Knicks Remain A Missed Opportunity For Us All

Are you ready for a front-office conspiracy theory of Machiavellian proportions? I put it to you that Knicks executive Steve Mills not only purposely dragged his feet on the GM search until all the high-profile free agents were signed, but also personally ate up all the cap space on the ridiculous Tim Hardaway Jr contract in order to cement his position on the Knicks throne. In one fell swoop Mills queered the pitch for anyone else wanting to take the GM job, so that Mills would be forced into functioning until further notice as both President and GM. It was a pathetic, destructive power move by an endlessly recycled executive who was tired of watching from the shadows all these years while higher-profile names made all the basketball decisions.

Knicks owner James Dolan is notoriously loyal to his small band of cronies, such as Isiah Thomas, Steve Mills and Allan Houston. They've held various titles within the MSG organization, and would seem to be better suited roaming the halls at Goodyear, Exxon or any other corporation where success is measured in dollar signs not championships. Dolan and his boys somehow seem immune to the wails of the Knicks' loyal put-upon fan base railing against their lack of success year after year. I almost envy their social-media isolationism. It seems unbelievable yet somehow the Knicks front office appears to be a bunker within which no dissenting outside opinion gets heard. Dolan is no different from a thousand other executives who surround themselves with yes men and eschew all critical thinkers, but what is different is that he hands power to his yes men based solely on personal feelings rather than a feel for personnel.

If Dolan felt Mills was the guy to take over for Phil Jackson, then he should have said that, promoted Mills, and empowered him to make all basketball decisions (God help us all). This includes taking who he wants in the draft. Are you telling me Phil was fireable a few days after the draft, yet not fireable a few days before the draft? Why not let Mills take who he wanted to draft. Let Mills live or die by that pick, by the Hardaway trade, and the rest of the team he curates. And make him attend press conferences to defend his actions. But if Dolan really wanted Mills to simply find a GM to make all basketball decisions, then Mills should not have been making any basketball decisions in the meantime. Are you telling me there isn't a clock ticking on trading Carmelo Anthony, yet there was a clock ticking on signing Tim Hardaway Jr? That's ridiculous. David Griffin knew this. He also knew this wasn't a real job offer. It was a PR move.

In today's NBA full autonomy is the only way to get anything done. It's been that way roughly since Pat Riley left the Knicks in 1995, in part because they wouldn't let him shop for the groceries with which he cooked up their NBA Finals-quality team. Riley walked away from a $3M-a-year offer because it was about power not money. The Knicks at the time (under President Dave Checketts) couldn't understand why Riley would turn down money. David Griffin just turned down what was probably quite a lot of money to sit in the GM chair and do nothing, and again the Knicks (under acting President Steve Mills) can't understand why. As Knick fans, we've gotten pretty good at recognizing a missed opportunity when we see one. There was Ricky Rubio last February, Dennis Smith Jr last month, and David Griffin last week.

Hollis the Horrible: The Resurrection

I've decided to resurrect this blog for a few reasons. Firstly to quote Woody Allen's Harry Block, "Tradition is the illusion of permanence." So having an internet refuge where I can scribble my half-baked thoughts is reassuring. Secondly for all of Twitter's finer points, sometimes you can't always encapsulate what you want to say on a subject in 140 characters. And finally, Why the hell not?

This blog was born years ago, and I occasionally forget it exists and then remember it exists and then write something, and then forget it exists again. Most of my writing energy has gone into writing scripts for my Web series with Ted Alexandro, Teachers Lounge, the link to which you can find in the margin. This blog won't house longer pieces (such as the ones I have up on fringeunderground.com), but will rather ensure I have a safe place--and seriously, I'm pretty sure no one goes here, so what could be safer?--to post my inane "reasonings."

Anyway, onward and upward. Hollis the Horrible: He is risen.

