FinermanWorks

In an eulogy for the series “The O.C.”, the lamenting critic referred to the characters of Sandy and Seth Cohen as television’s first Jewish sex symbols. Of course, I was hurt that the critic didn’t consider the magnetic eroticism of my appearances on Jeopardy in 1987. Despite the fact that I lived in Chicago, I received propositions from several women in New York. I was a veritable pin-up with the Hadassah of Long Island.

Yet, even I wouldn’t claim to be television’s “first” Jewish sex symbol. William Shatner certainly thinks he was–and still is. But James Kirk wasn’t supposed to be Jewish. (We all know that the Vulcans actually were, however.) Hal Linden is a nice looking fellow–and his Barney Miller was no Aryan–but perhaps he was not overtly sensuous. Despite his charm and wit, Ross Martin never got the girl on The Wild, Wild West. (The annoying pygmy Robert Conrad always did!) Still, we can imagine that there was one Jewish sex symbol in the Sixties: Alan Brady. Who knows what happened on his casting couch; but Laura Petrie never could look him in the eyes!

And the Jewish sex symbol goes back to the very beginnings of television. Sid Caesar was a hunk. Who could blame Imogene Coca for always tearing off his shirt! And the Tribe could also claim the best looking woman of early television–at least when Milton Berle was in drag.

So, if Sandy and Seth Cohen seem hot, it is only because Sid Caesar, Ross Martin and I were the kindling.

On this day in 1589, Hell got a den mother. Yes, Catherine de Medici died.

From my video archives, here is a visit with the 16th century’s inspiration for Martha Stewart:

Catherine: Why hello. Today I am planning the wedding of my daughter Margaret to Henry of Navarre. And nothing and no one will be spared. I may cut throats but never corners. Helping with the invitation list is my friend–and great gossip–Nostradamus.

Nostradamus: The Pope can’t come, so there is no point in sending him an invitation.

Catherine: With Nostradamus you don’t have to bother with RSVPs. Now designing the wedding dress is my son Henri.

Henri: It is so beautiful I wish I were wearing it. Perhaps when I am king….Knowing Margaret, though, no one will believe that she should be in white.

Nostradamus: When the groom says “I do”, most of the guys at court will think “So have I.”

Catherine: Changing the subject, we are having the wedding at Notre Dame Cathedral. Having a thousand people stand during a four hour ceremony might be a certain problem, but my friend–and paisano–Ben Cellini is here with the solution.

Cellini: Here is it: a solid gold chamber pot. Of course you will need at least five hundred for both necessity and mementos. It won’t be cheap.

Catherine: We can economize on the catering. You see, we are planning to massacre the Protestant guests. Believe me, it will be difficult enough getting Margaret to write any thank-you notes for the gifts; so this will eliminate half of that chore. And a massacre is certainly a more original entertainment than the usual band; even the Protestants might find it preferable to doing “The Hokey-Pokey.”

NEWS FLASH:  “Italian scientists believe they have uncovered a 400-year-old murder. Historians have long suspected that Francesco de’ Medici, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and his second wife Bianca Cappello did not die of malaria but were poisoned – probably by Francesco’s brother, Cardinal Ferdinando de’ Medici, who was vying for the title.”  

Under normal circumstances, the Italian Coroner’s Office would not be dealing with a case from 1587 so soon. The Office has a backlog of autopsies dating back to AD. 19. (The preliminary report on Germanicus is expected shortly; but he is definitely dead.) However, the death of Francisco de Medici did involve a malpractice suit against his physician. The doctor was being sued for using unclean leeches. His insurance company expedited the case.  Four centuries of free lunches will get things done in Italy.It should be noted that Cardinal Ferdinando made a much better ruler than his conveniently late brother. Although he was a Prince of the Church, Ferdinando never took any holy orders, and so was free to marry.  In any case, he was hardly the type to be bothered by legalisms and technicalities. I also wonder if arsenic shouldn’t be included in more retirement packages. The impoverished stockholders of Home Depot would have preferred rewarding that to departing CEO Robert Nardelli. It would be less expensive than $210 million and far more deserving.

In 1996, I was summoned to appear on “Oprah.” The show’s topic was to be “people who have been big winners on some of your favorite game shows.” One of Oprah’s researchers had discovered my “Jeopardy!” articles on Nexus, so she telephoned and interrogated me. Discovering my stories, however, is not the same as reading them. She refused to believe that I went on “Jeopardy!” for any reason but pure greed. “How much money did you expect to win?…But, really, how much money did you expect to win?” Since she was originally from Los Angeles, the allure of intellectual challenge was like, you know, way too concept. During that blitzkrieg interview, my interrogator had not bothered to ask if I wanted to be on the show. No one could refuse Oprah. I could not decide if I had been flattered or mugged: perhaps both.

Until then, I never was tempted to watch “Oprah.” My only exposure to the show was ironically through “Jeopardy!” During the closing credits after each game, an announcer would intone some promotion for Oprah. “Do you suspect that your dog or cat is a reincarnated relative? Then be in tomorrow’s audience.” The prospect of an appearance, however, compelled me to watch an episode: I hate surprises, particularly if they are ambushes.

