner. Dean would have herniated a disc were he to have attempted to hoist Sammy and “accept” him on behalf of the N.A.A.C.P. Liza didn’t even try.
Frank was out of it, Sammy unduly effusive (even for a performer who put the sincere in insincerity), and Liza made Sammy appear modest by comparison. It made for a fascinating evening, but not for any of the reasons you’d have wanted. The unintentional laughs soon eclipsed any chances of witnessing awe-inspiring artistry that only the biggest of stages could hold.
That’s were my mind was when Charlie Flashback invited me to join him for Frank’s inaugural appearance at Chicago’s brand new United Center. Only a Sinatra (or the store) could get Charlie to leave his house and I lucked out because his girlfriend Nasus (they are still together) didn’t want to be bored by the Chairman and refused to go.
It was my third and final time seeing Frank perform live. My choice viewing was obviously the earliest, at Caesar’s Palace in the early 80s. While a far cry from his ring-a-ding early 60s prime, the voice was strong and his phrasing a work of art. Frank’s between-songs patter was thick-tongued Hoboken served haphazardly to the audience whether they wanted it or not. Of course they wanted it. Even Frank’s stalest “fag” joke, and there were several, drew grateful howls from the adoring assemblage.
My first inkling that Sinatra was slipping came during the 1984 Academy Awards when he presented the Jean Hersholt Humanitarian Award to Mike J. Frankovich, or as the confused Sinatra started to say, “Frank Mikeovich.” Vanity forbade Frank from wearing his glasses that evening and when an anxious cue card boy started flipping them too fast, the result was sixty seconds of non-stop hilarious blunders. At times he drifts into Jerry Lewis territory with sentences trailing off into nice and good nice things like that too. Other time he simply can’t keep up.
As the closed captioning proves, it was all written out ahead of time. If Frank put as much time into memorizing the brief speech as he did adjusting the schmate on his head he’d have been in and out, no embarrassment noted. Or God forbid try something spontaneous. I am constantly amazed that this man, who was capable of such eloquent phrasing, couldn’t wrap his tongue around a few simple words unless there was a band backing him up.
Later that same year, Frank was the premiere guest on the first The Jerry Lewis Show, a one week pilot for Fox. I have studied these things in such detail that the oxides have separated from the magnetic stock. Until tape of Sammy and Company surfaces, this is the closest we’ll get to a real-life Sammy Maudlin Show. Everyone and every thing was marvelous and lovely and when it came to puffing, Frank was no slouch. To further underscore his slow slide into dementia, while trying to assure Jerry that he had a hit on his hands, Frank points a thumb in Charlie Callas’ direction and says, “How can you miss with a crazy nut like this?”
The answer is, by a mile.
When he opened the United Center ten years later reports of flubbed lyrics and cumulus-sized cue cards were making headlines. Many wished that Frank would avoid further embarrassment by putting an “amen” on his career.
Eight months earlier the Grammys showed great disrespect by cutting off Frank’s rambling acceptance speech. For once it wasn’t the case of “It’s Frank’s World and We Just Live In It.” The mellow crooner loosened up and actually tried to fit it. Frank Sinatra was moved to tears, for Christ’s sake! Zoom in, don’t cut away! The powers that be interpreted it as the incoherent ramblings of an old man, sensed a ratings drop and pulled the plug on Old Blue Eyes.
I entered the United Center expecting a train wreck and left a bigger fan than ever. My effervescence had nothing to do with opening act Don Rickles. I saw Rickles with Bob Newhart at the Riviera in 1977 and later at Chicago’s Mill Run Theatre where Vic Damone opened for him. Oooohhh! I love Rickles and always have. I could watch him work up a sweat for hours, but that night in 1994 he simply wasn’t funny. There was nothing fresh about his material; the “black guy” was still in the back row singing Zip-A-Dee-Do-Dah and everything appeared forced and predictable.
I’ll tell you what did make me howl, but if you join in the laughter I can ensure you a spot in hell next to me. Come close and let me warm you with this hopelessly tasteless remembrance.