-HtH

DE PALMA

I finally watched the new Brian De Palma biography last night, and it’s great. What I hoped for was simple: Brian DePalma sitting in a chair talking about all his films in chronological order, accompanied by excerpts of his films. Luckily that’s exactly what I got. Here are just a few of the things I learned (yes, these are spoilers)...

Robert De Niro had a surprising amount of baby fat in the early De Palma films. (Seriously he looks more Bruno Kirby than Travis Bickle.) 

Cliff Robertson (who starred in 1976’s Obsession) was a real douche nozzle.

My beloved Larry Cohen wrote the script for Carrie.

De Palma sold the script for Dressed To Kill for a then-staggering one million dollars (almost $3M today).

De Palma wrote an early draft of the script that would become Cruising.

Scarface began with writer David Rabe and not Oliver Stone—who only came on later to rewrite the screenplay.

An injury to Al Pacino’s hand led to two weeks of De Palma (and his visiting pal Steven Spielberg) filming nothing but armies of thugs excessively shooting each other, which is why the final shootout in Scarface is so over the top.

De Palma made up The Untouchables “staircase sequence” as he went along.

When The Untouchables was released everyone at Paramount expected to be outperformed at the box office by Harry and the Hendersons.

During the filming of Casualties of War, before a take in which Michael J. Fox had to be angry, Sean Penn whispered the words “television actor” in his ear.

Sean Penn surprised everyone on the set of Carlito’s Way when he showed up with his Art Garfunkel hair.

There are many more juicy things I learned, but I’ll leave you to discover them for yourself. This movie works because Brian De Palma shoots from the hip, and isn’t afraid to name names or place blame. De Palma is as brutally honest about his own failures as he is about his successes. This is a rich, fascinating autobiographical film that makes a worthy companion piece to the stellar Milius and Altman documentaries also currently streaming on Amazon Prime. It’s time well spent for any video voyeur.

Ed Wood: Taxi Driver

I'm proud to present my new ebook, Ed Wood: Taxi Driver, a fictional mash-up of two of my all-time favorite films: Tim Burton's Ed Wood and Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver. Hopefully simply by reading it, you can tell how much I love both films. You can purchase a copy or check out a free sample by clicking below.




I tasked my good friend Geof with making some sketches for the cover. This is the one I used...

And these are a couple of outtakes...

Few people can follow me through all my retro-pop-culture rabbit holes, but I'm hoping a few of you brave souls hop in the backseat and enjoy the journey. But roll up your windows, because the fire hydrants are wide open and spraying!

-Hollis

“Think! It ain’t Illegal yet!”

I love Funkadelic. They’re one of my all-time favorite bands. I also love reggae. So I freaked out the first time I heard “Shockwaves,” Funkadelic's loving tribute to the Jamaican musical genre off  their Electric Spanking of War Babies album. The album has a somewhat laid-back, jam-friendly feel for Funkadelic, featuring friends like Sly Stone and Cynthia Robinson, and is one of the band's stronger efforts. 

Here’s Funkadelic performing "Shockwaves" live in Landover, Maryland, in 1981. It features Ron Dunbar on lead vocals—alternating between soulful-reggae crooner and spit-shouting preacher. Backing vocals are provided by the incomparable "diaper man" Garry Shider and a death-rattle-era Brides of Funkenstein.  “The third world is on the one…. Right on the down beat…”

…And Starring the Governator as the Roadrunner!

Back in 1979, Hal Needham—director of Cannonball Run and Smokey and the Bandit—could do no harm. That is, except for the harm caused to the senses of cinephiles who caught a whiff of the stinker he directed called The Villain. In it, Needham channeled his inner-Blake Edwards and concocted what seemed a surefire-slapstick hit at the box office, a real-life Warner Brothers cartoon. Only instead of Wile E. Coyote, living legend Kirk Douglas stars as the Acme-sponsored villain and Ahhhnold Schwartzenegger stars as a thick-accented roadrunner called “Handsome Stranger,” the strapping hero who always seems to evade harm. Ann-Margret is on hand as the love interest, in that mystifying midpoint between hopping into bed with a pre-’69-comeback Elvis and a 68-year-old Jack Lemmon.