I had a Jewish mother for forty years, yet I never felt so smothered as when I watched Oprah. She cares! She shares! She finishes your sentences! John D. Rockefeller and Andrew Carnegie would have envied her monopoly of conversation. I had doubts whether I wanted to be prop. My principles and dignity were bought off, however, when my interrogator telephoned to announce that a chauffeured limousine would be taking me to the studio. I may have the morals of a whore but I charge the rates of a courtesan.

Karen and I were giddy at the sight of the limousine. Unfortunately, that was to be the highlight of the day. In the few days between my interview and the actual taping, the show’s topic had changed. Although the show had summoned and paid the transportation for the all-time winners from “Wheel of Fortune,” “Tic Tac Dough,” and “Jeopardy! as well as a few local winners like me, we were brushed aside for “Your Favorite Game Show Hosts!” Chuck Barris, Peter Marshall, Janis Pennington and Wink Martindale were the focus of the show. As the assistant producer explained to the mere mortals, “We’ve overbooked.”

Being stranded in the studio, I was resigned to watching the show that was being taped. Unfortunately, Oprah kept her audience waiting for more than two hours. When she finally showed up, she announced that she was feeling “puffy.” She certainly does share. In the meantime, her staff had to babysit and preoccupy the audience. The customary stalling tactic is to ask the audience members where they are from and if they have any questions about the show. “Hi, I’m from Bidet, Tennessee and we just love Oprah.” (Yes, they even fought a civil war to keep her.) Then, we were asked if anyone in the audience wished to get on stage and sing. I had to endure an amateur show, listening to Tupperware glee clubs.

Yet, it seemed an appropriate prelude to the show which largely consisted of Wink Martindale, Chuck Barris and Peter Marshall praising Oprah. (I am surprised that she is not regularly mentioned in Nobel Prize speeches.) Janice Pennington was a little less effusive. Either she was not quite bright enough to construct coherent flattery or she was worried that Oprah might hit on her. Wink Martindale, being the least employed, was the most unctious. I believe that his earliest gameshows were reviewed on the Rosetta Stone.

As my severance package, I received a complimentary “Oprah” t-shirt and a chauffeured ride home; but I won’t feign gratitude for the experience. One of the few witty remarks by Karl Marx seems an appropriate summation: “When history repeats itself, it is usually as farce.”

Guess what was in Martin Luther’s junk mail on this day in 1521? It was a big envelope with the exclamation “You May Already Be a Heretic! Learn How You Can Get a Free Trip to HELL!” Yes, Martin Luther had just received his very own Excommunication.

Pope Leo X had finally noticed the loss of Northern Germany and Scandinavia, a mere three years after Luther ignited the Reformation. The Pope had been preoccupied with redecorating the Vatican. Aside from having the aesthetic standards of a De Medici, Leo had an unrequited crush on Raphael and was always finding projects to keep that attractive, personable young man around. Unfortunately, in 1520 Raphael died of syphilis (the consequences of being so attractive and personable) and the Pope lost his major distraction.

Finally, the Pope would deal with that dangerous young man who threatened the supremacy of the Church. Of course, Leo picked the wrong man. The Pope could not be bothered with Luther; Leo was not interested in theology and was not prepared to debate some ill-tempered professor over the standard of living in Purgatory. However, Leo was concerned with young Charlie Hapsburg. By the age of nineteen, Charlie had inherited most of Christendom: he was the King of Spain,Sicily and Southern Italy. And that was just on his mother’s side. Being a Hapsburg, Charles also ruled Austria, the Netherlands, Belgium and–for what it was worth in prestige–the nominal Holy Roman Empire.

The Pope tried to prevent Charles’ election as Holy Roman Emperor, a position that had long been regarded as a Hapsburg prerogative. Then, Leo refused to coronate Charles. The Pope evidently thought that a 19 year-old was unworthy of such power and responsibility. (Leo had been appointed a cardinal when he was 13, and the deMedici family had been bought their kid the papacy; but the young deMedici begrudged the even younger Hapsburg.)

By his futile and meaningless efforts, Leo had managed to offend his most powerful parishioner, the one man in Germany who was in a position to crush the nascent heresy. Not feeling terribly loyal to the Papacy, Charles proved initially quite tolerant of Luther. After all, the Church definitely needed reform; and wasn’t that Luther’s sole aim? Yes, Charles was wrong; but by 1521, the heresy had proved so popular in Northern Germany that only a civil war could crush it. Charles needed the support of the German princes of the North; he intended to conquer Italy if only to make his point to the Pope.

(Leo died without having the pleasure of meeting Charles. However, Pope Clement VII– Leo’s cousin–was persuaded by the German sack of Rome in 1527 to coronate Charles.)

So, after three years of ignoring the loss of northern Europe while alienating any support elsewhere, the Pope finally excommunicated Martin Luther. The most impact that Papal Bull might have had on Luther was a paper cut.

