Sweeney, the shapely and bold young actress who already angered the Left with her jeans/genes ad that supposedly dog whistled white supremacy, is now getting attacked by the Mad Left for the video above. She’s objectifying female athletes, you see. Or something. Because women athletes have never used sexual attractiveness to promote themselves and their sports…
Hey, how did pro-golfer Paige Spiranac get in there? Away with you, Devil Woman!
Now where were we? Oh yes, Sydney Sweeney….
It’s depressing, but most readers here have probably never heard of Alfred Lunt and Lynn Fontanne. They were (and are still) the most acclaimed husband and wife acting team in theater history, legendary in the field.
If you have never heard of Lunt and Fontaine, I doubt that you’ll recognize the name of actor Cameron Mitchell, though he had a long, varied and successful career in movies and television. He was never considered a star: in his 1994 obituaries, Mitchell’s supporting role in the long-running TV western “The High Chaparral,” a “Bonanza” rip-off, usually dominated. I first took note of his talents when he appeared in a TV production of the drama “The Andersonville Trial” as Judge Advocate Lew Wallace. In interviews and in his autobiography, Mitchell told the story many times about a crucial moment in his career when the ethics heroism of the Lunts changed the course of his life.
Mitchell was a 21-year-old aspiring actor frustrated in his efforts to get cast in New York City. For two years he struggled to survive, taking dozens of dead-end jobs, like ushering at movie theaters, mail clerking, and washing dishes. Then Cameron Mitzell (his name before he changed it) saw the 1931 film adaptation of “The Guardsman” starring Alfred Lunt, and was overcome with resentment, feeling that the supposedly brilliant actor’s performance hadn’t shown that he deserved his exalted reputation. So Mitchell wrote what he later described as “the world’s worst letter.” Mitchell wrote Lunt the opposite of a fan letter; it was a “You stink! letter stating that he was certain that he was a better actor than Lunt, but no one would give him a chance to prove it. After listing the inadequacies of Lunt’s performance as he saw it, he concluded the letter by writing, “If you think you can act, you should see me.”
Far from being insulted, Lunt was intrigued by the writer’s confidence and audacity. He wrote back to Mitchell and offered him an opportunity to, as the saying goes,”put his money where is mouth is,” by auditioning for Lunt and his wife. Mitchell was terrified but wasn’t about to chicken out. He came to the auditions and immediately apologized to Lunt. Lynn Fontanne told him there was nothing to be sorry about. “Don’t worry about what you’ve done,” she said. “Acting is your life’s work, and you’re not only going to be a good actor, but you’re going to be a great one!” The Lunts then cast the young actor in their production of Shakespeare’s “The Taming of the Shrew” on Broadway. Fontaine also persuaded him to adopt the stage name, “Cameron Mitchell.”
Mitchell went on to be a successful working actor for more than five decades. And he made certain that at every opportunity he would tell the story of how he owed his career to the Lunts’ spontaneous act of support and kindness to a rude and cocky young actor.
I have several of these posts on the EA runway, but I’ve been thinking about posting on the Ritz Brothers for an especially long time.
I mysteriously started getting Turner Classic Movies again from DirecTV several months ago without having it in my package. (“We do that sometimes” was the explanation I got when I asked the satellite service about it.) I had started using a lesser package for economy reasons following the near collapse of my company as a result of what I will forever call “The Stupid Lockdown.” TCM is the cinema equivalent of my now defunct professional regional theater company, “The American Century Theater,” which mounted stage productions that had cultural significance but that the more practical companies never present any more. Since the channel’s return I have been struck by how many major talents have been almost completely forgotten despite the fact that 1) they were once very famous and popular and 2) they deserved to be.
