atkinreport.com

He smokes. He undresses down to his skivvies. He even does a little jig. It’s Mikhail Baryshnikov as you never really seen the legendary dancer, starring in the play “In Paris,” which just opened for a short run at the Broad Stage in Santa Monica.

A sold-out opening-night crowd was on hand to see the ultra-fit, ruggedly handsome actor in a groundbreaking play based on a Russian short story by Pulitzer Prize winner Ivan Bunin.

Those expecting a traditional theatrical experience were in for a delightful surprise. First, the play is performed in French and in Russian – and although those languages were heard amongst the guests at the pre-show cocktail party, naturally, most of the audience was English-speaking. Problem solved, beautifully, with innovative “supertitles” that scrolled over the stage, the actors, the props, a large screen and often times, smaller handheld screens.

It took a bit of adjustment, but it turned out to be an experience that enhanced the drama.

“In Paris,” directed by Dmitry Krymov, tells the story of two Russian immigrants whose lives intersect in the City of Lights during the 1930s. Baryshnikov is a former general, impeccably dressed and well-mannered, who happens into a neighborhood café and meets the winsome waitress played by actress Anna Sinyakina, whose husband is away at war in Yugoslavia.

At this point, we already know that Baryshnikov’s character is divorced and that his young wife left him for a much younger and presumably wealthier Greek in Constantinople, that he’s on his own in Paris and quite lonely.

Sparks start slowly, and then they fly.  We won’t issue any spoilers on the story, which is brought to life in multiple locations by innovative props on a stage that spins, another metaphor for what’s occurring in the lives of the two main characters.

But “In Paris” isn’t all serious and intense. Laughter ensues many times during the performance—which runs 1:20 without an intermission—particularly during some of Baryshnikov’s bits getting dressed, or undressed.

There are also a few supporting characters as well as a Greek chorus of sorts that provides musical commentary to what’s going on. And then there is the mouse….nothing like Disney’s version.

Baryshnikov is also a producer of the play and invested about a quarter of a million dollars in it, raising a like amount from a Russian friend to mount the production, which had its world premiere in Helsinki last August. He describes it as a personal project done out of love. Baryshnikov’s father was a lieutenant colonel and he has said he drew inspiration for his character from unhappy memories of his father’s military mannerisms.

In the play, Baryshnikov speaks Russian onstage for the first time in his career. “He was not a very pleasant man,” he said of his father to the New York Times. “I did not have the happiest of childhoods. His mannerisms, his military habits, I put them in my interpretation.”

As one of the world’s greatest ballet dancers, Baryshnikov defected to the United States in 1974 and soon also achieved fame on screen. He garnered a Best Supporting Actor Oscar nomination for his 1977 role in the brilliant ballet film The Turning Point. In 1989, he appeared on Broadway in an adaptation of Kafka’s Metamorphosis; and recently played on his formidable reputation as an “artiste” by indelibly depicting a self-absorbed Russian artist in the popular HBO series Sex and the City as Carrie’s international Prince Charming, who turned out to be anything but.  

In this venue, his romantic interest is Anna Sinyakina. With her soulful beauty and graceful presence, not to mention some unexpected costume changes and some thrilling acrobatics, she brings a poignant resonance to their love story.  

“In Paris” runs through April 21 with evening shows and weekend matinees. Tickets range from $65-$135.

If you miss it in Los Angeles, additional tour dates include: Berkeley Repertory Theatre, April 25-May 13, 2012; Spoleto Festival, Italy, June 30-July 1, 2012; and Lincoln Center Festival, NY, August 1-August 5, 2012.

 (Performance photos courtesy Angela Weiss/WireImage)

The Broad Stage, 1310 11^th Street, Santa Monica, (310) 434-3200 www.TheBroadStage.com.

The opportunity to have a lengthy sit-down with one of comedy’s master directors was something I couldn’t turn down. It was 2004, and Blake Edwards was about to receive an honorary Oscar–his first. In tribute to his recent passing, here’s a look back:

Perhaps Julie Andrews has the best line on Blake Edwards, her husband of nearly 35 years. “He’s like Mel Brooks and so many writers of his era or genre. He pushes boundaries one step further than most people,” says the legendary star of stage and screen. “He’s one of the few triple threat talents, a director- writer-producer who has done everything from marvelous comedies to musicals to dramas to tense thrillers, and all of them so beautifully shot and edited.”

Sunday night at the Kodak Theater, the triple threat Edwards will take the stage to receive this year’s honorary Oscar, his first Academy Award in a film career that began with 1947’s “Panhandle”—a low-budget Western in which he co-wrote, produced, directed and starred—and goes on to include such classics as “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” “Days of Wine and Roses,” “The Pink Panther” films, “10,” “Victor/Victoria” and “S.O.B.”

“It’s great, obviously,” Edwards said in a rare, wide-ranging interview. “It’s just wonderful after all this time that I can be acknowledged.” In more than five decades, he has directed 49 films, many of which he wrote and produced, pictures that have grossed more than $1.5 billion at the boxoffice.