“OPRAH OPENS SCHOOL IN SOUTH AFRICA”

Following the precepts of its founder, patroness and deity, the Oprah Winfrey Leadership Academy offers a curriculum based on Oprah’s adaptation of the Socratic method. The instructor-known as the Oprahator– presents profound and probing questions, and then hugs the students–breaking their ribs. Preoccupied with their pain and trying to breathe, the students can’t get a word in edgewise.

The curriculum of West Point now includes a course on Oprah’s tactics, despite their obvious violation of the Geneva Convention. Of special interest to military historians was Oprah’s conquest in France. (Even the Germans are envious.) As you recall, the manager of Hermes refused to let Oprah in after the store had closed. Oprah then announced her intention to destroy France.

France immediately capitulated. Le President Chirac grovelled, “Heroic resistance to a demanding barbarian is completely out of French character. We will gladly change Hermes’ store hours to collaborate with Ms. Winfrey. We did the same for Hermann Goering, who by the way wore the same dress size as Oprah.”

In related atonement, the French government offered to move the Eiffel Tower to suit Oprah’s feng shui. France then gave Oprah carte blanche. Complying with her demand Napoleon’s Tomb was opened, so that she could give a little fellow a hug. Oprah, however, was disappointed with the accommodations of Notre Dame. The baptism font was too small for a bath and Oprah did not like the scent of the candles.

Hoping to make amends, the Catholic Church arranged to have Jesus as a guest on Oprah’s show….

Oprah: We have so much in common.
Jesus: Yes….
Oprah: I just love your Beatitudes. Let’s hear them.
Jesus: Blessed are the meek….
Oprah: Thank you. I bless you, too. Have you ever tried bathing with scented candles?
Jesus: No. The candles would keep slipping into the Jordan River.
Oprah: I understand you had issues with your father. We’ve all been there. If you feel like crying, I’ll hug you.
Jesus: Well….
Oprah: How many people heard your Sermon on the Mount?
Jesus: 300?
Oprah: Honey, I’ve got that twice that many TV stations. Did you like me better in “The Color Purple” or “Beloved”?

Over the weekend, I saw “Casino Royale.”  This film is certainly the first intelligent, psychologically insightful interpretation of James Bond.  Perhaps we can now anticipate an equally profound and mature reconsideration of “Gidget Goes Hawaiian.”  The fact is that James Bond is an male adolescent fantasy.  Insight and sensitivity are not merely irrelevant to James Bond, they are the antithesis of what his audience wants.  Pubescent boys like mindless thrills and gravity-defying bosoms. 

I recall a discussion among my fellow seventh graders.  The topic was neither the decline of the British Empire nor the influence of Stanislavsky in Joseph Wiseman’s portrayal as “Dr. No.”  We were debating whether or not Ursula Andress really was nude in one scene. 

“Casino Royale” is not a complete betrayal of adolescent expectations.  The stunts are thrilling, the carnage is spectacular but tidy (the way Martha Stewart would want her eye gouged out), and the cleavage of actress Eva Green will inspire a new generation of seventh grade males.

Yet, with its world-weary disillusionment and cynicism, “Casino Royale” might be the James Bond story that John Le Carre would have written.  And the ultimate concession to a grim reality is the casting of Daniel Craig.  It seems that Great Britain now can only afford a working class James Bond.   

In fact, I was surprised that Craig was not denounced by Conservatives….

“He’s too fish-and-chips!” lamented William Kristol over the selection of Daniel Craig as the new James Bond.  Although often mistaken for a hobbit, Mr. Kristol actually models himself after Ian Fleming’s dashing international spy. “Bond was my inspiration. Because of those movies, I learned about fine wines and sports cars, and how to kill Maureen Dowd with just one karate chop.”“But look at Craig. He is a warm-beer-swilling, soccer-rowdy bloke. Minimal education and fewer teeth. If he were ever on Savile Row, it would be to clean the chimneys. In fact, maybe he should be in a remake of Mary Poppins, except he looks the type who’d get drunk and beat Mary.”Such hysteria was widespread among the twenty-three Republican intellectuals. David Frum, the celebrated author of two-thirds of the phrase “Axis of Evil”, rued the eroding standards of casting. “Now the villains will speak better English than James Bond. Given Britain’s role as America’s stooge, I can see why James Bond should be servile. But you can be servile and articulate. Butlers are required to be.”

Of course, the most shrill reaction was from Ann Coulter. She questioned the loyalty of the new James Bond. “You know those socialist working class types. He’ll want to unionize the secret service. When he is taking his Saturday night bath, you can hear him singing ‘The Internationale.’ And you can imagine what he’ll be singing to his fellow proletariat in Cuba and China!” When Ms. Coulter was informed that the British traitors in MI6 actually were aristocratic Cambridge graduates, she pretended not to hear.
After a whimpering request from Tony Blair, the White House defended the performance of Daniel Craig. “Poverty and humiliation don’t necessarily make you sensitive and compassionate,” explained Tony Snow.  “Mr. Craig could be a skinhead. Look at his record. In ‘The Road to Perdition’ he was embezzling his own father and then killed a woman and child to cover it up. That shows a genuine commitment to Free Enterprise.”