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REVIEWS, Page 79SHORT TAKES
TELEVISION: Terror in Studio B
Get ready for some irreverent, down-and-dirty TV satire,
promises the new ABC sitcom THE JACKIE THOMAS SHOW. Created by
TV's terror couple, Roseanne and Tom Arnold, the show revolves
around the egotistical star (Tom Arnold) of a network sitcom.
But it is surprisingly conventional and toothless. Staffers
quake at the mere thought of a meeting with Jackie, but he turns
out to be an easily manipulated dunce. The inside-TV humor is
too familiar, as are the supporting players (Martin Mull, Alison
LaPlaca). Even Arnold's performance has the whiff of a recycled
Dave Thomas character from SCTV. Still, the show has a fiendish
glint in its eye, and with its surefire time slot (following
Roseanne on Tuesdays), it may be around long enough to forge a
fresh path.
MUSIC: Worthy Vessel
Why hasn't John Adams' opera The Death of Klinghoffer made
the same sort of splash as the composer's earlier Nixon in
China? The controversial subject matter -- the murder of an
American Jew by Palestinian terrorists -- may be one reason, and
Peter Sellars' murky staging at the premiere last year in
Brussels another. But the new Nonesuch original-cast CD (which
coincides with an updated production in San Francisco) reveals
the real explanation: Adams' lush score is fundamentally an
oratorio, lacking Nixon's sharp characterization and big set
pieces. This, however, is good news for the recording, for
Klinghoffer's reflective soliloquies and choruses make the work
better suited to home listening than to the stage.
BOOKS: The Examined Life
For anyone who cares to meet a journalist who has been
happy in his work, THE SWAMP ROOT CHRONICLE (Norton; $24.95) is
heartily recommended. In this peppy memoir, Robert Manning
traces his career through the wire services, TIME and John
Kennedy's State Department, plus 16 years as editor in chief of
the Atlantic until he was sandbagged -- there seems no better
word for it -- by the magazine's present owner, Mort Zuckerman.
It's hard to avoid smugness when recounting one's triumphs, and
the author does not always succeed. Manning got his start at the
Binghamton (N.Y.) Press, which had been founded by the maker of
an alcoholic elixir called Swamp Root. Interesting factoid, but
it's a bit of a reach for a cutesy-poo title.
CINEMA: Everyone Points A Loaded Gun
They are a strange quartet: the sensitive IRA gunman
(Stephen Rea) and his brutal blond colleague (Miranda
Richardson); the gentle English soldier they take hostage
(Forest Whitaker) and the love he left behind (comely newcomer
Jaye Davidson). In THE CRYING GAME, Irish writer-director Neil
Jordan spins his had-I-but-known plot twists from Belfast to
London. By the end of this devious thriller, just about everyone
has had to point a loaded gun at just about anyone else he or
she might have cared for. In a style of agitated naturalism,
Jordan (Mona Lisa) examines poignant matters of life and death,
sex and friendship, duty and loyalty, freedom and bondage,
manhood and womanhood and all the ambiguous areas in between.
CINEMA: Rehab Time
Spike Lee may have the big movie on Malcolm X, but
director Steve Anderson (who is white) got into theaters first
with SOUTH CENTRAL. This earnest, low-budget melodrama places
a similar fall-and-rise fable -- from street tough to jailbird
conversion to patriarchal role model -- in the smoldering ghetto
of South Central Los Angeles. The film's first half is an
ethnographic survey of hell on earth: poverty, ignorance,
testosterone and crime. The second half is rehab time: our
antihero finds the spiritual strength to try to persuade his
young son and a gang rival to renounce vendetta. In this uneasy
mix of gritty and pretty, Anderson's achievement is to make the
sermon almost convincing.