Yet he’s known for often bucking the system, and once became so disenchanted with Hollywood that he and his family decamped to Europe for five years in the 1970s. “I was enough of a smart ass to ruffle some feathers,” he admits. “I’ve been a big critic of the film business, the people who run it, the ethics and enemies may have shot me down. But I knew if I complained too much it would hurt my work and my life. So I laid back and took things as they came.”

Colleagues agree this particular honor, coming on top of an extensive list of other awards, is long overdue. “It sounds like a cliché but I think he is incredibly deserving of it,” says Tony Adams, who produced many of the Pink Panther films with Edwards. “Because of his great success in last 15-20 years, people overlook the full perspective or even the seriousness of many of his comedies. He’s made trademarks in every era that have been that really set trends for the eras that follow.”

“His movies will go on forever and make us laugh and feel good. I’ve never  spent an evening around Blake and not had some of the best times of my life,” says Burt Reynolds, who starred with Julie Andrews and Kim Basinger in 1983’s “The Man Who Loved Women.” “His friendship, camaraderie, and his sense of humor is thrilling. You never get the feeling he doesn’t want to listen to you. He has a childlike curiosity about people. He tells a story. His eyes light up. You think he’s telling it for the first time.”

Story is what it all comes down to for Edwards. He considers himself first and foremost a writer. “I started writing and certain things happened that led me into a writing career. Fortunately it was a good career. Things happened nicely,” he says, reflecting on his early days in radio, television and film, and when he began acting after a stint in the Coast Guard during World War II.

He came into the world as a third generation member of a showbiz family. Grandfather J. Gordon Edwards was a prominent silent era director who helmed 24 of Theda Bara’s films, including 1917’s “Cleopatra.” His father, Jack McEdward, was a top production manager and his mother, Lillian, was active in motion picture charities and Hollywood social activities.

Early in his career, after he decided he didn’t want to be an actor, Edwards created the popular radio series “Richard Diamond: Private Detective.” “I went from one job to another and was able to be more choosy,” he says. “I was good and facile, and it eventually led back into film.” He soon teamed with director Richard Quine, for whom he wrote seven films. “It was sort of like Billy Wilder and I.A.L. Diamond on the cheap side.”  Edwards considers 1956’s “Mister Cory,” starring Tony Curtis, his first film of any consequence. 

Several years later he moved to the small screen, creating the highly stylized, film noirish series “Peter Gunn,” which ran from 1958-1961 on NBC and then ABC and formed the basis for a later film and a TV movie. “It was just a very original TV show that created a whole style of its own in terms of its jazz score. I just had a lovely time and enjoyed myself every minute of the day.” It was with “Gunn” and then the gambling-themed series “Mr. Lucky,” that Edwards forged his legendary collaboration with Henry Mancini.

“Blake launched Henry Mancini’s career,” says Adams. ”They had a string of successes that is pretty staggering when you look at Henry’s Oscar nominations and wins–such a disproportionate amount are with Blake. Their conversations were so short it would scare most people. Blake trusted someone he respected. That’s a big hallmark of his success.  He didn’t tell Henry how to write a score. They had a general conversation, and Henry went and did it.”

Mancini won two Oscars for 1961’s “Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” and its star Audrey Hepburn received a nomination for best actress. “I was lucky to direct that film,” Edwards says. “Audrey Hepburn was beautiful and gracious and lovely and I adored her and had one of the best female star relationships I’ve ever had.”

He feels similarly about his stars in “Days of Wine and Roses” (1963), Lee Remick and Jack Lemmon. “I’ve been very lucky where my women are concerned,” remarks Edwards. “I was once asked if I had a choice of working with only one actor, and I said it would be Jack Lemmon. I have since modified that to include John Ritter.”

In 1964, Edwards introduced the bumbling Inspector Clouseau to the world in “The Pink Panther,” and established himself as a modern day master of slapstick and sight gags. It spawned a series of successful films that made Peter Sellers an international star. “It was the best and worst of times,” Edwards recalls. “He was certifiably crazy, but there were times he just a delight.” 

He remembers an incident where they had a big disagreement on the set and Sellers called him at midnight saying: “It’s Peter. Don’t worry about that scene, I just spoke with God and he told me how it should be done.” The next day,  Sellers came up to him after the scene with a big smile. With the trademark Edwards humor, the director said: “Do me a favor, Peter, next time you talk to God, tell her to stay out of show business.”

“He is devastatingly funny, but like all writers, there’s a dark side to him as well,” Andrews notes. “In his earliest years, whatever was troubling or difficult he manage to overcome and transcend by using his humor. Although at times things can look bleak, the humor always mercifully returns. He’s often said it saved him.”

After the fun, carefree spirit and major success of his comedies, Edwards flopped with the first film he did with Andrews, “Darling Lili (1969), a World War I musical. Still, she says making the film was a delight, with marvelous locations in Paris, Brussels and Ireland during a glorious summer.

