Reviews

SO devoid of smarts and cohesion that it beggars the imagination. Talk about a vanity piece.......the National Narcissism Club placed the entire cast its Hall of Fame. This short torture test to the endurance of the human kidney is long on pith, that-th's for th-yore. People running in horror from the theater screamed "look out, it's going to be screened". Gnats flying in front of the projector filed a class-action suit with the League of Decency. The Director definitely showed Promise. Actually, he displayed an empty tub of buttery-tasting margarine on screen. The pacing on this was so bad I was pining for the 1966 Morey Amsterdam disaster "Don't Worry, We'll Think of a Title". An out of focus director's cut of "Gigli" dwarfs this.

I just saw an episode of this 22 min CBC kiddie show dubbed from a mediocre 16mm print to DVD and the enterprise was bizarre, fascinating and strangely touching. The host, portly opera star Alan Crofoot, never appeared on television again after the one-year run of this series, but gained popularity in the UK via reruns of the show in the late 1960's. While preparing for an opera in Dayton Ohio in 1979, Crofoot committed suicide at the age of 49. His powerful tenor voice, badly dubbed on Mr. Piper, was impressive, as was the charming attempt to incorporate incongruous short documentary films of the world's children along with a creaky in=house series of pets with human voices forced to undergo various perils to their obvious disdain. Mr. Piper is an amazing relic that reeks with that chilling early 60's TV feel, replete with faded color. The theme song, when first heard, can never be shaken. As an American, I was delighted to see an episode of this forgotten series that never screened in the USA. RIP Mr. Piper.......

King Kong is actually three distinct films. First the voyage to Skull Island, the endless chaos on the island and the finale in NYC. All of the stunning CGI and art direction cannot compensate for a drawn out and slackly played narrative that actually improved the image of the much-maligned '76 remake. For a work that has consumed director Jackson with passion since he experienced the truly classic original on television as a young boy in New Zealand, this is a dispiriting event. Like the worst of Spielberg, characters are introduced and forgotten, red herrings are tossed about with zero regard for a thinking audience, and the ooh-wow! set pieces, as with Kong versus the T-Rex's and the stampede of the dinosaurs, lose all visceral tension when reason tells us, even for a broad fantasy, that what we are watching is technical proficiency and virtuosity without a shred of believability. And where are the laughs? The only humor comes from the smugness of a deluded matinée idol, Kyle Chandler as Bruce Baxter seen too briefly, and Jack Black is totally wrong and far too feminine to pull off the bravado and guts of adventurer/producer Carl Denham. This is his worst performance. Naomi Watts manages to keep a straight face while playing off the blue screen to Kong, but for those critics who claim these scenes are touching have got to be kidding. Nothing but repressed giggles from the screening I attended. The touted roach-spider attack, coming on the heels of FOUR extended action sequences where our heroes should have died a thousand times, comes straight out of the superior Starship Troopers and provides a perfect description of this obscenely bloated ordeal-OVERKILL!!!!!

Anyone outside of Universal Studios or Peter Jackson's buying power can clearly see this film is, after a promising first hour at sea, an endless noise factory with limited entertainment value. The ENTIRE New York sequence, compared to the original, or even the finale of the budget-less KONGA, is an embarrassment. James Newton Howard, one of our finest composers, phones in a forgettable last-minute score. King BOMB is more appropriate. A complete waste of $207 million bucks (it ain't my money of course)on a vanity production. * 1.2 out of ****

Three children wait for their parent(s) in two separate cars in a parking lot outside a New Zealand saloon in the 1960's. The thrilling economy of direction, wonderful (although occasionally infuriatingly thick native accents make it tough to catch all of the asides) screenplay and some of the most natural and believable child actors make this a touching little miracle of a short film that rates with the best ever made. If an added touch of racism, or conflict between the parents were added, it would make the film perhaps even more effective. But this is simply about kids awkwardly dealing with the opposite sex with a touching naivete that will be remembered long after viewing. Really special.....an instant classic.