It was not only the last time I saw Sinatra, it was also the last time I saw Irv Kupcinet in person. When Charlie did leave the house he went first cabin and the seats, while not on the main floor, were damn good. Good enough to have Mr. Chicago seated a few rows down from us. Charlie brought binoculars and I spent as much time time spying on Kup and Essee as I did studying Sinatra. 90% of the time Rickles was on my eyes were glued to the Kups.
Here’s where the road to hell begins. How did I know that Kup was going to be there? I didn’t, and when he appeared as if from the heavens, my brain started doing flip-flops. Kup was as big as the Statue of Liberty and twice as weathered. He was fairly frail and the sight of an old, disoriented Kup trying to descend the narrow steps in the dark was a real pisser. He looked like a marionette whose puppeteer suddenly had a coughing seizure. At one point his handler had to wrap his arms around Kup’s waist and guide him down the stairs. (Charlie probably still has bruises from where I elbowed him.) Essee, following closely behind and in heels no less, was almost as funny.
I had my fill of old age humor by the time Frank took to the stage and was bracing myself for another hour’s worth. It turned out to be about a fifty minute set and while Frank’s blue eyes were indeed old, he was hitting the high notes and didn’t fumble a lyric. How could he have? The teleprompter was almost as big as the electronic billboard that announced Charles Foster Kane’s death.
He must have sensed that this would be his last string of public appearances as the generally arrogant patter quickly made way for sentimental effusion. There were a couple of complaints concerning song choices. With Halloween a week away, he failed to deliver any Witchcraft and even more surprising, the evening’s playlist didn’t include either Chicago or My Kind of Town.
Twenty years earlier and Frank would have exited the stage to a limo waiting to whisk him to booth #1 at the Pump Room where Kup and Essee would regale in his presence till the wee small hours. With the top of the hourglass almost empty, Frank was lucky to sneak a nip from one of the hotel’s bellboys and the strongest thing Essee and Kup would drink that night was a glass of Metamucil.
It was one of those nights where I literally watched an era draw to a close before my eyes. As we exited the United Center that evening one could swear that even the wind was crying.
Links:
Frank Sinatra photos
Filed Under Rants
Martin Scorsese to direct Frank Sinatra biopic?
May 11th, 2008 by Scott Marks
Will Tina Sinatra force Marty to sleep with the fishes?
Don’t hold your breath.
May 14th marks the ten year anniversary of Frank Sinatra’s death and his kids are out making noise to peddle repackaged CDs.
My guess is that Tina Sinatra is hoping that fairy tales can come true when she proclaimed Marty the Chosen One. In an interview with the Winnipeg Sun, Mr. Sinatra’s daughter let slip that Scorsese is going to direct a major theatrical bio of the The Voice for Universal.
“Marty has always wanted to do this,” Ms. Sinatra told Sun Media during a phone interview from Los Angeles.
Years ago there was talk of Marty bringing Nick Tosches’ astounding biography Dino to the screen. If memory serves, the “dream” cast went something like this: Tom Hanks as Dean Martin, John Travolta as Frank Sinatra, Wesley Snipes as Sammy Davis, Jr. and Adam Sandler as Joey Bishop.
Forrest Gump as the swinginest borracho ever to swizzle a stick? Better Tony Danza or Eddie Mecca. With plenty of makeup and a camera placed at a safe distance, bloated Travolta could probably have doubled Frank’s later years, but the singer’s rawboned beginnings would have been a stretch. Tommy Davidson is the only man alive capable of doing Sammy justice, not the musclebound Snipes who’ll probably be finishing his jail sentence right around the time shooting commences. The only preordained bit of casting was Happy Gilmore as the Rat’s Pack’s resident nebbish. He has the hair for it, and for once Sandler would have found a part worthy of his limited talent.
This will mark daughter Tina’s third big screen attempt to cash in on her father’s legacy. She produced Sinatra, a 1992 mini-series, as well as Jonathan Demme’s ill-fated (and underrated) remake of The Manchurian Candidate.
Ms. Sinatra admitted that it might be somewhat premature to announce that Marty has signed on for the biopic. When she dubbed her choice for director, “the most prominent Italian-American filmmaker” working today, Sun Media instantly guessed Francis Ford Coppola.
“We adore him,” she said, “but he didn’t step up to it.”
