The two get married.  This greatly annoys Ustinov’s co-worker, played by Bob Newhart, his rival for the secretary’s affections.  Meanwhile, the embezzler is jetting around the continent setting up dummy branches of the corporation from which he surreptitiously collects great sums of money.  He’s eventually found out, but his now pregnant wife, who had more smarts than any of them had given her credit for, finds an interesting and mutually-agreeable solution.  

That surface description may not sound very interesting, but I found myself drawn in via the quirky relationship between Peter Ustinov and Maggie Smith.  Karl Malden plays Ustinov’s pill-popping boss.  Cesar Romero has a small role as a Brazilian customs inspector.  So disgusted is he to find a can of instant coffee in Malden’s luggage–instant coffee in Brazil!–that he makes him empty the can into the waste basket.  

If you want to see a comedy that takes its time, building to a completely logical climax; one that remains completely believable while poking gentle fun at human foibles and failings, you’ll like Hot Millions.

Facts I learned from the documentary accompanying this DVD set include:

 **If the famous Tarzan yell (that is to say, the most famous version of the yell) was the product of mixing of various sounds in the studio and not Weismueller’s own creation, he learned to mimic it perfectly.   As witnesses testified, in later life he would cheerfully give out with it anywhere, anytime, note perfect. 
 
**Contrary to what many believe, Edgar Rice Burroughs actually liked the MGM Tarzan movies and Weismueller’s performance.  He’d been seeing his creation on the screen for a decade-and-a-half in silent films.  They rarely got it right.  The MGM people determined therefore to merely use the character and not try to adapt Burrough’s Tarzan stories.  The arrangement not only pleased Tarzan’s creator, it also made him a lot of money.  
 
**The famous/infamous nude swimming scene in Tarzan and His Mate was inspired by a similar scene in another picture with Joel MacCrae and Delores Del Rio.  Tarzan and Jane’s skinny-dip (actually, it was only Jane’s; Tarz kept his loin cloth on) played intact to audiences in pre-selected (more broad-minded?) sections of the country.  By 1934, however, the Hays office had more teeth and they clamped down, removing the scene from the film until it was restored in the late 1980s.   Maureen O’Sullivan bowed out of this scene in favor of another female swimmer–not because she didn’t wish to appear on camera nude, but she was severely claustrophobic.  She could swim but, for her, an extended underwater scene was right out!     
 
**Thinking the story possibilities in their relationship had run their course, the producers wanted to kill off Jane in Tarzan’s Secret Treasure.  Two endings were filmed, one in which Jane dies from a spear wound, the other in which she revives.  Test audiences reacted quite negatively to the former ending, so…Tarzan kept his mate. 
 
The third in the series, Tarzan Escapes, was completely filmed but the producers felt it so lacking, they rewrote and reshot the whole thing.  It did well, though the added cost of refilming severely reduced profits.   Lost, apparently for good, however, is a sequence I’d really like to see:  Tarzan and company wading through a quicksand-laced swamp, attacked by giant vampire bats. 

If you’re looking for great entertainment for the whole family, pop up some corn, and slip in Johnny Weismueller.  See if, next day, your kids aren’t swinging in the trees in the backyard, giving out with Tarzan yells!

 Having slipped the bottom half of the suit on underneath my Clark Kent trousers, I needed help getting into the upper portion.  Thankfully, Bobby Delaney, who played Leftover Louie’s pal Buckets, helped me zip up the back.  That wasn’t as easy as it sounds.  In spite of being of more recent vintage, the costume had been much worn and the ol’ gray zipper wasn’t what she used to be.   Further, the cape, which required buttoning to the costume’s shoulders, neither buttoned easily nor stayed buttoned.   There was also a rather silly looking belt which buttoned in back and sported an S-shield for a faux buckle.  If one cared to, one could push a button and get the thing to blink on and off.  I didn’t think this feature would distinguish my portrayal in the annals of Superman, so I didn’t blink.  The boots weren’t real boots.  They were sole-less slip-ons with an elastic strap that ran beneath my shoes. 

It was a chore to get into and out of, the “into” part further burdened by time-pressure.  Once I left the stage as Clark Kent for the last time, I had approximately 5 minutes to doff coat, tie, and shirt, shuck off my pants, and get my super on.  Yet, I must say that, in full costume, even this 54-year-old champion of the receding (albeit dyed) hairline looked impressive.   