Critics are falling over themselves within the Weinstein's Sphere of Influence to praise this ugly, misguided and repellent adaptation of the lyrical novel on which it's based. Minghella's ham-fisted direction of the egregiously gory and shrill overly-episodic odyssey is one of the many missteps of this "civil-war love story". Are they kidding? After Ms. Kidman and Mr. Law meet cute with zero screen chemistry in a small North Carolina town and steal a kiss before its off to war for Jude and his photo souvenir of the girl he left behind, it's a two hour test to the kidneys as to whether he will survive a myriad of near-death experiences to reunite with his soulmate. Who cares? Philip S. Hoffman's amateurish scene chewing in a disgusting and unfunny role pales to Renee Zelweger's appearance as a corn-fed dynamo who bursts miraculously upon the scene of Kidman's lonely farm to save the day. Rarely has a performance screamed of "look at me, I'm acting" smugness. Her sheer deafening nerve wakes up the longuers for a couple of minutes until the bluster wears painfully thin. Released by Miramax strategically for Oscar and Golden Globe (what a farce) consideration, the Weinsteins apparently own, along with Dick Clark, the critical community and won 8 Globe nominations for their overblown failure. The resultant crime is that awards have become meaningless and small, less powerful PR-driven films become obscure. Cold Mountain is a concept film and an empty, bitter waste of time. Cold indeed!!!

A Place To Stand stands the test of time due to its intelligent use of split screen images, some stunning photography and an unforgettable theme song....the only element that needs primping is the narrative, which has the antiseptic feel of a bureaucratic rubber stamp (in this case, the Ontario Tourist Board). This oscar winner delighted Expo '67 and the sequel in '68 "Man And His World" in Montreal and is totally obscure today. Picked up a vhs wide-screen copy for personal use from a friend in the business and was thrilled as any World's Fair film completist must be. As the closing theme lyrics cheerlead "Give us a place to stand, and a place to grow, and we will build Ontario!!!!" ***1/2

Caught a preview screening of "Pulse: A Stomp Odyssey" and it's charm and novelty grew tiresome five minutes in. The Director takes the cast from NYC TO Belize, South Africa and Britain, among a dozen other nations in IMAX and paints a pretty but excruciatingly redundant portrait of how the entire world needs a free pass to the Arthur Murray Dance Studio. Elephants are exploited in India, ritual garbage can banging cacophony in the USA and, in the only case of ennui busting, a lovely flamenco dancer performs on a rooftop in Grenada Spain with the class and elegance every other performer lacks. Even the most patient viewer was fidgeting after 20 minutes of this monotonous racket and it had me pining for the migraine inducing pitter-patter of the Irish feet of Riverdance...hell......I was begging for a random reel of Leslie Neilsen's 2001: A Space Travesty!!! If this is where Imax has evolved after 32 years of existence, it is a failed experiment. What's next? Mrs. Miller sings gregorian chants on a space shuttle??

What hath Turner and Maxwell wrought, dear lord? Everything that made "Gettysburg" a moving and powerful sweeping civil war epic is mangled, dissected and trampled in this four-hour test to the kidneys. As a Yankee who now makes the South my home and understands both sides of the war studying this horrific yet courage-propelled conflict, I am, as was the preview audience, aghast at the smugness and dare I say, indifference of Ronald Maxwell's script. We get the point after myriad references to the almighty, that our heroes motives and ambitions are directed from a higher power, but every great history quotation is thrown away like a stale one-liner. For instance "There stands Jackson like a stone wall.....what do y'all want for lunch?" "It's good that War is all hell or we would learn to enjoy it. So anyway, how's things in Vicksburg?" The inspired casting of "Gettysburg" is not as lucky in G&G. Tom Berenger was brilliant in film one and sorely missed here, as was Jeff Daniels, who recreates his role as Chamberlain with not a trace of the panache and courage that would have his men eagerly follow him into battle. And those battle scenes are incoherently filmed, and endless. The extras laughably drop on cue- you KNOW none of the re-enactors is getting hurt here- and the late Michael Shaara, whose beautiful Pulitzer-winning "Killer Angels" was the rock solid inspiration for "Gettysburg" would be embarrassed by his son Jeff's writing. SHAME!!! The gorgeous score by Randy Edelman in G-Burg is ignored here, and only C. Thomas Howell and Kevin Conway survive this painful farrago with any class or dignity. And the P-C elements of the film, especially in the Richmond scenes, have to been endured to be disbelieved. "Gettysburg" never got the credit it deserved as a flawed but rousing entertainment. It took 60-million U-S of A bucks and ten years to drag this lumbering carcass to the screen. So many great subplots could have been culled from this amazing chapter in our history. Alas, lord above us, "Gods and Generals" is an insult to North and South, East and West alike. * of **** stars.

