First off, congratulations to Michael Keaton for “The Golden Globe”, award as the arc of destiny is long– and eventually, “you get recognized” and are paid, the right bit of attention instead of “just fading-out” as victory, only tastes sweeter, for it.
Through up’s & down’s, and sometimes– WORSE projects, like this review of a later day family comedy, “Jack Frost” from Roger Ebert:
The snowman gave me the creeps. Never have I disliked a movie character more. They say state-of-the-art special effects can create the illusion of anything on the screen, and now we have proof: It’s possible for the Jim Henson folks and Industrial Light and Magic to put their heads together and come up with the most repulsive single creature in the history of special effects, and I am not forgetting the Chucky doll or the desert intestine from “Star Wars.” To see the snowman is to dislike the snowman. It doesn’t look like a snowman, anyway. It looks like a cheap snowman suit. When it moves, it doesn’t exactly glide–it walks, but without feet, like it’s creeping on its torso. It has anorexic tree limbs for arms, which spin through 360 degrees when it’s throwing snowballs. It has a big, wide mouth that moves as if masticating Gummi Bears. And it’s this kid’s dad.
When I heard talk about Tim Burton remaking “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” I thought they should have brought-on Michael Keaton as a cagey, antic “Willy Wonka” there in a suit and whipping-back a cane for a screwball “song n’ dance”. But casting had “other ideas” and he was inevitably, passed-up in favor of ole’ Johnny Depp.It just seemed like “one let-down, after another” and you wondered, if he’d ever “make a come-back”.
But the origins of Michael Keaton, going back to Pittsburgh– and actually, he almost starred along side James Belushi in a late ’70s sit-com pilot about two roommates, fittingly-enough as you think of that run-down ’70s quality, brownstone tenements, an acapella band of palookas “singing-it-up” on the trash-fire corner, out there with knit-caps you’d see on that old show, “Taxi”. And even, if interning down at the set of “Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood” as the locale reminded me of my own St. Louis here in the Midwest.
My own early, years– growing-up with children’s PBS playing on analog television. Down-home, low-key, lower-rent, “down-and-out”. . . . . “working on a dream”. Leisure and the single man, a run-down apartment and a big pot of spaghetti as a toddler crawls along the floor Rummaging through a bedroom closet– throwing a baseball mitt, a Frisbee– over your shoulder as it’s old episodes of “The Honeymooner’s”and “George Thorogood & The Destroyers” records, “BAD TO THE BONE”.
Batman and Beetlejuice, if “flashier”– came-along later, and is mostly what I remember him for. Trailer-park yards and pink-flamingos, a holler away from “Florida” and billy-bumptious redneck revival as the character is splayed-out in Bermuda shorts and an Hawaiian shirt, guzzling in his sleep and pale behind a pair of gas station sunglasses.
I sense momentum, gaining– a come-back extravaganza. . . . . . “Hur-yeee, Hur-yeee, Hur-yeee” as the time hasn’t ever “been more ripe” for Beetlejuice. Hands raised, a fouler grin– “It’s Show-Time”!. . . . . at a blog, near you. Congratulations, again.