Back in midtown, I've been living at the Museum of Television & Radio lately, not only because of that fab Bowie series, but because TV producer Bob Booker just presented an entertaining outtake compilation called Behind the Scenes in Hollywood. Among the more salacious highlights were Eddie Murphy deep-throating a large plastic cup and insult comic Don Rickles pretending singer Steve Lawrence had fisted him and Steve's jewelry was coming out of his butt. The golden days indeed!
The new stuff is pretty good, too. In fact, The Anna Nicole Show on E! is riveting viewing, focusing on a self-absorbed, tranquilized inflatable doll of a woman who's everything reality TV should bethough the gay people who rebuilt Asbury Park should probably get to work on her real soon. The busty Britney Spears might also need repair. As you know, all of a sudden, radio's changed focus to Norah Jones, Avril Lavigne, Vanessa Carlton, and other clothed gals who can actually play instruments and write songs (but of course happen to be good-looking too). Even Pink has wisely picked up a guitar and gone rock-a-doodle. I picture Brit putting her breasts back in jars and learning the flügelhorn as we speak.
They've reconstructed The Boys From Syracuse on Broadway and added a surprise cameodon't read this if you don't like your surprise cameos ruineddone by squeaky-voiced TV Land-er Georgia Engel. They've also exhumed Frankie and Johnny in the Claire de Lune, a wise, sexually explicit stalker romantic comedy that's mainly lessened by its fairly redundant second half. But see it and you'll see an entire audience who'd been saying, "Stanley Tucci is not a sex symbol" drop their tongues as the curtain goes up and screech, "Stanley Tucci is a sex symbol!" Think muscle bear minus the bear part. Think non-dwarf with non-strap-on. Think Club Paradise.