What can you say about a film that misfires on every cylinder? Making his helming debut, George Clooney approaches Chuck Barris' book and Charlie Kaufman's treatment with the hyperactive recklessness of a first-year film student loosed with a new toy and he misses all the fun and sarcasm that screams to be unleashed. At once depressing and over-plotted, "Confessions" is a great big put-on without any payoff. Sam Rockwell slavishly tries to capture that certain nothing that is Chuck Barris' personality and for the most part he works miracles. But the games played with flashbacks, cameos that don't work, present-day interviews, an amalgam of every desperate trick in the filmmaking primer only clogs the film's flow. The second-half is reminiscent of the last hour of Stone's "The Doors", endless claustrophobia and redundant reflection. Clooney must have envisioned this as his "Citizen Kane", but the film fails as comedy, satire and drama..a triple threat. Drew Barrymore, as his on-again off-again squeeze, has zero to work with and it's a shame because she's trying to burn off the residue of her association with "Freddy Got Fingered"-now there's an exacta for you. This smarmy/wink-wink tale of Barris is so egregiously egocentric- his voracious sexual appetite and the jet-black persona bubbling under his cuddly surface, might hold more power if he had accomplished more than the Dating and Newlywed Games- his most offensive and hilarious series by far ($1.98 Beauty Show) is not even MENTIONED! His federal agent fantasy/apologia is scant repentence. Whatever wacky concepts Kaufman and CLooney designed for the film, they never gel and the result is basically a goofy disaster. There is source material here for a knockout comedy...instead an ugly, dull and smug experience awaits. No camp value and slightly better than Barris' 1980 obscure abomination "The Gong Show Movie".

"Cancel My Reservation" was premiered at Radio City Music Hall as a fill-in before the "Salute To Spring" show. There was a musicians' union strike at the time and only the film and not the famous Rockettes or the Orchestra were allowed to be presented. So the world's largest (at the time) movie theater had 300 people at the premiere, including Bob and Dolores. It was reported that Bob decided that night that he would never appear in a film again... NOT, astoundingly, because Cancel is one of the saddest and dullest films ever made, but because he felt he looked to old to be considered an appealing leading man. The original book by Louis L'Amour- "The Broken Gun" is a dark, brooding film about the mistreatment of the Native American. According to Bob's agent, this was to be a dramatic film initially, a way for Bob to purge himself from the excrement of his previous 7 cinematic failures. When Bob approached United Artists for the funding, they said they would never finance another of his films, however NBC- with whom Hope had a lifetime contract with (did they think he'd make it to 100?), said they would help if he used Carson, Flip Wilson, etc.- also NBC contract folk circa 1971, if he'd squeeze in a few cameos. Hope is known as one of the richest and (unlike the allegedly mean-spirited but very generous B. Crosby) cheapest as they come. Hope did kick in the remaining money and took (Zero-value) production credit. With the cameos in place and George Marshall refusing to further humiliate his name with another phoned-in direction, Paul Bogart walked off the set of "All In The Family" and Hope gave up hope in giving a dignified "serious" performance as he had done so beautifully on his anthology series in the mid-60's and in "The Seven Little Foys" and "Beau James"- both Oscar-worthy turns. "Cancel My Reservation", as in Hope's later career, was another cruel disappointment that served as his cinematic epitaph. In only seven years (1965-72), Hope's films disintegrated from high corn, to low camp, to oppressive gloom. Thanks for the memories, Bob. R.I.P.

Reading the myriad raves of the users in this forum........trying to legitimize one of the most calamitous disasters in the history of mainstream American cinema......is alternately nauseating and shameful. Preminger's moronic, loud and incoherent stab at late sixties hipness may provide occasional shocks in how desperate he became, but this is squaresville squared. I guess using, and I mean USING every one of Otto's devoted ensemble cast of his "glory" years of the late fifties to about the Cardinal in '63 (Lawford, Meredith,etc.)provided some kind of buffer to what he must have known was a million to one stab at phantasmagoric swill, but he sacrificed them anyway. And, for once, the film was justifiably buried after its premiere and surfaces occasionally to remind any thinking human it needed to remain buried. This makes his racist trash (although not without camp value) Hurry Sundown in '67 and the following smarmy pseudo-liberalism of "Tell me that you love me, Junie Moon" in'70 outstanding by comparison. Take my word for it and understand why it is one of the lowest rating film on this board. I have actually seen it recently and it is worthless and even worse...damaging. I couldn't wait to see this dream cast in a film I would have guaranteed was awaiting rediscovery. Just forget about it and move on with your lives..........

