TerikKing.com

A little bitchy & unsentimental in places, but here's where my head is as 2010 comes in.

My Top 10 wishes for 2010 are:

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Yes, I know it's huge. You think something so large could be that way BY ACCIDENT?

At 12:01am on Tuesday night/Wednesday morning, the lights dimmed at the Clelsea Cinemas Auditorium #7, as it did in 18,000 theatres across 97 countries today, and Michael Jackson's This Is It debuted for its limited two-week run. Of course, I had to be among the first to take it in, so there I was at Chelsea. I've been asked a lot to relate what the eperience was like for me, so here is my best stab at it.

Having gone into the film "well-medicated" (shout-out to the Texas-size margarita at BBQ's across the street) and not really knowing what to expect, either from the film or from myself, I just numbly walked in and found seats in the packed (but not to the rafters) theatre. I needed to hunt down a T-shirt, so i went back out into the theatre lobby where the Thriller video was playing on a large screen and a few "dancers" were awkwardly trying to replicate the choreography. It was out here that I ran into my compatriot DJ YGB, and I expected we'd sit together (but alas were separated). In any event, the energy was both parts somber and celebratory, probably leaning a bit more toward the former than the latter. So I get my t-shirt, and I slip back into the theatre just as the lights are going down.

As a student of the documentary form, I'm used to more information coming aross from this type of film. That a story, be it an individual (Michael's) or collective (the entire company's) one, a story will be told. At the beginning, This Is It started off satisfying those expectations by talking to some of the (so damn YOUNG!) dancers who had been selected to perform with him; it felt good.

And then...there he was.

Michael was launching into his rehearsal of Wanna Be Startin' Somethin.' I expected to gasp, to tear up, to break out into screams of joy or...whatever, but I didn't. We applauded in the theatre, but it was a tentative applause. It remained that way through the night. ("I don't know whether...to laugh or cry..." "She's Out of My Life")

For the next hour and 52 minutes, we watched Michael work. And work. And work. And he was phenomenal, but wasn't he always? Any idea that he was a weak, sickly, drug-addled near-invalid are dispensed with by the 5-minute mark. And then there is MORE footage of Michael working. And he is a wonder to watch, but I'll be honest: I expected nothing less. Michael has always been the master of his own house, and during rehearsals, the Staples Center was Michael's House. Nothing groundbreaking there.

I was also a bit disappointed in the set list. See, I have seen (and retain DVD copies of) all of Michael's tours dating back from the late 70s. While they have steadily grown in size and scale, the song lists themselves never evolved too far from the Victory Tour/Bad Tour formula (which was an phenomenal one).

One thing I always wished was that he would draw deeper from his immense body of work and shake up his set lists a bit more.

After I bought my ticket to see the first show in London, us ticket buyers were sent a link by AEG to submit suggested songs for his set list, and that MJ would make selections form the (millions of) suggestions received. I chose some phenomenal ones I haven't heard him do a gazillion times (I Can't Help It, The Lady In My Life, etc.) as well as th ehits, and was hopeful tha I'd be surprised when I got to London. I don't know if that was a stunt or what, but his order of songs felt like it wouldn't be much of a deviation from his HIStory tour in 1995. I would have loved to see him preparing to strip-down all the bells, whistles and pyrotechnics, sit on a stool, and absolutely open up his heart and serenade us with One Day In Your Life or something similarly underplayed. Judging from This Is It, that wasn't the plan. Michael was going to be Michael.

And MICHAEL he was. One thing was clear: he was going to kick the effects spectacular aspect of the show up to a level we had never seen before. At Chelsea where I viewed it, the audience GASPED at points where we saw reveals of some of the special effects he had planned. It was going to be extraordinary. As far as all the repeated mantras of "Michael Jackson set out to prove he still had it," and the like; I find these to be non-statements. Of course Michael "still had it." His true believers never concluded he had lost anything. If you needed This Is It to show you that, it's a reflection of your miscalculation of his "decline," not of any extraordinary action on Michael's part during these rehearsals. He was the Michael Jackson he's always been: focused, engaged, soft-spoken yet firmly in charge, apt to the artist's habit of metaphor, and, of course, a singular talent that is ONLY Michael Jackson. The brightest light I have ever seen.

