Fish Story

In the film, ANNIE HALL, Annie (Diane Keaton) tells her boyfriend, Alvy Singer (Woody Allen), how much she enjoyed his stand-up set, then added:

"I think I'm starting to get more of the references too."

So stop me if you've heard this one...

What did the blind man say when he passed the fish market?

"'Morning, ladies!"

Yeah. You've heard it before. If you haven't, it's new to you.

Back in the 90s in my hometown of Stockton, California, I was driving down Wilson Way, a thoroughfare on the east side of town that was absolutely notorious for streetwalkers, prostitutes, hookers, hos or whatever you'd to call them. One summer's day, I found myself on that strip when I came across this sign and damn near stood in the middle of the block to applaud the grand gesture of this editorial. I felt the need to get a picture to chronicle this event. Since these were the days before cell phone mit out cameras, I actually bought a used camera in a thrift shop and hoped like hell the sign wouldn't change overnight. Lo and behold, I got the shot the very next day.

The fish monger probably had enough of his deteriorating neighborhood and needed to express his frustration somehow. He used the form of communication at his disposal. The sign outside his shop, normally reserved for specials or the catch of the day, carried his message to the world, couched in the punchline of a crude joke.

To me, that statement read loud and clear. And obviously, I got the reference.

That's important in life, getting the references. Sometimes, it can make you feel that you're not alone in the world and that your voice is not only being heard but understood..

And it helps if you get the joke. There are few things more frustrating than the question:

"WHAT'S SO FUNNY?"

The Hollywood Max Museum

From left to right-Max and Max

The following is an excerpt from my first book, IN THE DARK: A LIFE AND TIMES IN A MOVIE THEATER.  I devoted  an entire chapter to my best friend and brother, Ed Thorpe who left this earth this past November. I re-print this truncated version here on the occasion of his birthday and because I miss him. Plain and simple.

My best friend calls me Max. I, in turn, call him Max. I’m Max. He’s Max. We’re both Max.

Our phone conversations always begin with the same greeting.

“Max-x-x…”

“Max!”

All correspondence, electronic or print, is addressed to Max. Any gifts we exchange have the same gift card.

    

“To: Max

  

From: Max”

We don’t find this confusing in the least. In fact, if we called each other by our real names, we’d be mighty suspicious, as in “Who died?” It been over twenty-five years that I’ve been Scott and he’s been Ed, specifically since the release of ANNIE HALL back in 1977.

In that film, Tony Roberts addresses Woody Allen as Max even though his character’s name is Alvy.

“Why do you keep calling me Max?” Alvy asks his friend.

“You look like a Max,” he replies.

Right back at him, Alvy calls his pal Max also, knowing full well that Tony Roberts’ name in the film is Rob.

Back when the two actors were performing PLAY IT AGAIN, SAM on Broadway, they adopted the mutual persona of Max when they would go out in public. Apparently, they thought they could move about New York City anonymously if they led anyone to believe that they weren’t who they appeared to be.

“Why, that looks just like Woody Allen. But, it couldn’t be. His friend keeps calling him Max.”

How effective was this ploy is anybody’s guess, not to mention how serious Allen and Roberts might have been about the whole matter. Was anybody really fooled by their little charade? And, seriously, back in 1969, who in the hell knew Tony Roberts?

Whatever their dubious rationale, we stole this little quirk and theirs and made it our own. It’s not that we had allusions to be the West Coast edition of Allen and Roberts. However, we felt it was a tribute to a great movie and to each other-the very best of friends.

I’ve known Ed Thorpe since 1967, nearly ¾ of my life. That’s the longest single relationship I’ve ever had with anybody outside of my immediate family. Through almost four decades we’ve hit highs, lows and everything in between. We’ve shared laughter, tears, bottles, joints, the stage, writing credits and, even at one point, the same girl. We acted out our own version of JULES AND JIM, only instead of Francois Trauffaut, ours would have been directed by Jack Smight. Eventually, he won the girl, which resulted in their eminent marriage. After I drifted away for a while, I soon returned to the fold and we resumed our friendship. Eventually, their marriage ended but the friendship continued.

One of the constants we can always depend upon is our mutual love of film. In Max, I have a true peer, someone whose knowledge is as extensive as my very own and whose opinion I value over all others. There is nobody I would rather have that post-movie discussion with than Max when we can sit down and critique, analyze or, sometimes tear a new asshole out of any movie we had just finished viewing. For another, he “gets the references”, another quote from ANNIE HALL that is pretty self-explanatory.  Since we speak in that Secret Language of Friends, our conversations are peppered with quotes from movies and TV shows both popular and esoteric as well as recalling the people, places and things we’ve experienced in the time we’ve passed together. Often nobody can keep up with us once we get started nor can they break our code. Of course, we make each other laugh harder than anyone else we’ve ever known, which, admittedly, can be over the most childish and gloriously immature thing possible. Can you say monkeys and fart jokes?

