FIDDLER ON THE ROOF TRIVIA

My daughter will be starring in a production of Fiddler On The Roof so I figured I would look up some trivia from the landmark musical and later movie. The decision to cast Chaim Topol, instead of Zero Mostel, as Tevye in the 1971 film verion of "Fiddler on the Roof" was a somewhat controversial one, as the role had originated with Mostel and he had made it famous. Years later, Jewison said he felt Mostel's larger-than-life personality, while fine on stage, would cause film audiences to see him as Mostel, rather than the character of Tevye. Before the 1971 film version, Topol had played Tevye in over 400 performances in London. Since the film's release, he has played the milkman over 2,000 times in places from United States and Canada, to Europe, Japan, and Australia.

"Anyone who ever plays Tevye should be thankful to Zero Mostel. He gave us all room and I know I wouldn't have done the movie without the advantage of a year's rehearsal on stage."

Director Norman Jewison: " One reason I liked Topol's performance so much on the stage was that he projected his sense of destiny as, and pride in being, a Jew. His Tevye never loses dignity and strength; he is a man who knows who he is and where he's going."

To make Topol look older, the makeup team clipped 15 white hairs from Jewison's beard and applied them to Topol's eye brows (seven on the left, eight on the right).

Topol was on active duty with the Israeli army when he was nominated for an Oscar for "Fiddler on the Roof" in early 1972. He was granted leave so he could attend the ceremony in Los Angeles that year...

FORGOTTEN ONES: EDDIE CANTOR

Eddie Cantor, born Isidore Itzkowitz in 1892, was one of the most influential entertainers of the early 20th century. Known for his expressive "Banjo Eyes," comedic timing, and musical hits like Makin’ Whoopee and If You Knew Susie, Cantor was a household name across vaudeville, Broadway, radio, and early television. Yet behind the cheerful persona and philanthropic efforts lay a more complex and sometimes controversial figure whose legacy is not without shadows.

Cantor was at the center of what is considered one of television’s earliest acts of censorship. In 1944, during a live broadcast, NBC abruptly cut the audio and shifted the camera away as Cantor performed a song with suggestive lyrics and a comedic dance. The network deemed the material potentially offensive, sparking a public dispute. Cantor, furious at the last-minute censorship, accused NBC of acting like “little Hitlers,” highlighting the tension between creative freedom and broadcast standards in the early days of television. 

This wasn’t the first time Cantor faced censorship. NBC admitted it had previously silenced him, though details remain vague. Cantor’s frustration reflected a broader struggle entertainers faced in balancing humor, innuendo, and public decency during a rapidly evolving media landscape.

Like many performers of his era, Cantor used blackface in his early vaudeville routines—a practice now widely condemned for its racist caricatures and dehumanizing portrayals. His character “Jefferson,” created in 1912, was part of a tradition that perpetuated harmful stereotypes. While Cantor later advocated for racial equality and supported Black performers like Sammy Davis Jr., his early career remains a troubling reminder of the entertainment industry’s complicity in systemic racism. 

Cantor was unusually outspoken for a celebrity of his time, especially regarding his Jewish identity and opposition to Nazism. In the late 1930s, he used his radio platform to denounce fascism and support Jewish refugees. This activism came at a cost—his sponsor canceled his show in 1939, a move widely interpreted as retaliation for his political stance. Cantor’s willingness to speak out, even when it jeopardized his career, marked him as a courageous but polarizing figure. 

Despite his success, Cantor wrestled with the limitations of his public persona. Typecast as a naive, effeminate character in films well into his forties, he sought to reshape his image as a serious and intelligent figure. His efforts to support Jewish causes and redefine his legacy often clashed with the comedic roles that had made him famous. 

Cantor’s immense popularity faded rapidly after his death in 1964. Though he was once one of the most bankable stars in Hollywood, today he is largely forgotten—a phenomenon some scholars attribute to his hybrid identity as both singer and comedian, which defied easy categorization. His contributions to entertainment and activism are undeniable, but his legacy remains complicated by the cultural norms of his time and the contradictions within his career...

RIP: CATHERINE O'HARA

Sadly, legendary funny lady Catherine O’Hara has died. The Canadian actress's manager confirmed to the media on Friday, Jan. 30, that the comedy icon, known for roles in films like Beetlejuice, Home Alone and Christopher Guest mockumentaries like Best in Show, died at age 71. No further details were shared.

O’Hara was born in Toronto in 1954. She was the second youngest of seven children; her father worked for the Canadian Pacific Railway, and her mother was a real estate agent. Her first acting gig was portraying the Virgin Mary in a Nativity play. After graduating from high school, she got a job as a waitress at the Second City Theater in Toronto.

“I was lucky enough to watch everybody,” she said in 2024 of the theater’s legendary talent, which included Dan Aykroyd, Joe Flaherty and family friend Gilda Radner. When she auditioned to become a member, Flaherty had some discouraging feedback.

“He said, ‘Keep up the good work. Your day job, I mean: waitressing,’” she told PEOPLE. She didn’t listen and landed a spot when she auditioned again.