I was sorry that script cuts and lack of proper (and expensive) equipment severely reduced my  super-powers.   I just had to write it off as the debilitating effect of Kryptonite C (“Community Theatre”), give the few feats of strength to my hillbilly counterpart, Sylvester, and go on with the show.  It was late in the show, too, before Superman appeared.   Nevertheless, the old Gaelic saying is true:  “Hunger is the best sauce.”  By the time I strode fast and determined through the door of Airman Steve’s radio shack in search of the pie thief, each of our audiences was primed and ready.   Superman had arrived! 

It’s hard, now, for me to describe the precise reaction to my entrances.  It seemed a mixture of awe and…pshaw!  There were a few children, but the audiences were mostly composed of adults, many of them seniors.  I didn’t get a lot of feedback after each performance (I was usually in a hurry to get out of my rig and back into street clothes), but, if I’m not merely flattering myself to say so, these folks reacted mostly with delight.   It doesn’t surprise me, though.  When you’re finally through growing up, you can let yourself grow back down.  To paraphrase the apostle Paul, “When I became a man, I put away childish things.  When I became an old man, I enjoyed childish things.” 

So on we flew through three performances to three packed houses.  When we wrapped late Sunday afternoon, March 30, I thought my long career as Superman, had at last come to an end. 

Famous last words.  Little did I know, the adventure wasn’t over yet.

How do we stay put in such situations?  When every inclination is to cut and run, where do we find the power to stick it out?  First and foremost, we must commit ourselves to taking time.  If you want to know how to have a long marriage, if you want to know the benefits of staying together, don’t go to your buddies who’ve bailed out.  Go talk to the little old couple you see feeding pigeons in the park.  Friends, anybody who thinks young married people had it easier sixty years ago—no money problems, no mental illness, no adultery—has another think coming.   We’ve just made it easier to get out.  In the old days, the societal pressure was to stay married.   Today, it’s the exact opposite.

Regardless of the pressures, however, the idea of commitment is meaningless without time. It’s hard  for our generation to grasp this.   We’ve obliterated time with our streak-of-lightning cars and broadband computers, with fast food and fast tracks to success, with wall-to-wall entertainment and incessant electronic communication.  (You want to drive watch some people go nuts?  Take away their cell phones.  I mean while they’re driving! ) We’ve outlawed boredom and rejected pain.

I’m about to say something that some will misunderstand, but I can’t avoid it.  I’m not being ironic or trying to be clever.  I’m tellin you the simple truth.  You want to find out the real worth of commitment, the real benefit of staying put, sticking it out, and standing pat?  Only time will tell.

Starting is one thing.  Finishing is another.  I’ve known people who got all excited about Jesus.  Jesus was just all right with them! They were on fire.  Every time the church doors opened, they were there.  They couldn’t do enough for God.  Then, just as quickly as they ignited, they fizzled. 

I’ve seen others go much longer, going deep into Christian service, becoming pastors, missionaries, elders, deacons, teachers…only to fade away.  We call it “burnout.”  Burnout is a subject in itself.  I can’t say much about it here, except that the symptoms are real and, if we stay in the church long enough, we’ll probably all experience those symptoms.  If God gives me breath, in October I’ll celebrate 30 years as a public minister.  If I said there were times when I didn’t want to quit, I’d be lying. 

But burnout can be dealt with.  It must be dealt with because the life Jesus offers is…for life.  He’s talking to all of us, public ministers and private Christians alike, when He says, If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it  Luke 9:23-24. 

Jesus isn’t a tour guide.  He’s not here to show us a number of interesting sites before we go back to the hotel.  He’s not leading us to the Next Big Thing—a new kind of music, a thrilling convention, a short-term mission trip, a new church.  He’s leading us to a cross, a grave, and a resurrected life.  These don’t follow in sequence; they’re not stair steps.  We’ll meet them over and over again.  Because of that, it may sometimes seem like we’re not making any progress.  It’s a journey.   If we follow Christ, His path must and will become our lives.  

That’s our commitment, then, not just to get here Sunday mornings, not just to be baptized, not just to send money to missionaries, not to become elders or teachers, but to live the rest of our lives for Him.

Oh, sorry.   Actually, it was The Old Time Radio Show, plus bonus feature Flight to the North.  I keep forgetting.   We opened at the X-Act Theatre in Xenia on March 28, 2010.  Response was very good.  We played to a packed house Friday and Saturday evening and Sunday afternoon.  Afterwards, we lamented the fact that we hadn’t opened on Thursday.  But, of course, nobody had foreseen the splash this show would make.    

X-Act director Cathy Bengson opened the proceedings with an impromptu radio quiz.   “I’m looking for the character:  ‘Get ‘em up, Scout!’  I’m looking for the program:  ‘Just the facts, ma’am.’”  (If you’re under fifty, you probably need the answers–Tonto and Dragnet).  Through that portal, the crowd, which seemed each time to consist mostly of “seasoned” citizens, happily returned to the world of the Bickersons, Fibber McGee, and Burns and Allen.   