In our late teens, we challenged one another to a movie trivia contest, which lasted almost five excruciating hours. It would have ended earlier had we set our alarm properly, which, for his sake would have been merciful since I totally decimated him. We played some kind of honor system trivia where we’d ask each other questions. Every correct answer scored a point and every wrong answer was a point for whoever asked the question.  I played the Hitchcock card and beat him into bloody submission with a series of questions he had hope of surviving. This is how a geek talks trash. Hey, I had to win something from this guy, for crying out loud. The sonuvabitch stole my girlfriend! Wait a second. It just occurred to me that the trivia contest came first. Oops. That certainly explains a few things.

Over the years, our mutual admiration society produced something more than just good times and some actual collaborations, including a comedy melodramatic play (LA RUE’S RETURN or HOW’S A BAYOU?), a screenplay (CITIZEN PLAIN) and our very own cable access TV program entitled TWEAK! The show was a twisted version of ENTERTAINMENT TONIGHT with me as me hosting as kind of an extension of my SIGHTS AND SOUNDS radio format. Though we produced only a few, we finally hit our stride on the last episode, filmed partially at the location of COOL HAND LUKE, the best movie ever shot in Stockton on a list that includes John Huston’s FAT CITY and Robert Rossen’s ALL THE KING’S MEN. Now known as Dentoni Park, the work farm in LUKE had sat on that very spot we were shooting and that connection to a classic somehow made TWEAK! truly work for the first time, which, unfortunately, had also been the last. Ironically enough, Dentoni Park was only a couple of blocks from where my wife lived before we got together and she didn’t even realize she had been that close to Paul Newman, even though it was years before she lived there. Okay fine. It’s important to me. Move along here.

Max and I always had a dream project that will probably never see the light of Day. The Hollywood Max Museum. Inside would be tributes to such famous Maxs as Max Von Sydow, Erich Von Stroheim as Max in SUNSET BOULEVARD, Max Schreck, Willem Dafoe as Max Schreck in SHADOW OF THE VAMPIRE, MAD MAX, Zero Mostel as Max Bialystock in THE PRODUCERS, the list is endless. Naturally, there would have to be a statue of Woody Allen and Tony Roberts, the initial inspirations for our namesakes.

But, greeting the visitors to the museum and performing shtick in a cheesy tuxedo would have to be my very best friend in all the world, Max. He is my partner, my collaborator, my brother. He keeps me grounded when things seem to be spinning out of control. He’s always there to listen. He’s always there to give his opinion. He’s always there to make me laugh. He’s always there. When that day inevitably comes when he’s gone, he’s still going to be there. That’s the kinda guy he is. And standing next to him at the entrance of the Hollywood Max Museum, wearing an equally cheesy tux will be his 

best friend Max and that would be me. 

You can’t split us up. We come as a set.

Copyright 2004 by Scott Cherney

That was then. This is now. There's a void in my life since Max left this world, but it's filled with the memories we had and the impact he had on me that I feel each and every day.

Happy birthday, Max. Love ya. Miss ya.

See also: LOVE YA, MAX

This production of LA RUE'S RETURN is available on DVD or streaming and is dedicated to my friend.

The New York Cherney Journey: Straight inta Brooklyn

I ate Brooklyn up with a spoon.

To ironically paraphrase Woody Allen in MANHATTAN, I romanticized Brooklyn all out of proportion. I was all over the moon when I found out that we were going to be staying-and therefore actually living-in the largest of New York’s five boroughs. Brooklyn has always held such a mystique for me and I’ve felt some sort of a dormant kinship, perhaps the pedigree it has turned out in American culture. In the Brooklyn Botanical Garden lies what they call The Celebrity Path, their version of the Hollywood Walk of Fame. Check out this list of famous Brooklynites right cher.

Must be the water. All I know is, I wanna be a part of it, Brooklyn, New York. (I am just paraphrasing my ass off here.)

Our hosts, Lindsay and Chris, live in the Park Slope neighborhood, an emerging community thanks to gentrification with all the fixings. They live on the third floor of a 150 year old building in an apartment that used to be three. That sounds impressively large, but the truth is that one of the apartments was barely a studio the size of a walk-in closet and is now the baby’s room. (No, the baby's not sleeping in a closet.) Add to this a staircase straight out of BAREFOOT IN THE PARK and you’ve got a de-luxe Park Slope apartment in the sky. With its historical ambiance and 21st livability, this was my idea of an ideal neighborhood. Everything is within walking distance and easy accessibility to the rest of the world. As we strolled block after block of beautiful old brownstones, I felt such a sense of belonging that I just soaked it all in like a sponge.