The video above is probably the quickest way to get a crash course in Ritz Brothers lore. In one of the clips in the video , Dick Cavett introduces a segment of his show by saying that “today” most people under the age of 40 probably have never heard of the Ritz Brothers. That “today” was in the 1980s. I have never received a positive response from anyone I have asked about the brothers. Yet The Ritz Bothers, which can best be described as a spectacular vaudeville act that peaked in films in the Thirties and Forties and then almost totally avoided TV while starring in nightclubs, were memorable. Unlike the Marx Brothers or the Three Stooges, two other trios whose cultural legacy is more secure, the Ritz Brothers did not highlight individual members of their team but rather emphasized remarkable unity and coordination. They danced, they sang, they did carefully choreographed physical comedy and slapstick, and were almost completely indistinguishable. Almost. Harry, “the One in the Middle,” clearly had an extra measure of presence and charisma, and it is he who is most cited by succeeding generations of comics as an icon.
Comedy historian Anthony Scibelli writes,
Item: From the New York Times…
New data provides a sobering indication: At least one in four of all the people who have played in the N.F.L. might expect to end up with chronic traumatic encephalopathy, according to a study of hundreds of cases over a recent six-year period.
Researchers considered every former N.F.L. player who died from 2016 to 2021. There were 878. Some died in their 20s, some in their 80s, most in between.
The study’s main finding was simple math: At least 215 of those 878 former players — 24.5 percent — had C.T.E.
The actual prevalence could be far higher. The roughly 25 percent rate does not consider the 643 brains that were not examined. Some of those, maybe many of them, likely had C.T.E. too.
C.T.E. is a progressive neurological disease caused by repeated impacts to the head. It can be definitively diagnosed only by examining the brain after death.
Studies have shown that the rate of C.T.E. in people who have not sustained repeated impacts to the head is nearly zero.
If the new study’s statistics were applied to today’s players — 1,696 on the league’s 32 regular-season rosters, not including more than 500 members of practice squads and those ineligible due to injury — at least 400 of them would be diagnosed with C.T.E.
Experts say that the rate of brain disease represents an occupational safety hazard with little comparison in the American workplace.
I have written this before, and had this story on the EA runway for a long time because it makes me angry. People who cheer on football are literally encouraging young men to cripple themselves for their entertainment. It is unethical, and indefensible.
Two “the rest of the story” items to kick things off:
See? I said this was an ethics train wreck!
Meanwhile…
1. The NFL is increasingly ridiculous, and I continue to wonder when it’s core audience will just say, “Enough already! Bye!” The league’s woke virtue signaling and DEI embrace is obnoxious, but its recent decision that football needs screamingly fey male cheerleaders boggles the mind. Look at this guy:
What the hell? I find female NFL cheerleaders an embarrassment, but this…any idea what the NFL is going for here or why? Tim O’Brien writes in part,
“I mean, who in the world asked for this? What market research told the NFL that what it really needed to do was complement all that toxic masculinity during the game with this? Seriously, are gay men a viable market for the NFL? How big is that market? Perhaps even more pointedly, as a percentage, how many not just gay men, but flaming gay men, watch the NFL on Sundays? Are we missing something? …[T]he NFL continues to find ways to alienate me and the millions of others who tune in because all we want to do is watch good football, see a little patriotism, and get a dose of a high-energy, traditional game-day atmosphere, nothing more….All of it is telling me the NFL no longer wants or needs people like me as fans. I’m cool with that, but if I have one message for the league, it’s this: “Be careful what you wish for.”
The NFL is already the most unethical sports league in existence (after the WNBA, of course). More on that tomorrow.
2. Speaking of the WNBA, ESPN’s headline was “Cathy Engelbert, who oversaw WNBA boom, to retire as commissioner.” It could well have read, “Cathy Engelbert, who proved completely incapable of leading the WNBA as it found itself immersed in racial and gender controversies, is running away. Good.” “Over the years, it has been amazing to watch WNBA players thrive and lead the massive cultural surge around women’s sports,” Engelbert said in a statement. “I retire knowing we have built something bigger, stronger and more enduring than we could have imagined. I am grateful to the WNBA and NBA team owners and staff, players, investors, fans and the powerhouse league office staff, who believed in what this league could become. I retire with immense gratitude and tremendous optimism for the future of the WNBA, with the best yet to come.”
Englebert is an accountant, and served as the CEO of Deloitte. She was brought in to develop the WNBA as a business, but had no skills or orientation that qualified her to deal with the league’s image and public relations problems. It took some gall for her to talk about the surge in “women’s sports” as so many of her league’s coaches speak as if they don’t know what a woman is.