The couple first met in a milieu that could be straight from a Blake Edwards screenplay—in the median strip of Sunset Blvd. at Roxbury in Beverly Hills. It happened by chance four or five times when each was on their way to a doctor’s appointment before Edwards called Andrews for a meeting on “Darling Lili.” The couple married in 1969, the second time to the altar for each.

“Fortunately I’m married to an enormously bright, strong woman and (when we got married) we made a deal that we’d take it a day at a time,” Edwards says. “We didn’t think it would last.”  Being married has sometimes put a strain on their working relationship in seven films and the Broadway version of “Victor/Victoria.” “I love working with him because it’s so easy, but I’m terrified of not cutting the mustard for him,” Andrews admits. “So far, thank god, it doesn’t seem to have happened very often.” She credits her husband with inspiring and encouraging her to write children’s books, of which there are 11 under the authorship of Julie Edwards.

Bo Derek knew of Edwards’ genius for comedy when she read the script of the seminal film “10” (1979). After an extensive search, she was cast during her first meeting with Edwards and Tony Adams in a role which made her an icon of beauty and desirability.  “Blake knew what he wanted and talked to me and felt he could get what he wanted out of me. The part was very visual. Those were the days when directors didn’t read people ten times,” says Derek. “Blake treated me so well, I was spoiled forever.”

Edwards is still pondering a sequel to “10.” He’s recently finished a play called “Scapegoat,” and is spending much of his time now working to bring “The Pink Panther” to Broadway.

Andrews has the last word, as only a spouse often can: “He’s hugely charismatic and mercurial and I think the young Blake Edwards was much angrier, much more ready for confrontation. As years have gone by, he’s put a lot of that to bed and his craft has gotten better and better.”

It was just a few hours after the stunning announcement that the Beverly Hills Police Department had in essence solved the murder of Ronni Chasen, a case that has riveted Southern California and particularly the entertainment industry.

Since she was gunned down in the early morning hours of November 16, the case has taken many fallacious twists and turns promulgated by people who probably shouldn’t have been speaking about it–but who wanted the airtime.

I had the opportunity to have a candid one-on-one with a Beverly Hills police officer, hoping to get some inside scoop or a least some insight into what happened.  Just a week before, the department had distanced the case from the gunshot suicide of a transient with a long rap sheet in a seedy Hollywood residential motel–calling Harold Martin Smith a person of interest and not even a suspect, as LAPD did. 

There even surfaced doubts—huge ones, at that–about whether Smith was involved at all, or was just a crazy laying claim to the killing, as often happens in high-profile cases. Until Wednesday afternoon, when BHPD, breaking its weeks-long silence on one of the few murders in its gilded jurisdiction, announced it was bullets from the same gun that killed Chasen, that Smith was on a bicycle, and that it was a robbery attempt gone awry. What?

First, the veteran officer, who’s going to be left unnamed for several obvious reasons, bragged about how great the department was, and that they solved the crime within a few short weeks. Obviously overlooking the fact that it was a tipster to the Fox show “America’s Most Wanted” that provided the crucial piece of the puzzle, not any great police detective work. More on that in a minute.

I questioned how weird it was that someone would be biking down Sunset Boulevard late at night—in all my thousands of trips down Sunset, I have never once seen a bicyclist, probably because the road is so intrinsically dangerous through the Beverly Hills–Bel-Air—Westwood–Brentwood stretch. Much less that someone on a bike would be looking to rob someone late at night, miles away from any commercial establishment.

Put yourself in a criminal mind. Wouldn’t you want to be outside a restaurant or bar waiting for potential victims rather than cruising a desolate stretch of road just hoping that someone might become your prey? I’ve seen sketchy guys on bikes near nightspots in Venice, and it’s obvious they’re cruising to rip off women’s purses as they get into their vehicles. So beware.

But back to Beverly Hills  “No one’s been killed on Sunset Boulevard in the 30 years I’ve been with the department,” the cop told me. “And no one else will be killed for another 30 years.”

When I told him how many people, especially women, have been frightened by the horror of Ronni getting murdered while driving home late at night he said: “Don’t be scared. He’s dead.”

A shocking summation. But perhaps, the Beverly Hills way of assuring its citizenry that nothing else of the sort will ever happen within its borders. 

There are still many big questions left to be answered, and BHPD admitted the investigation is not complete. Because so many other things don’t make sense, the least of which might be why a low-life guy riding a bike wasn’t stopped in Beverly Hills for DWB. Forget the political correctness—it happens.

BHPD debunked two other myths that grew to great prominence: that Ronni’s killing was a hit and that the perpetrator was an expert marksman. I never bought into either one.

Now, the focus—and some rage–is turning toward the tipster. There are calls for the person to donate the $125,000 reward from “America’s Most Wanted” to charity. Why? No one outside of John Walsh and people at the show—who ran a segment on the Chasen murder Nov. 20– knows who this person is and what their circumstances are, and I hope their anonymity is retained. That person did the right thing, and was apparently concerned about their own personal safety in revealing the information.