As the countries of the earth gathered at the New York World's Fair in 1964, Bob Hope and Producer Ed Small (who would produce a series of films in the 60's that became increasingly cataclysmic disasters with each subsequent release) felt this topical comedy on the United Nations and an abandoned child "adopted" by Hope would be a natural for laughs. Nope. Hope's effortless sauntering around a set in lieu of acting became standard by this time, and here his search for a mate among the international nubile hostesses at the U.N. is particularly dated and borderline offensive. As was undoubtedly said at the time- Hope sets the sites on his laugh targets low... and misses. Even a mild diversion as "Bachelor In Paradise" just three years hence would prove a high-water mark of the latter half of Hope's film career. They may have "hoped" to succeed "Globally" but stank locally.

Direct to video faster than a speeding cliche, "Double Bang" lumbers along its inevitable, well-worn path with an equal measure of indignation and gratuitous foreplay for what must have been its intended audience- Japanese recluses of WWII who stumbled out of the jungle- unfamiliar with this beaten beyond recognition convoluted plot structure. The film reeks suspiciously as being a "deal-slammer", employment contracts are satisfied as long as 90-minutes of old-hat noir goulash is smeared across the small-screen. The cast, especially the reliable Baldwins, radiate a smugness that neither appeals, or convinces. This tale was stale when Charles Ogle was headlining around America in the 1910 version of "Frankenstein". Hard to imagine less "bang" for your video store buck.

Although less highly regarded by many than the masterful "animagic" hour of "Rudolph", this 27-minute gem throbs with the joy and heartache of living that is timelessly captured by Rankin/Bass and the brilliant detail of the Dentsu Company miniature sets and artistic direction (so often overlooked in these productions). A hearty and rich score, especially the underscoring of the tragic death of the boy's parents, is unforgettable. Ferrer, Frees, and Eccles are delightful and the often cloying "Miss" Greer Garson delivers the narration with a gentle stroke that is soothing and sincere. The nativity scene is overwhelmingly moving and the film ends on a perfect note. There was a pointless and meandering sequel years later,"Little Drummer Boy-Book II" which is best left unopened- a lifeless and repetitive tale justly obscure. The original, common on video but shown infrequently now during the Christmas season, showcases that deep color film tone that NBC employed so effectively in the mid-60's, which today adds to the nostalgia. Children's prime-time specials once heralded a great era in the success of the medium. All that remains are these video souvenirs.

****out of ****

Stunningly unimaginative and stupefyingly dull, this exercise in remake-mania circa 2002 AD is an affront to H.G., George Pal and anyone seeking a good time at the movies. Borrowing (badly) from a dozen better fantasy films (Fahrenheit 451, Logan's Run, Planet of the Apes (Both), Groundhog Day, etc,etc,) the film has the history of the world to have fun with and screenwriter Logan picks a Terminator-like single woman with young son scenario nearly a million years hence as the body of the story! And nothing happens for the entire middle section of the film. All you have to realize is that they exploited the wonderful Alan Young (so precious as Philby in Pal's original) for a THREE second cameo in a flower shop. What nerve, as it serves only to recognize what an execrable dung heap this is. And after his fiance gets it for the second time in a contrivance that has to been see to be disbelieved, the preview audience roared with amused recognition that a turkey was being born. I had no idea how much worse things would get. Guy Pearce looked the anti-hero; bone-thin, sunken-face-expressionless. Rod Taylor, where are you? George Pal's endearing low budget stop-action animation was charming, and a great Russell Garcia score and an energetic and devoted cast make the original a touching delight. Shame on Simon Wells for trashing his great granddaddy's name. 1/10

Tomboy and the Champ, produced and in honor of 4-H clubs throughout America circa 1961, is a perfect timepiece of what the youth of the corn belt were fed by rock-and-roll fearing authority which, today is a screamingly funny and almost touching display of church and community standards. The scene where a critically ill girl (Candy Moore as Tommy Jo) is inspired to health by a bull who is brought into her room (Champy), whose success with her leads to his being named Champion and subsequently butchered as Prime Rib on the open market is already considered infamous. A nurse should be required to be in attendance as death by hysteria is likely. How Jesse White as the conniving salesman (for the umpteeth time) got involved in this would be a story in itself. Looks like his nefarious buffoonery was a popular advertisement for anti-semitism. No doubt this 4-H production was shown in small town auditoriums for a year or two after its release but is surprisingly available on video from numerous companies. Colorful, corny to the bone and oh-so by-the-numbers, it is truly a feel-good camp time capsule and on that level a rollicking good time.