Players and coaches have described her as “negligent.” One player said that the WNBA had the “worst leadership in the world.” From my observations, this was a severely limited leader who saw her job in the narrowest possible terms. She was hired to cut business deals and make money for the owners. She was good at that. Meanwhile, under her stewardship the WNBA has acquired the reputation of being dominated by lesbian thugs who resent the few white heterosexuals in their midst.
Maybe the WNBA should acquire the NFL’s gay cheerleaders…
Subject: Ryan Reynolds.
I like Ryan Reynolds. Terrible Green Lantern, lousy in the remake of “The Amityville Horror,” but he radiates likability and good humor, and that’s a gift. I especially liked his performance in “Woman in Gold.” But Ryan, who has a new movie out, is being roasted on conservative media and by social media Maga-ites, because of his recent statement about the 1980s.
“Mayday” is Reynolds’ first major movie since “Deadpool & Wolverine” (a disappointment, from my perspective) over two years ago. It’s set as the Cold War was ending thanks to Ronald Reagan, and Reynolds stars as a U.S. Navy pilot who, trapped behind enemy lines, forms a friendship with an eccentric ex-KGB agent (Kenneth Branagh) who loves ’80s American culture. Reynolds told an interviewer that the warm nostalgia surrounding the decade, embodied in shows like “Stranger Things,” misrepresents the turbulent nature of the era:
“When you get far enough away from a time period that’s quite distinct, there’s always a lovely feeling associated with it, almost like you pave over all the trauma with puppy dogs and ice cream. The 80s was a brutal, brutal time for people. It was a fucking mess and people forget that…It was a tremendous strife. Socio political tensions everywhere. We were still pretty fresh off a Cuban missile crisis, which was only 15-20 years before. It’s a tumultuous period, but you look back at it now and you’re like, ‘Oh, yeah. ‘Top Gun.’ Cocaine!’ Like, ‘No!’ It was really scary.”
The mockery has been flying thick and fast. Much of it is unfair and deliberately misrepresents what Reynolds said. Here’s “Not the Bee”:
Well, I’ll say this for my Trump Deranged Facebook Friends: they are useful for keeping up on that group’s rapidly progressing mental illness, which exhibits symptoms manifesting constant fury over trivia, obsessive behavior, presumptions of certitude, and loss of all perspective. Oh, and hypocrisy! Mustn’t forget hypocrisy.
My friend the Trump Deranged professor posted this today with favor:
“Today, a permanent artistic gift—Joel Shapiro’s “Blue”—was taken from the nation because Donald Trump didn’t like it.
“September 18, join Hands Off the Arts to raise your voice and make sure Trump pays the political price for his vandalism of John F. Kennedy’s memorial and our nation’s cultural center.”
I’m marking my calendar right now!
The alleged vandalism was Trump’s ordered removal of the ugly thing above, which, since I started personally boycotting the monument to one of our most unethical Presidents and his corrupt family dynasty that included a U.S. Senator who left a young woman to die in a submerged car, I had never seen before. Huh. Is the outrage over Trump getting rid of that piece of blue crap more contrived than the fury over the 250th Commemorative coin, or less?
In a risible report, the New York Times informs us that “Blue” is a “towering artwork.” And it fit so well with the neo-Classical style of the Edward Durrell Stone white marble box-shaped Center, too!
The John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts removed a major outdoor sculpture from the center’s grounds on Wednesday. The work, installed in 2019, was targeted for elimination after President Trump’s takeover of the center, according to internal documents obtained by The New York Times.
The Kennedy Center made no advance announcement of its plans to remove the towering, vivid blue metal sculpture of a stick-like human figure, called “Blue.”
On Wednesday morning, the limbs and torso of the figure were wrapped in protective material; an arm was the first to be removed.
The Kennedy Center confirmed in a statement on Tuesday that the sculpture was being deinstalled and that a foundation dedicated to the artist would determine its next location. It did not say the reason for the removal but noted that the deinstallation of artworks that had been donated or lent was common practice for conservation or preservation purposes.