Personal safety—a concept that was brutally violated when Smith murdered Ronni Chasen, driving innocently down one of the nation’s most beautiful boulevards through one of its wealthiest neighborhoods. Don’t be scared, but always be vigilant.

In HBO’s just-concluded first season of “Boardwalk Empire,” the characters and the milieu are haunting, an intermingled stew of real and fictional political and criminal personages– and innocents caught in their web– from a bygone era that still resonate today.

If you didn’t know any differently, you could be excused for thinking that last week’s episode was the season finale, culminating as it did with Enoch “Nucky” Thompson heading to a fortune teller on the Atlantic City boardwalk, thus indicating the deep uncertainty of his future after all that had transpired. 

Previously on “BE,” (spoiler alert) a shocking series of revelations and plot twists. The Commodore is Jimmy Darmody’s real father, who knocked up his mother Gillian when she was all of 13, brought to him from an orphanage by…drumroll…Nucky.  Jimmy’s wife Angela is in love with Mary Dittrich, demonstrated by some hot girl-on-girl action, and ready to leave him to go to Paris with her, taking their young son along. Mrs. Schroeder finally leaves Nucky, after Agent Nelson Van Alden clues her in on his ordering her husband’s death–and as she realizes he was using her to influence women who had just gotten the vote to put his mayoral candidate in office–and keep his power intact. 

Speaking of Agent Nelson, we learn he’s a total freak in the barroom and the bedroom—succumbing to the drunken charms of Lucy Danziger and even more shockingly– an unrepentant murderer of his underling, Agent Sebso, who was revealed to be on Nucky’s fat payroll.

In that astonishing murder scene, with dozens of witnesses on a riverbank in broad daylight, Nelson is now exposed as the most terrifying character on the show—a man who professes to be a God-fearing Christian righting the wrongs of society but has himself surrendered to man’s basest instincts.

The season finale, entitled “A Return to Normalcy,” opens with Nelson telling an outright lie—that Sebso died of a heart attack—and then smacking an agent who dares to talk back to him.

And this is how things start to appear to go back to normal in the well-imagined Atlantic City, New Jersey of Prohibition days, a resort town that was Sin City decades before Las Vegas existed, a place that was known in the 1920s as the world’s playground and featured nightclubs and entertainment that rivaled Broadway’s. 

Even Al Capone is mending his immature, disrespectful ways, and Arnold Rothstein seems contrite about being indicted in the scandal over fixing the World Series—until he comes up with $1 million in cash to make it go away.

At the center of it all still swirls the dapper and dangerous Nucky, who barely misses a step after Margaret Schroeder moves out of his suite at the Ritz Carlton and therefore down many notches in the social structure– a fact that is brought to her seemingly newly aware consciousness by an old Irish superstition of your destiny being determined by what you find in your piece of cake.

Mrs. Schroeder has become friendly, in the superficial sort of way of women with young children, with Warren Harding’s mistress, who is under the delusion that Harding will bring her and their newborn baby to the White House after he wins the presidency. Looking at her with barely disguised contempt at this notion, Margaret is making vague plans to move to Margate and become a shopgirl—again. Until she bites into that fateful piece of cake, and finds the rag.

We don’t realize that she has bought into the notion that it represents a lifetime of poverty until she shows up at a post-election soirée in a stunning golden gown she could’ve only gotten from the French shopkeeper on the boardwalk– and sets her sights straight on Nucky.  He falls under her glistening spell, and they end up under the moonlight. Will it last this time?  It looks like Margaret will be biting the bullet, after uncovering a secret of Nucky’s past that makes him seem more human than machine in her eyes.

And just like in any great gangster pic, bullets are flying and throats are slit all the while, revenge killings for the attempted hit on Nucky by Rothstein’s allies, the D’Alessio brothers. Meanwhile, after the climactic gruesomeness (and homage to “The Godfather”) of Darmody’s barbershop slay, a roadside gangster summit amongst Rothstein, Chicago’s Johnny Torrio and Nucky cements an uneasy truce to end the carnage.

But the greatest intrigue is yet to come, from another front. Nucky’s brother Eli, seriously gunshot-wounded while trying to collect a take at a casino and forced to give up the sheriffship and then re-crowned with it after the election, is starting to pull a Cain and Abel on Nuck.

.

We’ve seen his limitations, especially those on the intellectual side, but he’s brought in some big guns in the form of the Commodore, who’s recovering quite nicely from arsenic poisoning by his maid, and trying to seduce Jimmy into the plot.

But we as the audience know that Jimmy considers Nucky much more of a father than the Commodore ever was, or could be. Or do we?

Now that’s a cliffhanger, and what better way to end the brilliant first season of “Boardwalk Empire.” Oh, and did we mention: Lucy’s pregnant with the devil’s child.

It’s still difficult to shake off the shock of seeing the headline “Ronni Chasen Gunned Down in Beverly Hills.”  Images of mobster Bugsy Siegel as portrayed by Warren Beatty in the film “Bugsy” come to mind when you think of someone being gunned down in Beverly Hills.  And it is unthinkable. 

