A is for Adaptions

Good fannish news to look forward to in a busy life: there will be an adaption of Good Omens for tv, by Terry Jones, no less. The combinaton of Terry Prattchet, Neil Gaiman and an ex-Monty Python sounds almost too good to be true. Incidentally, while I love individual works by either writer better than this collaboration, Good Omens is definitely enjoyable, and an four episode format should do it justice. (The only sad thing is that the mundane will accuse Good Omens of ripping off all the subsequent imitations which have ripped off Good Omens but went multimedia first.)

News that made me first go "yay" and then "hang on...": Jessica Jones will get a tv show of her own , on ABC, no less; since the name Alias obviously can't be used, it'll be called A.K.A. Jessica Jones. I suspect this benefits from the general attempt to prepare the Avengers movie by reminding non-comic readers of that whole part of the Marvelverse (as is the cartoon Avengers series), and the news that Melissa Rosenberg will be writing/producing pleased me; I think Dexter missed her direly last season, and her four previous seasons of Dexter give her able experience in the mixture of dark and completely screwed up, humour and every day problems. The "hang on..." part in my reaction came from the journalist's description of Jessica Jones as "a very normal person with superpowers". Because well, no. Jessica at the start of Alias the comic is as normal only if your standard of normality is Chandler's Philip Marlowe. She's a classic noir detective, drinking too much, really bad at relationships, trauma in her past (not what you at first assume, though), sharp tongue and regular run-ins with the authorities. I really hope that won't be toned down and white brushed because it's what makes her Jessica Jones. (Also she has an arc to go through in those comics, and if you start a tv adaption with her already emotionally more or less balanced, that's gone.) But I am an optimist by nature, and like I said, I am fond of Melissa Rosenberg as a writer due to her Dexter episodes & co-producing in seasons 1-4, so I am assuming for now that the journalist just got it wrong and wrote only part of what he was told. And I'm looking forward to Jessica Jones, P.I., on my tv screen!

Launching the British Invasion

This week is the anniversary of the Beatles first arriving in the US and launching the so-called British Invasion. (Why is it, I wonder, that the rest of the world falling to Beatlemania ws not described in military terms? *g*) Conventional wisdom has it that they came, they cheeked, they sang, they conquered, but actually, there were some obstacles on the way. Also some hilarious cross-cultural misunderstandings. Two tales from preparing their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show:

Mitzi Gaynor, who appeared between two sets by the Beatles when they made their appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show and back then was more famous than they were (though for not much longer):

My director was getting ready, we were going to do a dress rehearsal for him, he came in and looked up on the stage and said: “Get that woman off the stage!” And I said “Uh, Bob, that’s not a woman. It’s one of The Beatles, that’s Paul.” He said, “I don’t care. Get her off the stage!

And then there was Leonard Bernstein dropping by for a visit. A quick who is who first: Wendy Hanson worked for Brian Epstein, Sidney Bernstein was one of Britain's first tv moguls. A quote of Bob Spitz' The Beatles:

When Leonoard Bernstein, an acquaintance of Wendy Hanson's, swept in with his daughters, George was in the midst of having a row over the sound with Bob Precht, Ed Sullivan's son-in-law, who produced the show. Bernstein babbled on endlessly about Washington, DC, and about how when he was there 'he sung rounds with Jackie at breakfast". One could tell from the look in their eyes that the Beatles had no idea who he was or what he was talking about. (A 'round' to an English working-class lad meant a piece of buttered bread, and as for Jackie, they were completely stumped.) John turned to Wendy Hanson and said, "Look, love, we haven't known you long and we like you very much - but could you keep Sidney Bernstein's family out of this room?"

(Leonard B. apparantly didn't take it personally, since he later made the famous Schubert comparison re: Lennon/McCartney. Though that was in 1965.) Also, while the Ed Sullivan Show appearance certainly was a success with the viewing audience (and started American Beatlemania), it definitely wasn't one with the critics. Behold Newsweek in February 1964, about those British invaders:

Visually they are a nightmare: tight, dandified beatnik suits and great pudding-bowls of hair. Musically they are a near disaster, guitar and drums slamming out a merciless beat that does away with secondary rhythms, harmony and melody. Their lyrics (punctuated by nutty shouts of yeah, yeah, yeah!) are a catastrophe, a preposterous farrago of Valentine-card romantic sentiments.

Which actually was the general tone of those early reviews in the US. At their next press conference (ostensibly about the three-film-deal Brian had just signed for them with United Artists), the reporters were very curious to see whether they were intimidated by the onslaught of bad reviews. They weren't.

Q: What do you say to the charge of creating false modal frames?
John: We're going to see a doctor about that.
Q: Which of you is sexiest?
George: Our manager, Brian Epstein.
Q (by female reporter): Who chooses your clothes?
John: We choose our own. Who chooses yours?
Q: My husband. Now tell me, are there any subjects you prefer not to discuss?
John: Yes, your husband.

End of bad press. Everyone wanted an interview with them then, including Playboy, which led to this bit:

Q: To bring up another topic that’s shocking to some, how do you feel about the homosexual problem?
George: Oh yeah, well, we’re all homosexuals, too.
Ringo: Yeah, we’re all queer.
Paul: But don’t tell anyone.

And of course, if you're a new celebrity, you're promptly carried off for photo ops with other celebrities, including the then Cassius Clay and later Muhammad Ali, who in February 1964 had a first title fight to win; it was a case of mutual benefits publicity. (Early reviewers didn't like him, either. Quoth the New York Times about that impending fight: „The irritatingly confident Cassius enters this bout with one trifling handicap. He can’t fight as well as he can talk.“) This particular encounter had a recent bittersweet aftermath, as recounted in a Paul McCartney interview, in reply to how it feels now that there only two (ex) Beatles around anymore:

It hits me when I'm asked to sign a picture, and it's always the four of us. I got a fantastic note from Muhammad Ali - hey, come on! You see, these are the perks! He says, 'I came across this photograph - and they used to say I was the one with the big mouth! Hey Paul, hope you and the family are well, lots and lots of love." And he signed it. I turned over the page and there's a picture of him when we were in Miami Beach before the Sonny Liston fight. And you're like, 'God, I was there.' He's pretending to knock us all out, and we're all in a row, we're all taking the knock-on effect of this punch. And I'm at the end going (mouth agape). He's written, 'My man, Paul', a little heart, 'Muhammad'. So I'm loving this, loving it. And then suddenly there's a little jolt. 'Cos I just see two of the guys there. John and George. Oh. Fuck. So that's how I feel. It's just sad. Like any bereavement is.

If you've never seen the endearing-in-its-cheesiness photo of Muhammad Ali with the Beatles he's referring to, it's here, among other places.

ETA: as kalypso pointed out, today is also the 50th anniversary of their first appearance in the Cavern!