A news release from around the debut of “Blue” describes it as a permanent sculpture for the grounds.
“We are deeply grateful to Joel Shapiro for the years ‘Blue’ has spent animating our campus and connecting visitors to his vision,” the statement said. “We are honored to have been stewards of his vibrant work and a part of his enduring legacy.”
Mr. Shapiro died in 2025. His daughter, Ivy Shapiro, who is president of his foundation, said in an interview that she thought her father would have been “alarmed” that the sculpture was being taken down from its intended location.
“In Joel’s mind, it was one of his greatest site-specific commissions, which celebrated joy, freedom and creativity,” she said.
Hear! Hear! I know I’ve always seen giant metal stick figures as celebrations of joy, freedom and creativity. Not as much as those inflated wiggly-men, of course, but still.
If there is one thing I do not care to hear knee-jerk progressives bleat about in their ravings, it is President Trump removing a single ugly artwork from the grounds of a public building because “he didn’t like it.” In this case the President showed exquisite taste (for a change) but even if the thing weren’t a big blue metal stick figure, the reason “It stinks!” is still a brilliantly-reasoned critique compared to the Axis and Friends removing over 160 statues from public grounds …
…because a black lifetime petty thug died after an accidental use of excessive force by a Minnesota police officer while he was resisting arrest and over-dosing on drugs.
The hypocrisy—and willful blindness to it—exhibited in this latest episode of “Everything Trump Does Is Terrible And Justifies Impeachment If Not Death!” is…I need a new adjective for “beyond belief.” Let’s see…it looks like I use all of them, and the Thesaurus list doesn’t even include “gobsmacking,” “head-exploding” or the phase that keeps jumping into my mind right now, “so fucking stupid it makes my pancreas whimper.” I guess I’ll go with the Cambridge Dictionary’s more dignified and restrained “impossible to comprehend.”
I don’t know how to categorize this. Perhaps the issue is how popular culture and show business make attention junkies out of people, making them do what former “Baywatch” (and “E.T.” !) actress Erika Eleniak is doing: making an exhibition of herself for sickos and fetishists, exchanging any shred of dignity for money.
I confess to always haveing a warm place in my heart for Erika. I first saw her as the girl Elliot kisses like John Wayne kissed Maureen O’Hara in “The Quiet Man” because he was psychically linked to E.T. who was watching the movie on TV. Next time I saw Erika she popped out of a cake naked in “Under Siege,” and then it was on to playing Ellie May Clampett in the movie version of “The Beverley Hillbillies,” then to “Baywatch.” Next came middle age and the fast slide to Hallmark films, then reality shows. Erika had some star power, but she wasn’t exactly Meryl Streep.
Now TMZ brings the depressing report that at 56, Elliot’s true love joined OnlyFans to let foot fetishists pay to see her apparently still-comely feet. Soon she was enticed into more daring peep shows. Erika is earning $10,000 a week, with 1,100 ill people who are eager to pay to gawk at an over-the-hill actress as she debases herself.
I wrote about this phenomenon in April in one of the “Confronting My Biases” posts. But then the OnlyFans sellout was Shannon Elizabeth, whose career, if you can call it that, makes Erika seem like Katherine Hepburn by comparison.
Today Erika has arms covered with tattoos, which, as I wrote recently, is often a symptom of someone coping with deep emotional pain. I can’t find anything exactly unethical in this scenario, except to think that if there weren’t an OnlyFans, someone like Erika would have to find a more promising, nurturing, productive way to find fulfillment in her post-celebrity existance. Now she’s at a dead end, a lucrative one, perhaps, but still perilously close to a life nadir.
In “Nightmare Alley,” Tyrone Power ends up as a carnival geek, biting the heads off of live chickens. That’s worse, certainly, but then his character only starts out as carnival barker who once said of the geek, “I can’t understand how anybody could get so low.”
I wonder what Erika Eleniak, when she was young and gorgeous with what seemed like a vibrant career ahead of her, would have said about women who expose themselves to creepy men, alone, through a video camera in their bedroom.
I’m really sorry, Erika.
So is Elliot.