Unthinkable that there are no leads that are being revealed in the case, a murder that from all indications looks like a hit, but that the heart—and logic–says could have been a senseless case of random violence.

Ronni Chasen was a high-powered publicist, with heavyweight clients including not only A-list talent in film, music and television, but behind the scenes players like Richard Zanuck, Arnold Kopelson and Irwin Winkler who remained loyal to her for decades, practically considering her a member of their family. She specialized in awards campaigns, particularly soundtracks and scores, and was representing acclaimed songwriter Diane Warren for “Burlesque” in her bid this season. I had the pleasure of meeting Ronni at several industry events and working with her colleagues at Chasen and Company in the past.

A publicist of her caliber– and there are not many them left—to be sure rubbed a few feathers the wrong way and made a few enemies over the years, but you can’t imagine any so-called enemies actually wanting to murder her in cold blood, her body left slumped over steering wheel of her new black Mercedes on a quiet residential street.

Even if you did not know her personally, as so many in the industry did, the horror of how she died strikes a dissonant chord because the circumstances were incredibly typical for so many people in this town—going to an event on a weeknight, driving home alone late at night in a late-model luxury vehicle. Aside from an occasional traffic stop, or, God forbid, a DUI, nothing eventful ever happens.

Sunset Blvd. at Whittier is not exactly a high-crime area, populated as it is with manicured, multimillion dollar homes on the far western edge of Beverly Hills.  Thugs don’t hang out on the street corners there.  People are not out walking the streets after midnight, when this horrific incident occurred.

Yet, one neighbor said that Beverly Hills police told her the assailant could have been on foot, which makes absolutely no sense.  Unless there was an orchestrated plot, in which Chasen was followed from the time she left the W Hotel in Hollywood, where she was attending the “Burlesque” afterparty, working the crowd and in a great mood, according to people who interacted with her at the bash. 

It seems highly unlikely that she would not have noticed something amiss, driving all those miles down Sunset Blvd. before she made her turn onto Whittier to head to her home on the Wilshire corridor in Westwood.  It’s been reported that she called her office and left a voicemail six minutes before she was shot, surely a sign of someone who did not think she was in any danger. She did not call 911.

Yet strange things happen on the streets of Los Angeles.  Could she have cut someone off, or was driving too slowly on a curvaceous stretch of Sunset known for dragging, and thus setting off a sick, murderous rampage?  Police say in the majority of road rage shootings, most of the bullets miss their mark because the vehicles are moving.  In this case, there were apparently five shots to her chest, leading to the belief that she was shot at very close range through the passenger window, which was shattered.

One night last summer, I experienced a bizarre incident of road rage, driving south on Westwood Blvd. towards Olympic.  A vehicle was about to pull out in front of me from a parking space, so I tapped on my horn.  A little while later, heading westbound in the left lane on Olympic, I noticed, with blood pressure rising, that someone was tailgating me.  So I pulled a swift maneuver across four lanes of traffic to the right-hand curb and sure enough, the car followed right behind me.  I turned around and looked, with disbelief, to see who it was—their headlights had been blinding me and I couldn’t determine the driver or the type of vehicle until that point.  And it was a middle-aged Iranian woman, a grandmother-type, in a sedan.  I took off again, calling 911 with her hot on my tail, and was told to drive to the Santa Monica police station.  I was able to lose the woman right before I hit the cop shop, but found it unbelievable that she would follow me for miles in a threatening manner–just because I had honked at her.  Crazy. And duly noted that she probably wouldn’t have done it to a guy in a pickup truck, or an Escalade.

Which is why I think it must’ve been some bizarre situation on the road that led to Ronni’s murder.  Something that happened on Sunset Blvd. heading westbound in Beverly Hills.  I just can’t buy into the theory that someone who knew her would have her killed.  But any scenario is terrifying, and the end result is tragic.  The industry lost one of its best and the brightest, but one whose legacy will live on in the level of professionalism she brought to her career and the lives she touched.

Conan O’Brien is in full victim mode.  So much so that he got gunned down.  Not once, not twice but three times last night in his debut talk show on TBS.

It’s okay, Coco, we get it.  You got screwed by NBC after lasting just seven months as host of “The Tonight Show.”  But now you have a whole new ballpark in which to play, and you can really make it your own.

Basic cable isn’t so bad.  Just ask Jon Stewart, your new head-to-head competitor at 11 p.m.  And your numbers last night were pretty impressive-about 4.2 million viewers tuned in to see you and Andy and your new Basic Cable Band.

Your opening skit was pretty darn funny.  Especially the part where you asked Don Draper for a job in 1965, and he told you that you were two years old at the time–and didn’t have any experience in advertising.  “I don’t care who you used to be,” said the customer at the fast food restaurant to you, as the cashier.  And that’s probably true of your audience as well.  But the kids at the birthday party just did not want to hear you clowning around about politics, right?  And who knew that Larry King, of all hosts, was actually your guardian angel.

