My farewell to Netflix DVDs

Yes, the time has come to say so long. Cue Carol Burnett.

I made the plunge the other day. I cut back my Netflix account to streaming only. I can't justify the extra cost. Plus, I'm going to be busy getting married during the month of September.

I remember when my first batch of movies arrived in the mail back in 2005. I was recovering from surgery to remove a kidney stone. The upstairs air conditioning unit at my grandparents' house was low on Freon. My first discs were the first batch of "Upstairs Downstairs" episodes and "Eight Men Out." I can't for the life of me remember what the third disc was.

Somewhere along the way I dropped back to the one-out-at-a-time unlimited plan. I finally got the streaming option as part of that plan but I didn't use it much until earlier this year when Jennifer brought over the Wii she'd never taken out of the box. I didn't like watching movies on my laptop. I do like being able to stream them onto the TV set.

Tonight I watched what is probably my Netflix DVD swan song -- the documentary "Hey, Boo: Harper Lee and 'To Kill A Mockingbird.'" Great flick. Everybody from Tom Brokaw to Oprah Winfrey to Mary "Scout" Badham reads portions of the novel. Writers, actors, TV stars and even Harper Lee's 90-year-old sister take turns talking about the book and the film and what it all means. The director even unearthed an audio recording of the last interview Harper Lee gave, to a radio station, in 1964.

It's long been suggested that Lee isn't Scout. She's Boo Radley. And why not? If I had the cash and had produced such a fine work of art, I'd tell the world to leave me alone, too.

It also makes me wonder what's in the water down in Monroeville, Alabama. Harper Lee and Truman Capote grew up next door to one another. The guy who wrote "Crazy in Alabama" is from there, too.

It's funny. Browsing my Netflix queue, I see films I put on the list back in '05. Never got around to them. Yeah, I'll probably miss the occasional episodes of "Perry Mason." No, I don't think my life will be any poorer because I didn't make it down to "Danger Man."

I'm not happy about the price increase. But it's obvious that streaming video is the wave of the future. Netflix is pumping more money into it. They don't have to worry about the skyrocketing cost of postage. Plus, the streaming video feeds our modern desire for instant gratification.

I like old movies and documentaries. Streaming Netflix offers a plethora of both. Life goes on.

Still, I'll miss seeing those red envelopes in the mailbox. It was always nice to get something in the post besides a bill.

'Nashville' still worth a look

Got a hankering to watch an old favorite, Robert Altman's "Nashville," the other night.

So I dropped it into my Netflix queue and gave it a look. It has aged rather well.

"Nashville" is a brilliant mosaic of a movie. It weaves what at first looks like a big mess into a cohesive narrative that culminates with an infamous conclusion at Nashville's Parthenon. It is Altman's best film and a fine piece of art.

Ostensibly the film examines the country music industry, the rather nasty side of music superstardom, the difficulties of breaking into the business and the coincidental, almost casual, way that that our lives intertwine with others.

Real life Nashville didn't like the movie when it was released in 1975. They didn't like the music. They thought Altman was making fun of them. Altman thinks they were mad because he chose not to use their music in favor of letting the actors compose their own material. This was wise in a lot of ways, first and foremost because it adds an authenticity that otherwise wouldn't be there.

Henry Gibson is picture perfect as the aging star Haven Hamilton, something of a cross between Porter Wagoner and Ernest Tubb. Ronee Blakely, the best singer of the bunch, channels Loretta Lynn even better than Sissy Spacek would do five years later. Keith Carradine as the disgusting womanizer Tom Frank turns in not only a hell of a performance but also the best song of the film, Oscar-winner "I'm Easy."

And Lily Tomlin delivers a performance to remember as a gospel singer and mother caught in a difficult relationship with her husband, played to perfection by Ned Beatty. Her scenes are the most moving of the film, particularly the dinner table moment with her deaf son and the heartbreaking rendezvous with Tom Frank.

On and on I could mention the wonderful performances of the cast -- Keenan Wynn, Scott Glenn, Jeff Goldblum, Geraldine Chaplin (Charlie's daughter, in a hilarious role), Shelley Duvall, Timothy Brown (doing a dead-on Charley Pride), Karen Black, Barbara Harris -- even Julie Christie and Elliott Gould show up as themselves. One of the most moving characters in the film is Glenn's turn as the Army private with a puppy-love devotion to Blakely's Barbara Jean.

I'm not giving away anything by telling you that there is an assassination at the end of the film. Altman was asked by a reporter after John Lennon's 1980 murder if he felt responsible because of what he had to say about political-like assassinations of entertainers in this film. In an interview included on the special edition DVD, Altman says he told the reporter, "No, but maybe you (and others) should feel responsible because you didn't heed my warning."