And then it was over. Before I knew what had hit me, the credits were rolling. No situating the rehearsals against the now-too-keenly-known fact of his death. No "after words" with the cast/crew. Just rolling credits. I felt like that left a feeling of something "unresolved." As soon as that word came to mind for me, I immediately believed that this had to be a deliberate choice. It should have been left unresolved. Michael's life was left unresolved.

For all the talk (especially in that endlesly rebroadcast clip of Michael's April press conference) of this being Michael's "final curtain call," it hurt me somewhat when I realized that he didn't literally get a curtain call in This Is it - the planned London live shows or, as it turns out, this documentary. He never got to take a bow.

NEW YORK TIMES REVIEW OF THIS IS IT

When I was a kid, there was no TV series I'd loved more than V. From the original 1983 miniseries, to the sequel (the arguably better) V: The Final Battle in 1984, to the series which ran for a single season after Final Battle in 1984, I was a complete V-maniac.

I remember being in school and arguing with Ami Thorpe about who was uglier, and we'd hit below the belt when we called each other V's. In a way, I almost WANTED to be one of those lizards-on-the-DL. Diana the head lizard, Mike Donovan, Ham Tyler...those were my peeps.

When it was cancelled after the second season, I my childhood naivete came crumbling around me. "You mean, they just took it OFF?" I remember asking my father. I learned about cancellation of TV shows. I cried. Oh, the trauma!

DIANA: Who have they got that's badder than this?I know. I needed friends. But that ship has sailed....

So you'd think I'd be happy that ABC is bringing a - what? - a NEW V?

Hmmm....

I'm resisting the urge to sound curmodgeonly increasingly more often these days. (It ain't sexy.) And what could possibly sound more curmodgeonly than complaining about remakes of things because they were moments in time that "should be left alone." My recent beefs: the Dreamgirls film, the remake of Fame, all the damned Disney cartoon theatrical productions on Broadway, not to mention the CEASELESS Broadway dust-offs of 50-year old shows in lieu of exciting new theatrical properties...I could go on and on.... But again, don't want to sound curmodgeonly.

In the name of not being curmudgeonly, being "open" and all that jazz, I will watch the "new" V and give it a fair shot. But I will say this ahead of time: it'd BETTER BE GOOD.

Yes, the special effects in the 80s were hokey and somewhat primitive, and that advances in CGI and digital effects make it possible to do an extraordinary update of V. That would be the case with any of the aforementioned remakes as well. But for whatever reason, it appears that the greenlight guys and creative teams appear to rest on a misguided notion that the technology will carry it, without imagination and stories. That's when we get into trouble. It's also a bad idea to be so (perhaps arrogantly) enamored with the "newness" of their production that they fail to draw upon legacy characters from preceding productions which would only add dimension to the "continuation" of the story which they are building upon.  (In this case, the "new" V, Diana should be a Leader Emeritus a'la' Joan Collins.)

If you're going to mine history because (perhaps) there is a dearth of new ideas in today's dumbed-down talent pool, it would be unwise to insult the original audience (whose memory of the original remains intact) with the attitude that the story in which they became invested is as good as never having happened, and that now they should become invested in your version because...well...it's new. Hopefully one day one of these remake producers will absorb that simple lesson.

But don't let me be the judge. (at least not solely.)

Take a look at the "new," and then the old. Improvement? Bastardization of the past? Guess I'll find out Tuesday at 8.

THE NEW ABC V TRAILER

THE ORIGINAL RECAP FOR NBC's V: THE FINAL BATTLE

I highly doubt that anyone living outside of New York City will care much about this post, but I have to express this. So here we go.

Anyone who knows me at all knows how disenchanted I have become with living in this zoo that passes for a city. I can’t get out of here soon enough. In fact, because I’ve already decided that my days here are numbered, I even decided that it would be pointless to vote in the upcoming New York mayoral election that pits Independent/Republican “incumbent” Mike Bloomberg against Democratic Controller Bill Thompson. I had pretty much decided to abstain, and say “to hell with it” and just move out as soon as I finish at The New School in May.  This, despite an inclination as a Black man to exercise my hard-won right to vote even if it seems pointless. The local media has, aside from the airing of paid campaign ads, largely ignored the race, which is a favorable position for a self-financed billionaire incumbent candidate (who also, “coincidentally” owns the media outfit Bloomberg LP).Tonight, however, I’ve changed my tune. Even though it’ll probably be as productive as pissing in the wind, I’m going to waste a couple of hours by going to my polling place and doing my small, insignificant part to try to rid the city of Bloomberg.