The first time you got shot, trying to get through the guard gate at the lot, was certainly reminiscent of the toll booth scene in “The Godfather”–and probably even more violent.  But the second and third times were just a little bit too much.  Much as I feel for you and wish you’ll succeed, I just don’t want that much gunfire that soon before bedtime.  At that late hour, we could’ve used more of the masturbating (bear) and less of the Mob.

I’m glad that Ricky Gervais is watching out for you, and is far-thinking enough to tape a series of messages for what is sure to be your ever-descending journey through a panopoly of cable channels–and even a local station or two.

At one point during the debut of “Conan,” you mentioned that because Standard Time had just gone into effect, it WAS essentially midnight, and that you were an idiot and a moron.  That’s not really true. As was just pointed out in Bill Carter’s book, it was more of a situation in which your attorneys/agents did not negotiate into your NBC contract that you, as host of TTS, would always follow the late local news–as Dave and Jay had in their deals. To think a simple little contract clause allowed all this upheaval in your life is simply staggering.

After the curator of the Leavenworth Nutcracker Museum, you could’ve done a little bit better for your first guest than Seth Rogen, whose over-the-top radio DJ-ish laugh was getting rather annoying, although his spot did provide some insight into how he views women, as when the new “Green Hornet” revealed he wanted to put an engagement ring on his wife-to-be’s nipple.

 The new set is nice, with the coastline and ocean view and the movable moon and the fact that there are no barriers between you and the audience.  And it was great that you got a chance to jam with one of your musical idols, Jack White.

As you said, and it looks like everything is going to be okay.  But then what happened?  For the third time, you are battered target practice, the victim of a mob hit.  When the reality is, I’m sure your new show will be a big hit.

The shock waves are still reverberating from the turn of events in the life of Don Draper that left viewers of “Mad Men” literally gasping during the stunning finale episode of Season 4.

Fans of the highly-awarded show will have months to debate whether Draper’s surprise proposal to his secretary Megan was as crazy as it seemed—or if it will make perfect sense in the world of the mid 1960s that’s spinning out of control of the established order.

(We should have warned you about the spoiler, but if you haven’t heard by now about the startling development, the movements within and outside Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce are clearly not your scotch on the rocks.)

Seeing the show with creator Matthew Weiner and cast members Jon Hamm, Christina Hendricks, Elisabeth Moss and Cara Cuomo at New York’s famed 21 Club added a resonance you just don’t get in the living room—not to mention the excitement, laughter and other audible reaction the plot twists drew from the crowd.

In the old-school environment of the 80-year-old 21 Club, with its white-jacketed waiters and red rose centerpieces, you half expected to see a toasted Roger Sterling make a scene before stumbling out into the night.

Buoyed by the free-flowing champagne, scotch on the rocks, and just about any other libation known to man, the mood was one of celebration for a show that pumped new life into drama on cable, immediately captured the attention of critics and a devoted audience and re-branded its network as a place for stellar original programming. Although there was no talk of Season 5 and there is no official pickup yet, it’s going to be a long haul without “Men.”

We’re left to ponder Don’s seemingly spontaneous proposal, coming as it did right after Sally’s spilled milkshake incident that would have sent former wife Betty over the edge, or made current girlfriend Faye even more uncomfortable with the children.

Perhaps Don is becoming more like his real self, Dick Whitman, a character we don’t yet know, but one who’s come briefly to life every time he escapes to California. Don/Dick even used the engagement ring conveniently willed to him by Anna, a woman he could truly be “himself” with, whose death shook him earlier in the season.

The confluence of events—California trip, no nanny, Megan ready, willing and available to help—it all came together as fast as you could say “Tomorrowland,” seemingly just moments after he’d told Faye he’d miss her while he was away.

It was Peggy Olson, on screen, who dramatized the audience reaction to Don’s choosing the previously little-seen Megan as his wife, even as she was helping land an account that would keep the agency afloat—and naturally, not getting enough credit for it. Just a few weeks back it seemed like her relationship with Don was charting into new, romantic territory, in an episode called “The Suitcase” that has Emmy written all over it.

Peggy, a woman who seems to understand and accept Don almost as much as Anna did, could barely control her shock at his actions. Marrying a secretary, typical, she and Joan agreed in a scene that’s already become a girls bonding at the office classic, but one he barely knew in just the few short weeks since Miss Blankenship keeled over at her desk? And when he was enmeshed in what appeared to be a challenging, fulfilling relationship with Faye?

“You only like the beginnings of things,” Faye told him in his break-up phone call. And the beginning of Megan-Don as an official couple was ominous, with her sleeping contentedly at his side and him, sleepless, staring at the wall, as the season finale faded to black.

He may have instinctively and impulsively thought Megan was the woman he should marry—perhaps because of her smoothly moderated mothering skills, her beauty and the fact that she’s been an overall sport, but Faye has a track record of being right. And so does the now-pregnant (with Roger’s child?) Joan.