She joined the company in 1974. One of her stagemates was comedian Eugene Levy, who would become one of her closest friends and collaborators. O’Hara told The New Yorker in 2019 that at first she was scared of being on stage.

“My crutch was, in improvs, when in doubt, play insane. Because you didn’t have to excuse anything that came out of your mouth. It didn’t have to make sense.”

In 1976, the theater began its own TV show, called Second City Television (and usually abbreviated as SCTV). O’Hara was a staple of the sketch program, which aired on NBC in the ‘80s. O’Hara became known not only for her impressions of celebrities, including Meryl Streep and Brooke Shields, but also for original characters that became fan favorites. O’Hara was content with SCTV, but the show did not provide her with a consistent paycheck. “Our producer would get a deal with a network, and we’d have a show for a season or two, and then that deal would go away. There’d be a break, then we’d do the show again,” she said.

During one break in 1981, “I got asked to be on Saturday Night Live. And of course I said yes. Who doesn’t want to do that?” But then SCTV was picked up again and she went back to her home — before she’d ever done a single episode of SNL. Her best friend from high school, Robin Duke, took her SNL slot. “It all worked out the way it was supposed to,” she reflected. As part of the SCTV writing staff, she received five Emmy nominations, winning once.

Her film debut was 1980’s Double Negative, which also featured Levy and other SCTV costars like Flaherty and John Candy. Next, she appeared in Martin Scorsese's 1985 black comedy After Hours and 1986’s Heartburn. In 1988, she had a role in Beetlejuice as Delia Deetz, the stepmother of Winona Ryder’s Lydia. O’Hara reprised her role in the 2024 sequel Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice.

In 1990, she was cast in Home Alone as the harried mom of Macaulay Culkin’s Kevin. “It's a perfect movie, isn't it?” she reflected in 2024. “I need to care about the whole thing,” she said of how she chooses projects. “I don't care to do a great role in a bad project. You want to be part of something good, and that's how you go.” She reprised her role for 1992’s Home Alone 2: Lost in New York.

In 1996, she appeared in her first Guest mockumentary, Waiting for Guffman. She would also appear in 2000’s Best in Show and 2003’s A Mighty Wind, in which she and Levy sang together. She was called the actress the “gifted queen of the bittersweet” in a review of 2006’s For Your Consideration, another collaboration with Guest.

In 2015, she teamed up with Levy once again for Schitt’s Creek, created by his son Dan. It was not the first time she and Levy played characters who were romantically involved. Of their long working relationship, she told the media at the time, “I would love to think we continue to challenge each other, like a good married couple would do.”

In 2020, she won the Emmy for outstanding lead actress in a comedy series for the role. "I will forever be grateful to Eugene and Daniel Levy for the opportunity to play a woman of a certain age, my age, who gets to fully be herself,” she said in part during her speech. She also won a Golden Globe and a SAG Award for the series.

Other TV roles for O’Hara included guest spots on Six Feet Under, Curb Your Enthusiasm and 30 Rock. She also received an Emmy nomination for her performance in the 2010 TV film Temple Grandin. She voiced characters in the animated films Frankenweenie, The Addams Family and Elemental, and in 2024, she appeared in the action film Argylle and season 2 of The Last of Us.

In 1992, she married Bo Welch. They met when he worked as a production designer on Beetlejuice. They shared sons Matthew and Luke. O’Hara is survived by them...

A STAR IS BORN: A FLAWED MASTERPIECE

George Cukor’s A Star Is Born (1954) is often hailed as a landmark in Hollywood musical drama, celebrated for Judy Garland’s powerhouse performance and its emotionally resonant narrative. Yet, despite its acclaim, the film is not without significant problems—both in its production history and in its final form. These issues have sparked debate among critics and cinephiles for decades.

Perhaps the most glaring issue with A Star Is Born is the infamous studio interference that led to the mutilation of Cukor’s original vision. The film was initially released at a running time of 182 minutes, but Warner Bros. quickly cut nearly 30 minutes after its premiere to allow for more daily screenings. These cuts were made without Cukor’s input and resulted in the loss of key character development and narrative cohesion. In 1983, a restoration effort attempted to reconstruct the original version using surviving footage and production stills, but the damage was already done. The missing scenes—especially those that deepened Norman Maine’s tragic arc—left the film feeling uneven and emotionally rushed in places.

 
While Judy Garland’s performance is rightly celebrated, the film’s portrayal of her character, Esther Blodgett, reflects problematic gender dynamics. Esther’s rise to fame is framed almost entirely through the lens of her relationship with Norman Maine, a fading star whose alcoholism and self-destruction dominate the narrative. Esther’s success is constantly overshadowed by her emotional labor in supporting Norman, culminating in a finale that reinforces the idea that a woman’s ultimate role is to sacrifice for the man she loves. This dynamic, while emotionally powerful, reinforces outdated tropes about women’s roles in both relationships and the entertainment industry.

