Goodbye, Robert B. Parker

My favorite writer died last week.
Not my Favorite Writer, the literary person whose work I would talk about at a cocktail party. Nope. This was the regular-guy writer who still managed to have a literary sensibility. The guy who wrote books that I actually read. Each and every year, for decades at a stretch.
The writer is Robert B. Parker. And if you have not checked out the Spenser novels over the years, you have missed something special.
There’s a practical problem when a writer this good, this essential to one’s reading life, dies. And that’s the simple matter of not having him produce any more books. But I do take satisfaction—and like to think that he would—in the nature of his death. Apparently he died at his desk while writing.
That’s the writer’s equivalent of dying with your boots on. And it fits this Parker fellow, who apparently equated writer’s block with laziness.
Thank you, Mr. Parker, for so many hours of entertainment.

Goodbye to Sutton…During the State of the State

I love a good juxtaposition. And the one yesterday was striking.
There was a funeral for Percy Sutton, the former Manhattan borough president and key African-American figure who was known as part of the “Gang of Four” in Harlem. The other, surviving members of that much-heralded group: Rep. Charles Rangel, former Mayor David Dinkins and Basil Paterson.
The other event yesterday, oddly and powerfully related to the first, was the State of the State Address by Gov. David Paterson, Basil Paterson’s son.
So striking to think of these two events going on simultaneously. Could Percy Sutton, in his youth, have ever anticipated the day when New York would have an African-American governor? Or, better yet, president? I thought the State of the State provided a compelling background for Sutton remembrances…and that, conversely, it must have been something for Paterson to stand in the Statehouse in Albany on the same afternoon, knowing that his friend and a mentor was being laid to rest. If you made a novel with these characters and themes, the critics would say you were stretching things beyond what might be credible.
Something else helped yesterday, namely that the governor gave a good, honest, smart but simple address. He has a long way to go in terms of making himself a viable candidate for re-election, and just about everyone has decided that the state's attorney general, Andrew Cuomo, will be our next governor. But there’s some fight left in this fellow Paterson, enough to make it a more interesting year than it might have been. And he should get credit for being on the right side of history with his remarks, particularly when it comes to his call for ethics reform in a capital city that absolutely needs dramatic change.

Movies: Not ‘Complicated’ Necessarily, but Flawed

By all means, go see “It’s Complicated.” If only to encourage Hollywood to make the occasional film about people older than 25, and of course to see actors of the caliber of Meryl Streep, Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin. Or go to realize, as if “The Office” had not already proved it beyond a reasonable doubt, that John Krasinski is a cutie.
But do not go expecting a movie that makes sense.
I saw it more than 24 hours ago, and I am still confused as to who was really in love and which relationship the Streep character should have pursued. Only this morning I realized the extent to which this must be a divorced woman’s revenge fantasy. I had heard as much going in, but it’s really the only way to begin to understand what passes for a narrative arc in this mess of a film.
Again, though, I think it is worth seeing. It’s fascinating as real estate porn, given that Streep’s character—um, did she have a name? She must have, but I have forgotten—finds it necessary to add on to her obviously already-huge home. She’s doing so at exactly the time that she needs less space, as the kids are gone and so is Baldwin, her ex. But in this consumer’s paradise the protagonist would never look around her gigantic living quarters and realize she already has enough—of anything. This is one weird flick, especially for those of us who share studio apartments.
One other awful thing: the scenes between Streep and her pals, played by Alexandra Wentworth and Rita Wilson and Mary Kay Place. Only Place gets the tone right. These scenes are painful to watch, the forced gaiety of fake friendship…the kind that only appears in sitcoms. Or am I wrong? Do women really talk like this when they are alone together? I have no way of knowing for sure. Thank God. But I will admit that I wonder.
What did I like? Baldwin. I almost always like Baldwin. And Street was compelling, as always. And Martin is sweet. And did I mention that Krasinski is cute? The audience I saw the movie with was crazy about him. Every crinkle of the eyes had people howling. It was as if people feel intimately connected to him after his “Office” years, the many hours he has spent in our living rooms. In this sitcom of a movie, audience members may feel most comfortable with an actual sitcom star.