After an intermission, Cathy returned to the stage to introduce FTN.  You know, though, by that time I was invariably so keyed up, so anxious to get going, I barely remember now what she said.  I do recall her cueing us with, “It’s a bird!  It’s a plane!  It’s…” and the crowd’s enthusiastic reply, “SUPERMAN!” 

I enjoyed the radio show.  I really did.  But, in all humility, friends, I think FTN had the edge.  We didn’t simply stand and read scripts but we got on that there floor and we shook it, baby!  There was action, surprise, and humor.   Nobody knew what to expect from FTN, and they got more than their money’s worth.   

The tip-off that something out of the mundane was afoot came with the entrance of our mule, Lily Belle.  Actually, it was Sylvester J. Superman’s entrance, but when the audience saw what he was leading, a tall two-legged pack animal, its body draped in robe of gray velour, its long, absurd face presiding from above, they got tickled.  When she later appeared in Airman Steve’s ice-covered radio shack wearing a woolen scarf and socks over her ears, they loved it.   

The man beneath the mule mask was Glen Bengson, Cathy’s husband.  He had no lines, of course.  He showed up for very few rehearsals.  He didn’t have to worry about blocking because Greg Delaney literally led him from place to place.  Most of the time, he just stood there.  And in so doing he became the most beloved character in the show!    

And our hero, Superman?  How did he fare before the crowd?   Don’t miss the next thrill-packed episode!

It all started in November, 2006.  I was preaching a message on the blood of Christ.  Somewhere along the way, to illustrate Jesus’ sacrifice, I began recounting the LWW tale from the pulpit.  If you’re familiar with the story, you know how the great lion Aslan gives his life to save the traitorous Edmund.   As I was getting to that part, a woman got up and left the room.  From his peculiar vantage point, it’s hard for the preacher to miss anybody’s departure, just as it is for anyone sitting behind where the departing sat.  Still, I didn’t think much of it at the time.   I’d long made peace with the knowledge I can”t hold people so spellbound they forget their need to go to the bathroom.  Sigh.  Little did I know this shooting up and out the door was the first shot fired in a battle that would ultimately put me out of a job and split my congregation. 

It’s a long story with many a twist and turn, nothing I really want to go into here.  It actually seemed to get better before it took that last nasty turn for the worse.  One thing I learned from the long, horrible experience, though, is some Christians have no use for fantasy.   It was during my exile that I wrote this piece, “Faith and the Fairy Tale.” 

http://www.breakpoint.org/component/content/article/71-features/1552-faith-and-the-fairy-tale

To give them some idea of how this thing should be played, I showed the actors a DVD of the original episode.  That didn’t keep them from putting their own spin on the characters.  I was delighted with the little variations, such as Greg’s delivery of Sylvester’s line, “He just jumped in the air…and kept on goin’!”  Del not only gave his Louie a cigar to smoke, but a line to go with it:  “One of these days, I’m gonna light this thing.”  And Mike, who displayed great comic timing as Steve, added a hilarious “shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits” flourish to his morse code message. 

As for Superman?  Well, shucks, folks, that was me, of course.  From the start, I’d wondered whether I should wear the costume I’d had for years or try something new.  Since the old suit was starting to show wear and tear, I decided to go with a new number.   I went to a costume shop in Jamestown, OH, and rented not only a different set of reds-and-blues, but Lily Belle’s head. The costume was fashioned in the style Brandon Routh wore in Superman Returns.  The blues and reds were darker, the S-shield protruding slightly from the chest.  In contrast to the costume I’d originally worn, muscle padding was sewn into the torso and sleeves.  The cape, which buttoned to the shoulders, was dark and heavy.  I called this ensemble my suit of armor.  No way could I wear the top half of this thing beneath my Clark Kent clothes.  It wasn’t the Superman I grew up with, but, I had to admit, the full garb was impressive.  

Although the play (some called it a “skit,” which rankled a bit) was a shade over twenty minutes long, it required extensive blocking and intense rehearsals.  Along the way, we had to come up with special props like a piano for Sylvester to lift and carry and an iron bar for him to bend.  We needed wind and snow and, since our Supes couldn’t fly on stage, he sure as heck needed to ”whoosh” off.   Here, we got invaluable help and support from our tech man, Harry “I Love a Challenge” Woolsey.   Much more than a sound-and-lights man, Harry delighted in finding sound effects and constructing props for us.  Further, he helped this novice director solve blocking problems with ease. Take it from Superman, friends; no stage production should be without a Harry Woolsey.