It’s easily Arnold’s most embarrassing screen moment, which is saying something given the many film appearances in which the heavy-handed Arnold has carbo-loaded on scenery. It even out-razzies his earlier film Hercules in New York—a flick in which the “just off the boat” Arnold’s lines (all of which he spoke in English) had to be dubbed over…in English. What’s left is the worst dubbing job since Dikembe Motumbo’s ill-fated Merrill Lynch commercial.

So what, pray tell, is right with The Villain? Did someone say gratuitous cameos? Who would you cast to play an Indian Chief named Nervous Elk? If a few of you said Paul Lynde, you’re right! When Paul asks a brave if he wants “to Indian wrestle?” the look on that brave’s face belies a hidden fear that amyl-nitrate tabs and a ball-gag will be involved. Foster Brooks and Ruth Buzzi also cement their place in the pantheon of Dean-Martin-celebrity-roast escapees on film. Finally, the late great Jack Elam is on hand, because when it’s a Western, casting Jack Elam is the law. On a side note, I’m still pissed that Jack died before he could reprise his Cannonball Run role to make The Shakiest Proctologist in the West. It seemed like a natural.

Anyway, when you’re tired of popping in Killer Klowns From Outer Space, Attack of the Killer Tomatoes, Plan 9 From Outer Space or any other film from the “So Bad It’s Good” canon, give The Villain a try. They really don't make movies like this anymore. See why for yourself.

Rest in Peace, All My Children

To a kid like me, television was everything. I watched things I loved, things I hated. Basically I watched anything. Every moment I was in charge of the television I was at my happiest. Unfortunately with two older sisters, I didn't have much time where I was in charge. The biggest problem was my eldest sister Sarah. She was a die-hard soap opera fan. She religiously watched channel 7 from12:30 to 4:30. Usually, since she was in college and I was in grade school, I'd get home before her and have an hour or two of Gilligan’s Island or Good Times reruns until Sarah took over. But during summer vacation, Sarah would commandeer the TV for the full run of ABC soaps: Ryan’s Hope, All My Children, One Life to Live, General Hospital & Edge of Night. So what did I do? I watched anyway. Sarah’s TV was better than no TV.

After a while I got used to these shows: their slow pacing, outlandish plot lines, heavy-handed acting style, and larger than life characters. I got to know All My Children’s Billy Clyde Tuggle, Phoebe Tyler, Jessie Hubbard, Angie Baxter , Tad Martin and Erica Kane. I also got to know Sarah. Before this I didn't know much about my eldest sister. We were eight years apart and had nothing in common. But as she began to talk me through the show, revealing her favorite villains and heroes, I learned a lot about her. She talked to the TV just like I did. She hated the good-looking people and adored the ugly villains just like me. We'd make jokes about the gaping holes in storylines, and I started to realize that I liked my sister. She began fixing us little snacks for our watching time together. We started watching other shows together--even at nighttime when the set was mine. Remington Steele, Greatest American Hero and Moonlighting were three of our favorites. We'd share their catchphrases as our inside jokes.

When Sarah died I lost a lot of things. But what surprised me was how much I missed all those inside jokes. Each time one of her beloved ABC soaps is canceled, I feel another twinge of loss. I'm a nostalgic guy anyway when it comes to TV, and I see the death of soaps as one more pathetic casualty of reality television. But with the death of All My Children, General Hospital is the only show still on ABC that Sarah and I watched together. Once it inevitably gets cancelled, it'll be up to me alone to remember the strange, subtle way these shows introduced me to who my sister really was. How she saw the world was reflected in every laugh, groan and sarcastic word she directed at the TV screen. I learned so much about her. I never want to forget. I guess that's why I wrote this.