Even in its restored form, A Star Is Born suffers from pacing issues. The first act is rich with musical numbers and character development, but the second half becomes increasingly melodramatic and rushed. The tonal shift from vibrant musical to somber tragedy is jarring, and the film struggles to maintain narrative momentum. This imbalance is partly due to the missing footage, but also reflects a structural flaw in the screenplay. The film devotes significant time to Esther’s rise, but Norman’s decline—arguably the emotional core of the story—feels compressed and underexplored.

Judy Garland’s performance is undeniably magnetic, but the film leans heavily on her real-life struggles to enhance its emotional impact. Her personal history with addiction and career setbacks mirrors Esther’s journey, blurring the line between performance and autobiography. While this adds a layer of poignancy, it also raises ethical questions about how much the film exploits Garland’s vulnerabilities for dramatic effect. The result is a performance that feels both transcendent and uncomfortably self-referential.

A Star Is Born (1954) remains a powerful and influential film, but its legacy is complicated by production woes, gendered storytelling, and structural flaws. It is a film of breathtaking highs and frustrating lows—a flawed masterpiece that continues to inspire admiration and critique in equal measure...

STAR FRIENDS: DICK VAN DYKE AND JULIE ANDREWS

The friendship between Dick Van Dyke and Julie Andrews began in 1964 on the set of Mary Poppins. Their friendship spans 61 years, beginning in 1964 on the set of “Mary Poppins.” Van Dyke arrived as the exuberant Bert. Andrews, making her film debut, stepped into Mary Poppins with poise and sharp focus. The set gave them more than a classic musical. It gave them a partnership built on trust and easy laughter.

Van Dyke has recalled how Andrews encouraged him through physically demanding choreography and long rehearsal days. Her notes were precise, never harsh, and she paired them with a smile or a quick aside to settle nerves. He thrived under that kindness. The penguin sequence became a private touchstone for them, a memory they could reference years later whenever one needed a spark of joy.
Once “Mary Poppins” soared, their schedules pulled in different directions. Andrews raced into “The Sound of Music” in 1965 and a run of acclaimed performances. Van Dyke toggled between film roles, stage work, and the rhythms of television that had already made him a household name through “The Dick Van Dyke Show.” Amid premieres and press, they made time to exchange letters and calls. Each note sounded like a quick return to the London soundstage where their friendship began.

A backstage reunion in the late 1970s showed how little the core had changed. Van Dyke visited after an Andrews performance and found conversation flowing as if the orchestra were still tuning. They traded stories about choreographers and the mischief of corps dancers who tried to make them laugh mid take. Memory turned into fuel for new work, and good humor lifted the pressure that followed big successes.
Their bond adjusted to the realities of health and geography. Andrews has long kept a home in Switzerland, while Van Dyke’s base remained in California. They bridged the distance with video messages on birthdays, quick calls after premieres, and short notes when one spotted a magazine profile of the other. The ritual mattered. It kept their working shorthand alive in a quieter form.

Tributes became another thread. When Van Dyke received a major honor, Andrews recorded words that praised his energy and generosity on set. He later said hearing her voice brought him back to the moment they first tried lines together in London. When Andrews marked a milestone of her own, Van Dyke returned the kindness with a personal message that folded in gratitude, a bit of teasing about rehearsal habits, and a memory of them cracking up during a camera reset.

The late 1990s tested Andrews with significant vocal surgery. Van Dyke responded with reassurance that her gift went far beyond singing. He reminded her of the clarity she brought to scenes, the way she lifted colleagues, and the steadiness that anchored long shoots. That encouragement reflected what he valued most from 1964 onward. It was the same steady presence she had given him during rehearsals for tap-heavy numbers.

In recent years, celebrations have been smaller but no less heartfelt. Friends have mentioned calls where Van Dyke lights up the moment Andrews appears on screen. She asks about his dancing and balance work. He asks about her writing and the rhythms of her days. When awards broadcasts include archival clips from “Mary Poppins,” they often exchange a quick message noting the scene, the costuming detail, or the way a camera move still feels fresh.

The friendship also remains a study in complementary temperaments. Van Dyke brings buoyant optimism that reads instantly on his face. Andrews brings calm attention to detail that gives partners confidence. Together, they created a working environment that felt playful and safe, then protected that feeling across six decades with small acts of care. A note. A call. A two minute video that says I see you.
For admirers who met them through “Mary Poppins,” the most striking fact is the endurance. Sixty one years after that first rehearsal, the pair still value the same things they noticed on day one. He admired her discipline and kindness. She admired his spark and generous spirit. Time altered careers and routines, yet the friendship kept its simple architecture of encouragement and shared delight in the work...

MUSIC BREAK: BARNEY MARTIN - MISTER CELLOPHANE

Does anyone remember that Barney Martin introduced this song in the original production of Chicago in 1975? He was more famous for playing Jerry Seinfeld's father in the television comedy "Seinfeld". Barney was a great actor and does a great job on this song. It's one of my favorite songs from the production...

CELEBRITY DEATH CERTIFICATES: BIX BIEDERBECKE

Here is the death certificate of jazz great Bix Biederbecke who tragically died young on August 6, 1931 at the age of  28...