Bold as the fiery women of Atlanta, as explosive as Attila bursting out of the Balkans to ram his savage troops against all Europe- filmdom's greatest sword and sandal Titan- Samson(Machiste) faces and wins the cinema's most spectacular battle as he performs his 7 Miracles of the World in Colorscope and Stereophonic sound. Ancient Rome vividly comes alive as every nickle of the 4-million dollar budget is on the screen. enough of the P.R. from 1961, it's a poorly-dubbed overacted absolutely standard muscleman pic from the factory.......after failing with the original title, it was re-released often and often on triple-bills with Samson and 7 Miracles the most successful, and dishonest.

Bob Rogers greatest triumph! David Spear's beautiful score! This short film made for the Canadian Pacific Pavillion at Vancouver's underrated Expo 86 extols all the virtues of good filmmaking. A succinct allegory with gorgeous set design, rollicking special effects and infectious good cheer. Worth seeking out as one of the best examples of big budget short film production. Needless to say, a 10 out of 10. And naturally, it lost to the vastly inferior talk-fest "Molly's Pilgrim" at the 1986 Academy Awards.

The title of this film changed shortly after its release and was renamed "Hazel's People" (also its video title) and was presented nightly for years at the "People's Place" Amish attraction in Intercourse, PA in the heart of Penna. Dutch country. The amazing thing about this venue is that the film is anything but a paint-by-numbers whitewash of the ways of modern-day new order Mennonites but an incisive view of a Mennonite family stunned into the reality of the outside world when their son is beaten to death at an unnamed NY university protesting the Vietnam War. His best friend (portrayed with brilliant integrity by a then-slender Graham Beckel in the best role of his career), must deliver a message to the Lancaster family and his long-haired, unkempt demeanor quickly brings the family and community's deep rooted prejudices to the surface. Beckel struggles with this hypocracy and perceives quite accurately that the Mennonite family suffers the same jealousies, insensitivities and cruelty of the modern world when fear and hatred are justified by religious unity. The film pulls few punches and sports the accomplished casting of the great Geraldine Page and under-used Pat Hingle as the parents who grow to understand their limitations as parents and believers. The film survives its painfully low budget by the strength of its timeless and potent storytelling. A small and unheralded gem that portrays the lifestyles of the more conservative Mennonite better, in its own way, than "Witness" did in its superficial view of the Amish. Simple, smart and courageous- ***1/2 SCRAPPLES

JOJO(Weld): Daddy, I think I found Mister right! BOB HOLCOLM (HOPE): OH, I KNOW A BILL WRIGHT!

And so begins the first salvo fired in this joyously painful assault on a genre that was stale long before this was dumped on hundreds of deserted theaters-the generation gap comedy. Acres of atrocious puns and one-liners battle the parameters of entertainment decency---yet who can resist? Take an aging Frankie Avalon, a budding star in Weld appearing in her last thankless role until "Cincinnati Kid"saved her, aryan legend Jeremy Slate and producer Edward Small's cardboard studio backdrops substituting for Scandinavia, mix with Johnny Carson's longtime producer/director and you have the beginning of Hope's career slide that didn't hit rock bottom until "Cancel my Reservation" was unleashed 7 years hence. It's been 30 years since his last starring role and the scary thing is, the entire cast of all of his yearly cinematic holocausts from 65-72 are still alive and could reunite for Boy, Did I Get A Wrong Number 2 (the late, great Cesare Danova not withstanding). Suffice to say Hope was always only as good as his writers. The impossibly guileless challenge of his obnoxiously un-hip, sexist attitude and the wardrobe straight from Squaresville will amuse only the few Hope cultists who find the sheer bombastic gall and idiocy riotous (guilty!)--- and the ultimate irony--- touching. Younger audiences catching this on the tube without warning are bound to be indifferent-the coup de gras for longevity (the ancient comic trying to prove his lasting power to the few loyal surviving fans) and unlike the timeless masters- e.g. Buster Keaton, Fields, etc. there will undoubtedly not be a re-discovery of Hope's excellent early work as the residue of the crap of the last 40 years is too thick to peel away. I'll Take Sweden" is his best film since 1965. For those who thought this a temporary mis-step in Hope's career----a helmet-headed Marjorie Lord waited anxiously in the wings.........