To be continued.  

 Atheists felt betrayed; Catholics were elated.  Many Protestants, while harboring doubts and fears regarding Roman Catholicism, rejoiced just the same.  After all, these days, any celebrity’s conversion or return to Christianity is a real shot in the arm.  She caused quite a stir then. 

And she’s causing quite a stir now.  Recently, Rice posted a note on Facebook to the effect that, while she was still a follower of Christ, she could no longer align herself with “Christianity,” i.e., the Roman Catholic Church.   Among her chief reasons were the church’s teaching on homosexuality and its exclusion of women from leadership.   I haven’t looked at her FB page, but I tend to think it’s fairly burning with hate messages–which, if it were me, would only fuel my feet for fleeing.  

I don’t know how it is in the Catholic Church, not from experience.  I’ve spent my whole life in a Protestant “un-denomination,” the independent Christian Churches and Churches of Christ.  But I know how it is in church.  Sometimes…sigh…it leaves a lot to be desired.   For those of you who might be wondering at this point, I believe homosexual acts are sinful and I’m not in favor of women preachers.   Nevertheless, in our desire to get the truth out there, we too often generate more heat than light.  My guess is it’s this inflexible zealotry that Ms. Rice is most concerned with and repulsed by. 

She strikes me as an intelligent, thoughtful woman with a keen eye for history.   I’m sure she’s discovered from her long research how, in the “dark ages,” when there was no church but the Catholic Church, when corruption and anti-Christ-likness was rife, there were still lights here and there–monks and mystics and mendicants that bloomed where they were planted, bringing glory to Jesus without leaving the flock.   Perhaps she’ll rethink her position along those lines. 

In any event, I know how hard life can be.  I know the sadness it wrings from the most hardy in faith and committed to Christ’s church.  I hope and pray Ann Rice will find the healing she needs, the healing we all need. 

Mark Driscoll has a well-balanced response to Ms. Rice at  http://newsweek.washingtonpost.com/onfaith/panelists/mark_driscoll/2010/08/a_pastoral_response_to_ann_rice_quitting_christianity.html

Gary Robinson?  I don’t remember anybody by that name playing Superman!  

As a matter of fact, I’m more than a little surprised myself!   In my book, Superman On Earth:  Reflections of a Fan, I tell the true story of a little boy who grew up wanting to be Superman.  I chronicle how I achieved that goal–sort of.   I tell of wearing the colors of the Man of Steel on and off stage.  The book ends with me thinking I’d not only put such performances behind me but the desire as well. 

Looks like I’m going to have to write a sequel.  For, as we all know, Superman doesn’t die easily, nor does the dream.  Since I wrote SoE, I’ve been fortunate to play the character not once but twice.  Just when I was thinking I was too old to slip into those tights again, just when I was ready to pass the mantle onto a Superman Junior, whoever and wherever he might be, I heard the siren call of the Kryptonian once more.   And I couldn’t resist.  

It all started, or, I should say resumed not long after I got involved in Xenia’s community theatre.  Early this year, I was in Crimes of the Heart.  A co-player, Cathy Bengson, who also happened to be an X-Act mover and shaker, was telling me about something they had planned for the spring, The Old Time Radio Show.   I don’t remember the precise route my thoughts travelled, or even why I mentioned it then, but I told Cathy about the stage adaptation I’d done of an old Adventures of Superman episode, “Flight to the North.”   I asked if she thought it might be possible to do it on the X-Act stage.  I half-expected her to say, “Who knows?” or something; you know, dismiss the idea in a polite way.   Instead, she was intrigued.  She asked to see the script.  I brought it to her, she read it, and liked it.  She said she’d talk to the Powers That Be to see if anyone had any objection to FTN being added as a bonus feature to the Radio show.   Evidently, nobody did because that’s exactly what happened. 

If performed as written, the script I gave Cathy would’ve run 25 minutes or so.   She asked if I could cut it to about 20 minutes.  My mild frustration at having to cut was offset by my wild desire to see this thing fly onstage once more.  So I clipped a line here, compressed a scene there, and, without too much trouble, complied.   All along, she seemed to assume that I’d direct.  I wasn’t nearly so anxious to do that as I was to play the Man of Steel once more.   If Cathy questioned the wisdom of a 54 year old man man-in-tights, she kept it to herself.  

Of course, we had to assemble a cast.  I managed to recruit three people from my church.  X-Act board member, Cheryl Dern, helped me fill the list.  We began rehearsing late in February.   

To be continued.