The ending is still shocking every time I see it. In some ways, this movie is more relevant today than it was 35 years ago. If you haven't seen "Nashville" do so, and do so quickly. If you love good movie making and good storytelling, you'll love this film.

'Ellery Queen' is lost classic, lots of fun

Thanks to the greatness that is Netflix, I can rent some of these awesome TV series sets without breaking the bank.

Found out that an old favorite, the underappreciated “Ellery Queen” from the mid-1970s, has rolled out onto DVD. Culled it into my queue and watched the first disc over the weekend. Perfect fodder for a foggy night.

The gist of it is that Queen is a famous mystery writer (real books exist under that name, which is a nom de plume for two people) who helps his police detective father figure out fuzzy whodunits. Near the end of each episode, Ellery even breaks the fourth wall to ask the audience, “Do you know who the killer is?”

Jim Hutton (likeable later sidekick to John Wayne in several flicks) plays our hero. Veteran actor David Wayne plays his dad and even John “Jonathan Quayle Higgins” Hillerman shows up as a popular radio host. It’s a period piece set during 1947 and is a lot of fun. Well-known guest stars populate each episode.

It feels a lot like “Murder, She Wrote” sans Angela Lansbury and that’s so for good reason. “Ellery Queen” was developed by Richard Levinson and William Link, who later helped Peter S. Fischer create that classic. (They also created “Columbo” and “Mannix.”)

Don’t know why this one didn’t make it. It’s fun to try to outwit the detective and you’ve got to be awfully observant to do it.

Whatever the case, it’s worth a look, if you’re into this kind of thing.

The last innocent summer

So how pathetic is this?

I'm curled up in my recliner, wearing PJs at noon, watching "Dark Shadows" and eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I'm feeling better, but still not great, and so here I sit, watching this nonsense ("You can't kill me. I'm already dead!"), eating a kid's meal. After awhile, I'll turn the clan from Collinsport off and watch Justin Verlander and the Tigers stare down the Baltimore Orioles at Camden Yards.

Funny, but this is close to how I spent an entire summer, 15 years ago. Well, minus the migraines.

No, I didn't get headaches back then. Didn't really have a care in the world. That summer, the last innocent summer you might say, I slept late, read books, immersed myself in Dan Curtis's crazy dream each weekday morning at 11, and watched baseball in the balmy evenings.

Looking back, I guess it was a lonely summer, but it didn't feel that way then. I didn't have a point of reference to know any different.

I call it the last innocent summer, because soon after that I met this dark-haired girl, fell in love, and, well, life never has been quite the same.

But that summer, I cared about Fred McGriff coming over to Atlanta from Toronto. I lived and died with the Braves then, TBS, 7:35 p.m. Eastern, Skip and Pete, Don and Joe. Terry Pendleton at third. Dave Justice (damn him for taking Dale Murphy's place) in right, Marquis Grissom, Jeff Blauser, the Lemmer, Tom Glavine on the mound.

And, "Dark Shadows," my goodness. I knew more about Barnabas Collins than I did about the neighbors across the street. It's silly to think about now, the devotion that only a child can give to a TV show. Every now and then I'd get bored and watch a John Wayne western. "El Dorado," for about the 100th time. In the afternoons, I'd sit in the sun, and read books. I've forgotten what -- I'd graduated from the Hardy Boys by then -- but the titles are lost to time.

But the summer ended, as they always must. Then my dad sold his house, and I didn't get the Sci-Fi Channel and "Dark Shadows" anymore. I kept the Braves, but that fall I met that little dark-haired girl with the perfect teeth, and my priorities changed, probably for the worst.

Now I'm 15 years older, but still watching baseball, immersed again in "Dark Shadows" (thank you, Netflix), am madly in love with several dark-haired girls.

What is it they say about the more things change...?

'Mad Men' saves the day

Update: "Mad Men" has been nominated for several Emmy Awards, including Best Drama Series, a first for a basic cable TV series.

So, I don't have much to say tonight. Been sick the last couple of days. Somebody shoot me. This sucks.

But, I needed to duck in here for a few minutes. I miss writing. It's like breathing, or eating, something you do to survive. Such is my life.

The best part of the last two days -- other than spending an hour with the gentle soul that is Roy Mullins for an interview -- has been getting to watch an episode or two of the finest program currently on television, Matthew Weiner's "Mad Men." If you haven't seen this A-No.1 piece of entertainment yet, put it at the top of your Netflix queue, run don't walk to your local DVD retailer or be in front of a TV when the show rolls out its second season later this month on AMC. This is good stuff -- no really.