But the rest of us—we’ll just be kept in delicious suspense until the story unfolds. Waiting, and wondering, how it will all turn out, while this we know: Don Draper has cemented his place as one of the most enigmatic characters in television history.

Without intending to, Jon Stewart has become quite influential over CNN’s personnel decisions.

Before Rick Sanchez, people may forget there was Tucker Carlson, whom Stewart made mincemeat of after a disastrous guest spot on “Crossfire”—a show that was canceled after Stewart lambasted its journalistic ethics.

Stewart actually went a bit easy on Sanchez in a 10-minute opening segment on “The Daily Show” Monday night, Oct. 4, 2010, even suggesting Sanchez could be a replacement for the soon-to-be-open Steve Carell slot on “The Office” now that Sanchez is out of a job.

CNN rapid-fired Sanchez in the wake of his controversial comments on a Sirius XM radio show last week in which he called Stewart a “bigot” and said the people at CNN and other networks are like Stewart—Jewish.

In Monday’s segment, Stewart went through the whole timeline of how he heard Sanchez’ comments, feigning excitement that the former host of “Rick’s List” knew his name, and then launching into playing the first of several Sanchez sound bites.

Stewart said he was most angry that he had to wait from Thursday until Monday to actually respond—but skewered the media response to a couple of comments he made about the elephant in the room at a charity dinner in New York Saturday night.

The comedian marveled at headlines that said he “ripped” and “destroyed” Sanchez for his remarks about Jews running the TV networks. “Any headline from that benefit should have read, ‘Comedians raise $3 million for autism while demonstrating incredible restraint about Rick Sanchez’,” he said.

On “Rick’s List,” Sanchez was known for theatrical stunts like falling off a cruise ship, getting Tasered and being trapped in a sinking car, while making what many considered goofy comments in a serious tone of voice and setting himself up for ridicule as a pompous blowhard.

Stewart had recently skewered Sanchez for excitedly reporting he’d gotten a tweet from House Republican leader John Boehner, calling it a case of “send a twit a tweet”—to much laughter from his studio audience.

But Stewart didn’t necessarily seem to have it in for Sanchez, and wasn’t fixated on him any more than any of the other news anchors he uses as daily fodder on “The Daily Show.” It wasn’t anything like the long-running tiff he played out with Jim Cramer a couple of years ago.

It was such an uneven battle that Stewart was actually charitable toward Sanchez, who had said on the “Stand Up! With Pete Dominick” radio show,  “I’m telling you that everybody who runs CNN is a lot like Stewart. And a lot of people who run all the other networks are a lot like Stewart. And to imply that somehow they, the people in this country who are Jewish, are an oppressed minority? Yeah.”

Stewart’s response on Monday: “If CNN got rid of Rick Sanchez ’cause they didn’t like his show, fine. We weren’t that crazy about it either. But if they fired him for making some intemperate statement and some banal Jew-baiting, I’m not even sure Sanchez believed what he was saying. ‘Cause I know, when Rick Sanchez has time to think things through, and doesn’t necessarily think he’s about to get fired anyway, he has a slightly different take on the topic. Perhaps the silver lining of this situation is it’s a chance for all of us to get in touch with not our dirtier, but our better, Sanchezes. Words to live by.”

By these standards, Jon was really showing Rick a little love and compassion.

But Stewart’s tangling with CNN talent is now entering a new phase. “Jonny hungry,” he said about the new “Parker Spitzer” show, whipping out a knife and fork.

This “TDS” viewer can hardly wait. And I wouldn’t be surprised if Rick Sanchez himself made a guest appearance soon. That’ll really be one to watch.

Buscemi as Enoch "Nucky" Thompson

Looking through the list of Steve Buscemi’s film and television credits as an actor, not many of the titles stand out– except for “The Sopranos,” “Pulp Fiction” and “Fargo.”  Buscemi, who’s also a director, is the sort of frequently working character actor that people have seen in a multitude of roles, most of them smarmy and fast talking, if not downright psychopathic.  He’s the guy with the memorable face and sometimes scary, toothy smile. The one whose name you may not be able to remember, much less pronounce.

Well, that all changed–effective Sunday night. Buscemi’s riveting star turn as Enoch “Nucky” Thompson in HBO’s thrilling “Boardwalk Empire” will vault him into the stratosphere of legendary onscreen gangsters. Just like “The Sopranos” did for James Gandolfini, who was little-known when that brilliant, game-changing series premiered in 1999.

HBO has scored another hit, and “Sopranos” fingerprints are all over “Boardwalk,” starting from creator Terence Winter and harking back to Buscemi’s role as Soprano cousin Tony Blundetto in the dearly departed series.

If “Boardwalk” follows the pattern of “The Sopranos” and other serialized shows—even those on free TV like “Lost” and “24,” people do not necessarily jump on board the train ride away. But it’s okay to come late to this party if you appreciate scintillating storytelling, directed and written by top talent (including Martin Scorsese for the pilot) and the integration of legendary, historic characters like Al Capone, Lucky Luciano and Arnold Rothstein into a drama that illuminates the past while it resonates in the present.

