The latest brouhaha at NBC over the Tonight Show host reminded me of the movie “The Lion in Winter.” In the film, Peter O’Toole, as the king, must decide which son should inherit the crown. In the network version, the three sons are Jay Leno, David Letterman, and Conan O’Brien. If I was casting, Leno would play the middle son eager to please, Letterman would be the cynical, calculating older brother, and finally, Conan would play the dim-witted doofus of the clan.

We now know that O’Brien has accepted the 30 million buy-out to vacate the Tonight Show. Hopefully he’ll use the money wisely and actually go to comedy school. Leno, who looks better behind a desk, gets the 11:30 slot and the sofa. Dave wasn’t really in the running and can continue to annoy all pretenders to his throne.

The whole embarrassing public spat highlighted the gulf between the real world of economic hardship and the pampered lives of overpaid entertainers.  And why should the Tonight Show be entitled to a perpetual life on TV. There were indeed hosts before Carson and each refined and developed the late night entertainment format. And while I certainly miss the charm and sophistication of Johnny, I also wish the “The Mary Tyler Moore” was still around.

Let’s hope that someday we actually find performers who know how to be funny and also act their age.

I finally had the opportunity to see Bill perform on stage at the Tennessee Theater in Knoxville. When I lived in Las Vegas in the 1970’s, I met Cosby at the airport and quickly extended my hand as if we’d been friends for life. Hearing and memorizing the comic’s routines from the age of 10 convinced me we must be on speaking terms.

The man who created Noah’s Ark and Lights Out is simply a comedic genius.  Those routines made me a legend in altar boy circles at Holy Rosary School. Now, finally I was watching the act I had so painstakingly perfected 30 years earlier.

What startled me was that Bill had decided he could be just as funny sitting down as he’d been as a stand up comic.  The Tennessee stage was bare except for a comfortable chair and two small tables. An announcement was made and out ambled Cosby in his warm up sweater and sweat pants. Sitting, he then looked longingly stage right until a young woman delivered his coffee cup. Happily sipping the brew, he slowly began to speak to us with his characteristic comic insight of the human condition.

Yes he was funny and a bit caustic about how life could disappoint, depress and lack civility. It was vintage Bill and climaxed with that memorable routine about trying to hold a conversation with a dentist with his hand and drill in your mouth.

As he departed, explaining how the waiting car and private plane would whisk him into the night and back to California, I couldn’t quite describe what the show had meant to me.  Was I sad because my inspiration was a little tired of the act and needed a rest? Because I now performed, was his demeanor somehow not up to the standards I thought were required on stage? I mean I watched him on Ed Sullivan and there was no sitting around then.

I know I’m being a little hard on a man who brought me such joy when I was young.  He gave me a way to make light of the darkness we experience in the world. I’m sorry Bill! I’m going to encourage all my readers to see your show.

Is that all right?

Right!

It was the night before Watergate
And all through the White House
Not a congressman was stirring
Not even Milhouse

The microphones were hidden
Under the tree with care
In hopes that St. Kissinger
Soon would appear

The operatives were nestled
Likes bugs in a rug
With vision of hippies
Dressed in their duds

And Agnew with his kickbacks
And I in my scotch
Had just settled in
It was 10 by my watch

When out in the parking lot
There arose such a clatter
I sprang from my armchair
To see what’s the matter.

Away to the mall
Like OJ I dashed
Gunning my Oldsmobile
Foot on the gas

The moon on the capitol
Silhouetted the eclipse
I followed the Potomac
The steering wheel tight in my grip

Well what in my headlights
Should suddenly appear
But a Cuban contingent
And old CIA gear

They made so much noise
Tapping the phone
I knew in a moment their
Covers were blown

Now Bernard, Now Barker
Now Gonzales, called Vergilio
On Sturgis, on McCord
And Martinez; he’s Eugenio

And then in a twinkle
The cops were soon near
I wanted to yell
Keep it down in there

But I spoke not a word
Or I’d be out of work
They rounded them up
Brother what jerks

But I heard them exclaim
As I drove out of sight
Our lips are sealed
If the price is right

The Michael Jackson film is a masterpiece.  Starting with an opening sequence of dancer testimonials, we’re reminded of how effectively Warren Beatty used the personal narrative in his film Reds to bring the viewer into the story.

Soon we are witnessing the This Is It audition sequence and again another legendary film, Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz, seems to be the inspiration.

When Michael arrives, the high energy of each musical number is carefully crafted under the watchful eyes of the director Anthony Ortega. Jackson seems completely at ease and in control as each of his musical hits is revived and brilliantly staged.

The cast of young dancers and singers complement Michael and seem to inspire him to give each number his signature style. At the same time, we are treated to the interplay of supporting musicians arrayed on each side of the stage.

Set designs range from the cabaret format used in the stage musical Cabaret to recreations of the Thriller MVT video.  There are also behind the scenes rehearsals for extensive film sequences.

Anyone who wishes a career in show business would do well to view this unique look at the creative process of a legendary performer.

In the Clarence Brown Lab production of “Flu Season,” a man enters from the house, sets up his props, and the play begins.  His name is Prologue and, like the Stage Manager in “Our Town,” he sets the scene. Even as the lights go out, he speaks reassuringly that “we have nothing to fear from the dark.”

But wait! Another gentleman rises from his theater chair and claims stage right.  He’s the Epilogue, cynic and no-nonsense interpreter of the action.  Like bookends these two narrators guide us into the play “Flu Season.”

The action takes place in a mental hospital with a staff that’s probably watched too many episodes of “Frasier.”  The nurse and doctor interrupt the patients, fill in the dead space, and generally reminisce about their own lost youth.  Two patients, a young man and woman, try haltingly to find words that have often failed them.  Playwright Will Enosa creates a strange and wonderful world where people struggle with uncertainty and almost comically collapse in each other’s arms.

The University of Tennessee Theater Department has assembled a superb cast whose verbal dexterity is on fine display.  Jonathan Vissor, Michael Moreno, Amy Elizabeth Mathews, Steve Fitchpatrick, and Matthew Bassett keep us laughing and almost crying throughout the evening.

Director Edward Morgan keeps everything right up there on a high wire.  You feel like the theater is turned upside down and out spills what make us all tick.

When the character Prologue, ever hopeful, tells us the play has ended, a shout from the rear by his counterpart Epilogue reminds us, nothing really ends.