Last night, in another bout of insomnia (the 1-0 Red Sox loss to the Yankees was giving me nightmares), I went down to my living room and turned on the TV. TCM was showing, “Alligator II, the Mutation” starring Joseph Bologna and Dee Wallace Stone (the mother in “E.T.”) and a CGI alligator-like monster. I was puzzled. I knew that in August TCM was using each of the 31 days to honor a significant movie star by showing only their movies, and they have all been major stars, though some of the movies chosen by TCM to represent them are quirky selections—only 3 of the 14 films picked for John Wayne are legitimate classics, and the Duke made at least 11 by my count and arguably several more. Who was the major star being honored with this terrible movie?
It turns out that the star TCM decided to devote a whole 24 hours to is Brock Peters. I knew who he was because I know way too much about show business, but I quickly moved from puzzlement to annoyance. Clearly, I thought, this was TCM, as it has done frequently recently, being woke. This is DEI personified. Brock Peters, now deceased, was black. There just weren’t a lot of major black stars in the Golden Age of Hollywood (although I don’t understand how Sidney Poitier missed the cut), but Brock Peters was never considered a movie star by any measure. He only starred in a single major film, “Black Girl,” and it was a critical and financial flop.
But TCM’s odd focus on Peters made me curious. I knew about his memorable performance as Tom Robinson, the black man defended in a rape trial by Atticus Finch (Gregory Peck) in “To Kill a Mocking Bird,” but surely “Alligator II,” a late career film for Peters in which he had a supporting role as a police detective, couldn’t be his career high point after “To Kill a Mocking Bird.” Well, it wasn’t.
Peters was versatile and talented, and had an impressive career, though movies were not his best genre, and his race probably limited his opportunities severely considering that he began performing professionally in 1949. He was a trained singer with terrific bass voice, receiving accolades in several Broadway musicals, including a Tony nomination for his role in the Kurt Weill musical in “Lost in the Stars.”
Peters had continuing roles on several hit TV show, like “Battlestar Gallactica.” Because of that voice, between 1981 and 1996 Peters played Darth Vader in the radio adaptations of the first three Star Wars films for National Public Radio. He was chairman and a co-founder of the Dance Theatre of Harlem.
In short, Brock Peters may have been a DEI choice to honor as a movie star by TCM, but because of that quirky choice, a lot of people were introduced to a unique, talented and accomplished black artist who might otherwise be completely forgotten. He shouldn’t be.
Thanks, TCM!
And thanks, DEI. You’re not completely useless after all.
Those of us who had high hopes that New York Times leftist cult exile Bari Weiss can be trusted to reform CBS News as a trailblazing journalism organization that rededicates itself to true objectivity, integrity and trustworthiness have been betrayed and disappointed again.
CBS News’s Editor-in-Chief, briefly principled in sacking some prominent “60 Minutes” hacks and propagandists, is seeking to hire that paragon of brilliance, that journalism ethics champion and conflicts-of-interest watchdog, that distinguished lawyer and Constitution scholar, Chris Cuomo.
This is signature significance. If Weiss thinks it’s responsible to hire a proven biased and incompetent dimwit like the Fredo of the Cuomo family, she’s just another ethics-free suit seeking ratings over competent journalism. Cuomo is arguably an even worse excuse for a broadcast journalist than Don Lemon, though it’s neck-and neck. Yet the Independent reports,
“In a bid to attract more big-name talent, the editor-in-chief is in talks with Cuomo to join the network, sources told Status. Oliver Darcy, a journalist at the publication, said Weiss was “enraptured” by Cuomo and had already met him in person. The pair, he reports, met for a meal and have often swapped text messages. If a deal did go ahead, Cuomo would join CBS Evening News anchor Tony Dokoupil as another high-profile Weiss appointee.”
She’s “enraptured” by that idiot? Great. Oh, why not just hire Scott Pelley back? He’s an unapologetic Axis agent and partisan hack, but at least his IQ hits three digits.
I’m beginning to fear, especially after the Washington Post was just ordered to hire back an opinion columnist who lies for her party and this revolting development, that the U.S. will never have the trustworthy journalism a democracy needs to thrive.
Ethics Alarms 