The GREAT George pal reached his zenith with this stunning post-war short-subject Puppetoon based on the popular negro spiritual/fable. Although the african-american characters are so broadly drawn they could incite scorn, the sheer brilliance and fidelity of the animators to this moody tall-tale allow its acceptance. The intricacy of Pal's detail was never more evident, as he fills the screen with explosive color and propels this story of a 62 inch tall infant who grows to symbolize the limitations of man in an expanding industrial world and is allowed to be heroic in his martyrdom, sadly foreshadowing some of the leaders of the civil rights movement two short decades after this was released. One of the most terrifying shots in film history comes as John Henry's mother pushes away the crowd, screaming, and announces to the world that her son is dead, a victim of the Inky-Poo. Should be required viewing for all the worlds children and its message may be more apropos today than in 1946. A total gem.

Frank Perry has crafted, perhaps unwittingly, a terrific drama of the delusion of alcoholism that is a perfect evocation of mid-60's suburbia. The tremendous commercial failure of this film (the in-fighting between producer Spiegel and director Perry was the only p.r. the film was getting before its release) and critical dismissal and indifference sealed the fate of this profoundly effective saga whose episodic nature actually works FOR the film. Ned's odyssey on his swim "home" is so vividly realized that it stands as Perry's best work. The expansion of the short Cheever work is clever without feeling padded and the film improves with repeated viewings. Marvin Hamlisch's inaugural score is too self-satisfied and overmodulated to gain full effect and instead of underscoring the emotions of the characters it tries to create them, subsequently defeating itself in the process. The performances win the day here and the ensemble is impeccable. Although Ned is a complete S.O.B in the book, there is perhaps too much sympathy for his character here (after all, they had to have "DIJON mustard!")

****1/2 out of *****

The beautiful marriage of an Elmer Bernstein score, the great Saul Bass helming and the lyrical narration of Gary Merrill create a life-affirming gem about a ten-year old boy and his perspective on the world. In 18 minutes this masterpiece that thrilled millions at the Kodak Pavillion of the New York World's Fair in 1964-65, captures an exhilaration that easily surpasses the similarly adored but overrated "TO BE ALIVE" that captured the short film live action Oscar in 1965 but doesn't have the staying power or sense of humor that the Searching Eye does. It is available (for a small fortune) on video from Pyramid Films who have a precious felicity for obtaining rights for Expo short films- "Rainbow War" is a perfect example. If there are any other world's fair film nuts who stumble on this little-seen film page, please contact and share your experience.

Rip-roaring patriotism it ain't- but in the splendours of IMAX, the uneasily protracted short film is immeasurably aided by a rousing score and some gorgeous photography. I believe this was shot in Brackettville, Texas with the barely standing set built by Batjac for John Wayne's 1960 "Alamo" epic. Merrill's direction is hardly urgent and the paper-thin Boy's Life view of history is disappointingly played out. That said, if you can experience the film in San Antonio at the Imax theatre near the actual bastion of freedom (as I did there and in Florida) the experience is much more effective. (B-)

Following up from his smashing success at the Canadian Pacific pavilion of Expo 86 in Vancouver and the academy award nominated knockout "Rainbow War" Rogers returns to the theme of world unity through the similar experiences of young people of our planet's nationalities. In an exposition tradition started by Francis Thompson and "To Be Alive" at the 1964-65 NY WORLD'S Fair, Rogers hits bulls-eye at his attempt to create a resplendent panache of inspiration without a single word of dialogue. He is a unique talent that is sorely missed in commercial Hollywood and his BRC production company has sadly been stymied by the inability of World expo's to attract and audience as the concept has become tragically passe. God Bless You Bob Rogers (and composer David Spear-another barely working genius) and may you be recognized for your decency and vision someday.