I feel too poorly to look up the show's details, but "Mad Men" focuses on a group of hot-shot advertising executives at a Madison Avenue firm (hence "Mad Men") in the early 1960s. In many ways the show is a male fantasy. It's set in the politically incorrect, sexist Manhattan of 1960 -- pre-women's lib -- when secretaries were objects of lust, philandering was almost required, and everybody drank like fishes and smoked like a sieve.

But, it's more than that. At its best, "Mad Men" shows the stifling frustration of such a life for its female characters. It shows the duplicity, and unhappiness, of many of its leads. And, frankly, it's just a well-acted, well-written show, a novel trait itself in this vast wasteland of reality series and game shows.

OK, that's enough for now. I think I'm going to turn in early. Thanks for listening. I've missed talking to you.

God, I need something for this headache. Oh, well. Goodnight.

Season 2 of "Mad Men" begins Sunday, July 27, on AMC.

Return to Collinwood

Well, now that I’m a broke homeowner, I have to get creative when it comes to frivolous purchases. The days of reckless surfing at Amazon.com are long gone.

Makes me glad I discovered Netflix a few years ago. For a nominal monthly fee, one gets to pick from a wide catalog of DVDs for rental, which can be kept as long as it takes to watch them. They come straight to your door and the best part is you don’t have to deal with clueless clerks.

Recently I’ve caught back up with an old favorite, the campy late ’60s TV sudster "Dark Shadows." I rented a few episodes of the cult classic a couple of years ago, but the DVDs kept arriving at my house in pieces. I tried again this month. So far, so good.

For the uninitiated, "Dark Shadows" was a popular daytime drama on ABC from 1966-71. Unlike the traditional soap opera, though, "Shadows" focused on the supernatural, specifically the saga of guilt-ridden vampire Barnabas Collins.

In its day, the show garnered nearly 20 million viewers a day -- mostly teenagers running home from school to catch the show at 4 p.m. -- and became a rare hit for ABC’s then-struggling daytime programming. It’s definitely silly, somewhat campy, but always entertaining.

A couple of weekends ago, I lit a fire on a bitterly cold Saturday night and returned to Collinwood for a couple of hours. What a hoot it was.

I first became aware of the show in the early 1990s, when NBC briefly revived "Shadows" as a primetime drama. Soon after, the fledgling Sci-Fi Channel began airing two episodes weekdays. I was hooked.

The show (sadly) took up a big part of my early teenage years. I collected memorabilia, joined the fan club, even contemplated traveling to New York for one of the fan conventions. As it was, though, I remained content to spend an hour with the Collins clan each weekday morning at 11, or taped them on my dad’s VCR to watch after school.

What’s enduring about it now is the bloopers that are inevitably part of most episodes. Back in the mid-60s, daytime television was a low budget affair. The show was videotaped, but for all practical purposes was taped live, in that the entire 30 minute show was recorded in one take. So you get to see actors flub lines, boom mics (and even cameras!) pop into the shot and sets fall to pieces right before your eyes.

But for its day, "Dark Shadows" boasted a talented cast, good writing and innovative special effects. There’s never been anything like it on TV before or since.

If this East Tennessee rain keeps up tonight, I may have to curl up with Barnabas and friends for a few hours tonight after work.

Cue the dramatic music and turn on the fog machine. We’re going back to Collinwood!

Walk of life

Didn't make it up in time to work out this morning. Stayed up too late doing research for a column and watching reruns of "The Six Million Dollar Man." (Don't ask.)

So, about 6:30 tonight, I took a break from work and pointed the Xterra in the direction of the Halls Greenway. If you're looking for a place to walk -- and you live out here in God's country -- consider this trail. You can get to it at either the library, the Food City parking lot or the Halls Community Park.

It's a fun little jaunt. In the mornings I watch the sun come up over the horizon and look out for any critters that might be stirring early. Tonight I grin at all the girls and smile at the little kids practicing football in the park.

Most folks say hello; some smile or nod. I usually walk about 30 minutes at a brisk enough pace to break a good sweat. It beats plopping down in front of the TV like a beached whale.

Seems like since I started walking again I have more energy than Mary Lou Horner. (OK, not quite that much.)

Tonight after work I plan to spend a couple of hours with the 1950s version of "A Farewell to Arms." I ordered it from Netflix.

I hope I'm not as disappointed with this one like I was after screening the melodramatic Gary Cooper/Helen Hayes original. This is one of my favorite novels; it deserves a better film treatment.

Still, I know it isn't going to be half as good as the Horton Foote-scripted 1962 film adaptation of "To Kill A Mockingbird," which I've been reading this week as part of the Library's "Big Read."

Sigh. I may just watch that one instead.