Of course I got off on the locals almost as much as I did as the surroundings. Laurie told me I had such delight on my face whenever I heard New Yawkers engaged in spirited dialogue. We passed a truck where some group was promoting healthy living or something and a guy thrust a peach in my hand proclaiming, “Fresh fruit Friday! Fresh fruit Friday! Stay healthy, my friend!” in the best Brooklyn accent ever. Two of NYPD’s finest strolled passed, tawking ‘bout “workin’ ovahtime”. The best was a mook who could’ve been the star of a Joe Pesci biopic in the midst of a major monologue in the street just below Lindsay’s apartment. “What am I…a fuckin’ operatin' engineer ovah heah? I was jus' workin' for this Jewish broad an’ she was bustin’ my bawls all ovah the place. I said, "Get outta my face, sistah!" Y’know, you wanna get yerself a union job, a union job. You wanna get yerself a union job. Nah, you don’t wanna do dat. Get a desk job, a desk job. Yeah, in the city. No, you don’t wanna drive. You take the subway, take the subway. Yeah, a union job in the city.” Then he got in his truck, pulled forward, hit the car in front of him, backed up, smacked the car behind him and sped off. Like I said, what a mook.

The day of what was known as The East Coast Earthquake showed Brooklynites in all their glory. I had gone in search of the Brooklyn Academy of Music (aka BAM) a performing arts center within walking distance (natch) of Lindsay and Chris’ apartment. In recent years, BAM has hosted some world-class stage productions such as Patrick Stewart in MACBETH. And Cate Blanchett in THE Australian stage production of A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE. My main focus was the cinema in this facility, something to occupy my time that afternoon. Crossing the street just before said facility as trucks were roaring past and, as it is the national pastime in New York, blaring their various horns at one another, I stepped inside the building to find a cluster of security guards all in a dither of some kind. “Did you feel the earthquake?” “Yeah, it like this big vibration!” Apparently, the earth moved for these blokes, but not for me. The street traffic must have masked it. If there had been a quake, I felt it might best to step outside of this not very modern building. One never knows what might have shaken loose. Once on the sidewalk, it seemed that all of Brooklyn had left their buildings as well. The streets were full of people all trying their cell phones to no avail. I serpentined my way through through on my way back to the apartment to check on my wife, daughter and granddaughter. As I did, I could hear, “Did you feel the earthquake?” “Yeah, it was like this big vibration!” A little further down the block, I heard the same thing. “Did you feel the earthquake?” “Yeah,it was like this big vibration!” Directly across from them at the mall where an even bigger stood, milling about in close proximity. “Did you feel the earthquake?” “Yeah, it was like this big vibration!” Jesus! I finally made it back to the apartment where all was well with my three girls. Lindsay had the TV turned to CNN which announced that a 5.9 earthquake, centered in Virginia had been felt all the way to Boston. Wolf Blitzer interviewed a man on the street in Manhattan who said “It was like this big vibration.”

Later I headed for my very first slice of New York pizza and, to perpetuate the cliche du jour even further, asked the owner if he had felt the quake. H e put it in proper Brooklyn perspective for me. “I didn’t feel nothin’. Everybody's gotta go sometime. When ya gotta go, ya gotta go.” Okay. Can I have my slice first?

Back at BAM by the end of the afternoon, I took in a screening of Woody Allen’s MIDNIGHT IN PARIS and couldn't have picked a more appropriate film. Woody’s love letter to Paris in all of its legendary glory coincided with my feelings toward Brooklyn since I landed. I too had paigns of nostalgia for this very special place, even though I had never set foot on its soil before. I wasn't lamenting or longing for another time, but instead, projecting ahead. Brooklyn was not only living up my expectations, it was transcending them. I had a real sense of belonging there. It's something I've always known in my heart. I think I've found a home away from home.

Yeah. I know. The reality outweighs the fantasy. This is a view of the world through vacation. goggles. I didn't have to struggle with living conditions, extreme weather or any of the other day-to-day consequences of actually living in either Brooklyn or just New York City itself on aregular basis. My point is that my impressions of this place have not only been met, but embraced by my consciousness. Heavy stuff? Sure. Look, I know I couldn't live there now. That ship has not only sailed, but docked in the the Brooklyn Naval Yard long ago. But it's nice to know that, at one time, I could have. Another time, but certainly not another place.

This realization doesn't make me sad at all., but rather put, then kept me in a good frame of mind the entire time. I suppose I just followed the sage advice of one of those street-wise Brooklynites I encountered for my own well-being:

"Stay healthy, my friend!"

Next up: Hello, My Coney Island Baby