Nucky, based on a real-life character with a similar name, is the treasurer of Atlantic City, New Jersey, but in essence runs the whole town as Prohibition dawns on the Sin City of its era. In the 1920s, the seaside resort town was known as the world’s playground and featured nightclubs and entertainment that rivaled Broadway’s.  “If you want to be a gangster in my town, you can pay for the privilege,” he says.

Right off the bat, you see his powerful, charismatic, and twisted character as he goes from addressing a women’s temperance organization to arranging shipments of bootleg whiskey– an arrangement that goes horribly and violently awry and sets the tone for the 12-part series.

With his brother (played by Shea Whigham) as the city’s subservient sheriff, Nucky has free reign to do business with gangsters from New York and Chicago from his power base in a suite of room at the Ritz Carlton Hotel, where he keeps his materialistic flapper floozy—until he moves on to a better breed of woman.   

Spoiler alert, as I’ve seen the first six episodes:  In an interesting plot twist, in collusion with his brother, he has that woman’s husband knocked off to cover the tracks of a bootleg deal gone bad.  As they would say in later decades, that man sleeps with the fishes.

Meanwhile, Jimmy Darmody, Nucky’s moody and restless protégé who’s recently back from the trenches in World War I, is trying to reclaim his rightful place within the A.C. organization–but after an unauthorized orgy of violence on a dark country road, sets off on his own path with a young Al Capone in Chicago. The Feds, led by troubled Agent Nelson Van Alden, are hot on their tail– and they’re on to Nucky’s hugely profitable and thoroughly illicit dealings. But bureaucracy is working in the mobsters’ favor, for now.

The state of race relations nine decades ago comes to the fore in a lynching that is pinned on the local leader of the Ku Klux Klan. With Nucky’s blessing, his partner in crime, the leader of Atlantic City’s black community, uses a tool box to extract the price of the murder. It’s a brilliant piece of acting by Michael Kenneth Williams as Chalky White.

Steve Buscemi has said that he always flips to the end of the script to see if he gets killed in the end.  Mark my words, you’ll be tuning in to find out.

Fox took over the Santa Monica Pier for its TCA All-Star Party

It’s that time of the summer, when TV networks present their new and returning programming and talent to the nation’s television critics in a series of panels and presentations in a hotel ballroom. But at the end of the day, it’s time to party. As with the on-air programming, the competition is tough. Here’s how it shook out amongst the big broadcasters:

CBS

The party: An open-air tent at the former Robinsons-May building.  Lots of fatty, high-carb foods like chicken and waffles served in cones, pizza, Chinese chicken salad, cookies and milk and a gelato bar. Not a fork in sight.  Chuck Lorre wanted one for the carved roast beef and in lieu of bread opted to use the only other alternative.  Les Moonves and Julie Chen made the rounds, as did talent from the Eye, CW and Showtime, including Tom Selleck, William Shatner, Ed Westwick, Maggie Q. and Sela Ward.  No champagne at the bar coupled with the hard-to-eat, caloric food and porta-potty trailers left some grumbling. Next year, perhaps, some healthier alternatives and utensils.

NBC Universal

The party: Held in the same location as many of the network’s recent Golden Globes soirées, the rooftop parking lot at the Beverly Hilton.  Barely warmer than in winter, guests flitted from heat lamp to heat lamp and moved in and out of the Zucker zone.  The NBCU honcho spent a lot of quality time schmoozing those brave enough to speak with him.  Talent from USA Networks and Bravo shows also worked the crowd, and Michaele and Tareq Salahi didn’t have to crash to get in, since they’re now on “Real Housewives of D.C.”  On the menu, tray- passed sushi and a buffet that included roast beef and grilled asparagus. Bubbly at the bar and silverware were in plentiful supply. Bathroom benefit: in private suites on the top floor of the hotel.

ABC Disney

The party: No need for a jacket to ward against the summer chill at the indoor Beverly Hills ballroom. Shaquille O’Neal and some Disney characters also heated things up in the room—as did Sofia Vergara and Paul Lee. Menu featured various buffets on the perimeter of the room including an extensive sushi bar, cold cuts, caprese salad, pizza and ravioli.  And yes, champagne was being served—along with a whole lot of brewskis.

FOX

The party: Fun, games and a massive quantity of guilty-pleasure junk food at the Santa Monica Pier’s Pacific Park, the section with the Ferris wheel, roller coaster and those “skill” games where the lucky winners walk off with large stuffed animals. If you like Taco Bell, Pizza Hut, potato tornadoes, mini donuts and churros, you could eat your heart out—and many did. Matthew Morrison and Lea Michele made it a Glee-ful night. Gordon Ramsey, Jon Voight and Keri Russell made the rounds, but alas, no American Idol judges—since none have been officially announced. Hands down, the best bash of the bunch.