She later confirmed it was Scorsese. “You’ll be reading about it very soon … oh, go ahead and print it, I don’t care!”
With Ashecliffe in production, Marty has four upcoming features on his plate that should take him through 2011: A pair of musical documentaries on the lives and careers of George Harrison and Bob Marley, The Rise of Theodore Roosevelt, and Silence, a Bergmanesque sounding tale of two Jesuit priests questioning the death of God in seventeenth century Japan.
Will the Sinatra estate allow Marty to paint a “warts and all” portrait? Borrowing a metaphor from her father’s own words, Sinatra said, “He never drove the getaway car” and in the forthcoming picture, “I don’t want him to be driving the getaway car. That would not be fair. But I trust Him (Scorsese) implicitly.”
In God we Trust!
***UPDATE***
In a interview in today’s Los Angeles Times, Tina Sinatra appears “particularly enthusiastic” about Marty’s chances of directing. It’s not a lock. There is also disharmony between Tina and Nancy. The paper reports, “Nancy Sinatra, 67, is against a feature film, even if Oscar-winner Scorsese fulfills his longtime goal of directing it. She fears it would dwell on the negative and ugly moments of her father’s complicated life. She prefers an eight- to 10-hour documentary, which needs to be ‘very, very precise.’”
Links:
Martin Scorsese photos
Frank Sinatra photos
Dean Martin photos
Martin Scorsese Reviews and Articles
Filed Under News
Flashback to 1975 with Mike Douglas and his co-hosts Freddie Prinze & Sammy Davis, Jr.
March 5th, 2008 by Scott Marks
“THREE PLUS TWO + TERRIFIC!
It’s a week jam-packed with entertainment as MIKE DOUGLAS welcomes Mr. Entertainment himself SAMMY DAVIS JR. as cohost for three days and FREDDIE PRINZE, star of “Chico and the Man” for two days beginning Monday ___________ (Show # MD 0512/75) at _______________ on channel ______________. Sammy joins MIKE on Monday, Wednesday and Friday with FREDDIE providing the cohost comedy on Tuesday and Thursday of the week.”
If you would like to see more pictures of Mike Douglas…honestly, if you want to see more pictures of Mike Douglas you should be institutionalized, but should the need arise, click here.
Filed Under Image Blog
Sammy Davis, Jr.’s widow sues partners over rights to Candy Man’s estate, man!
January 21st, 2008 by Scott Marks
Altovise Davis, the widow of the late, great Sammy Davis Jr. is suing Barrett LaRoda and Anthony Francis, a couple of former business partners, over the rights to Sameleh’s life story and management of his well-tarnished legacy.
Associated Press reports that Davis’ widow filed a lawsuit in federal court claiming that the two men misrepresented their show-business credentials and tricked her into signing away some rights to her husband’s estate.
Looks like Alto is still using the same accounting firm that Sam did. When he died in 1990, Sammy left to meet the Man upstairs owing more than $5 million to the Internal Revenue Service, man.
Altovise Davis says she gave her intellectual (and I use the term loosely) rights to Sammy Davis Jr. Enterprises Inc., formed in 2004 by LaRoda and Francis, in exchange for a one-third share in the business.
The two men, who Altovise alleges hid the company’s financial records from her, got as far as negotiating with a studio over a biopic based on two books (Yes I Can and Why Me?) co-authored by friends Judy and Burt Boyar. Together with Ms. Davis, they hold copyright interest in the books. The Boyars Company joined Alto in suing the two men who killed any chance of a big screen Samography by demanding a “substantial” fee and credit as executive producers.
In a court filing, LaRoda and Francis claim Altovise Davis’ royalties more than quadrupled after she signed up with them and that they are responsible in helping to rebuild her husband’s image. They accused Mrs. Davis of having an alcohol problem that was getting in the way.
Everyone know that Sammy loved his gadgets, but how much could he have blown on toys, drugs and a good time to check out leaving a tab like this? And what’s with Alto thinking just because she married into showbiz that it entitles her to become a businesswoman? Or is this another case of the greedy leading the gullible?
Tags: Altovise Davis, Candy Man, Jr., Lawsuit, Sammy Davis, Sammy Davis Jr., Sues, The Rat PackFiled Under News
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