I hereby declare publicly that I will throw my vote (away) behind Bill Thompson, even though he probably won’t win and the voter turnout will probably be about 16 people. Why? Here’s why.

1. Bloomberg’s anti-democratic move to circumvent the will of the voters who placed a 2-term limit on elected office for the Mayor.  Apparently Mike seems to think that he knows better than we do whether the term limits were appropriate or not, and, rather than hold a referendum so we can uphold or reverse the law that we upheld twice in two referendums in 1993 and 1996. (See the New York Times’ article Voters Like Mayor, but Not His Path to 3rd Run). While Bloomberg may have curried favor with cosmetic issues like bike lanes (which I think are a joke), fixing potholes and planting trees, there is nothing more insulting, condescending and, once again, anti-Democratic than the path that Bloomberg took to use the City Council and State Legislature  to impose his will over that of the voters. Big Rich Mike knows what’s better for us than we do? I think not.
2. 311 is a joke. Yes, I’m channeling Flavor Flav, but without the tongue-in-cheek radical humor slant.
   As I write this, it is 3am and there are seven loud, drunken Mexicans in my hallway arguing about whatever in front of my apartment. Twice I have had to open my overpriced door to tell them to keep it down. Finally, I’d had enough, and I called 911 (as you would in any other town) to make a noise complaint. Since this is considered a “non-emergency” (though I bet if it were happening in Riverdale instead of Harlem it probably wouldn’t be) I was transferred to another of Bloombastard’s pet projects, the 311 hotline/placebo. After holding for about 8 minutes, a sleepy-sounding operator took a report and read a script saying that the NYPD had up to 8 hours to respond to the complaint, “when officers are available that aren’t responding to emergencies.” So maybe the answer, then, would be for me to open my door, stab one of them, and then call 911 and have it be an emergency, no? But 311 is obviously a way to screen out what the NYPD considers “important” enough to deem an immediate response. Bloomie strikes again.
3. Taxes, taxes, taxes. I have been struggling to quit smoking, as my friends well know. I’m a singer, and I know that cigarettes are a surefire path to Mariah Carey-style vocal triflingness. However, the prices of cigarettes have climbed year after year in this city, now averaging around $9.50-$10.00 per pack. See, every time there is some kind of “fiscal emergency,” the taxes on cigarettes are raised. Even though I might not be a militant pro-smoking advocate, I deeply resent having to pay about $5.25 in government fees to smoke in New York City, which is more than the overall cost of a pack of cigs in such places as Virginia and the Carolinas. If you need to find some money in the budget, find another way other than shaking US down. Maybe there should be a tax per-pound levied against all the overweight tourists that make it so damned impossible to fir into a regulation size seat on the subway. How about THAT, Mr. and Mrs. Obese America? Again…f**k you, Bloomberg.
4. Mr. Environmental Mayor has been stuffing my mailbox with self-funded campaign junk mail EVERY OTHER DAY FOR 3 MONTHS. Again, his money, apparently, talks. And it doesn’t necessarily speak the truth, either. But as long as he has millions of his personal dollars to fund the distortions and a compliant local media that doesn’t bother to challenge it, I guess all is fair, right? (See the Associated Press’ Bloomberg Has Spent $64.8 Million on 3rd Campaign and New America Media’s report that he is on track to spend $100 million in the race.)

I could go on and on, but that won’t help me sleep, which was the original problem in the first place. So yeah, on November 3^rd, Bill Thompson gets my vote. And on May 1, 2010, I call my moving truck. June 1, 2010, is D-Day.

Once upon a time, considering that I’ve spent most of my years living in this city, I would never have imagined that I would have such contempt for the place. I used to love it here. Now, I can’t get out soon enough. Nice place to come, take in a show, do some work (I do work in media, after all), but a HORRIBLE place to live. And I’m done. Y'all can HAVE it.

My lease is up in T-minus 256 days and counting. Can’t happen a minute too soon.

Today our girl turned a mere 33.

India, you are a breath of fresh air in an industry that makes me want to hold my nose most of the time. (It's hard to 'work on my breathing' that way.) A true poet in a field of "brands," a straight-from-the-heart arist that takes risks and speaks from soul to soul. Keep doing what you're doing.

Today I celebrate you, and share one of my many favorite songs of yours.

;

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, INDIA!!