The Sterile Cuckoo - "Sometimes you have to get away from the noise, you know?"

Japanese One Sheet




I saw The Sterile Cuckoo in Lincolnton, NC with my mother and sisters when I was 12 years old. I don't think my mother knew what she was getting into, but it's a film I wouldn't hesitate to show any 12 year old -- Hell, a ten year old for that matter. Never released on DVD, it'll pop up on TCM every now and then, but a high quality, uncut version was recently added to You Tube in nine parts.

Producer - Director Alan J Pakula (Klute, Sophie's Choice, To Kill a Mocking Bird, Love With a Proper Stranger) captured the '60s I remember as a kid. Not just the look but the feeling. Those days of care free bliss interrupted by seconds of teeth gnashing anxiety. I suspect screenwriter Alvin Sargent had much to do with that.

You know you're in for something different when Liza Minnelli as Pookie Adams tells Jerry Payne (Wendell Burton), "Some people guzzle God like He was a keg of beer." Tim McIntire as Jerry's roomie, Charlie, nails overweight beer drinking and ersatz sexual success that, despite 10 minutes of total screen time, is one of the most amazing performances ever. Ever! Or, maybe I have too much in common with Charlie.

No one is attacked. No one means any harm. But hurt is everywhere. If Christmas movies and forced cheerfulness of a happy holiday get you down...check this film out. It's as truthful as you can get this time of year...when you need to get away from the noise.

Can I help you?

The Living Room

I was 14, when a friend I was with got caught stealing a double Chicago album in the Willow Oaks Shopping Center just before Christmas. He was older and his father was a famous Air Force Ace as well as Thunderbird pilot. My friend was detained by the store and police were called.

That afternoon the Ace visited my home with his son. I was called downstairs by my father and we all sat in our living room with Danish furniture and a white Flokati rug. My fathers paintings were everywhere. Some were, I like to think, tasteful nudes. I don't think the Ace painted.

He told my father his son was arrested for shoplifting and that I was I with him. My father, who didn't have much use for me at this age, sat on the edge of the sofa and looked my way. "Is that true?" he asked. "Yes." I said, and said nothing more. There was silence and I looked at my friend who was staring at the Flokati rug.

The Ace suggested I was the lookout and that it was probably my idea to steal the Chicago album. My father turned to me and I told him I didn't even like Chicago, that my friend had been stealing anything that wasn't nailed down for as long as I knew him, and that he told me about stuff he stole before he ever met me.

My father, a major, turned to the Ace, a colonel, and said, "There you go." The Ace looked at his son and asked if it was true. The son nodded. The Ace suddenly looked small and dark in our bright living room. He left with his son taking the dark with him. Nothing else was said by my father.

40 years later I still obsess over shoplifting paranoia. If I don't buy something a feeling of dread comes over me. I'll be stopped. Questioned. Accused. By a famous Ace. And then I remember my father... and how bright it was in that living room.

Pre War NYC Pied-A-Terre: Midtown

505 sq ft Studio w/orig'l oak floors & custom walk in closet


Kitch w/ south exp.

Modern gas oven

Loads of storage

Built in bookshelves

New A/C

Original 1930s bathroom

Custom shower

As is - $2,100 a month. Two month security and one month's rent required. No Fee.

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like...

...Mayor Bloomberg might be out of a job.

"I got the White-Boy-my-closet-is-as-small-as-a-Matchbox blues"

Sweet mother of God. Will you look at that? Double Breasted suit with perfect button holes in each lapel. Cat Gut braces. And NO pocket square. I love it. But I'll never have it. This is the Domenico Spano boutique located in Saks. Amongst a sea of boring apparel (Joseph Abboud anyone?) and some of the ugliest shoes I've seen in a very long time...there is, tucked away in the back, a little respite of taste and quality...and some amazing price points.

We are entering the land of bespoke. I'll refrain from the crude and not even discuss cost. I bought a tie here. Marked down twice. It's the most I've paid for a tie in nine years. I'm sure I'll spill salsa on it my first wearing...and cry. I am such a White Boy.

Back in the NYC of 1985, I visited my screenwriter friend with my crime novel friend. The screenwriter had just sold his first cash inhaling script and took us to a blues bar to see a legend. I can't remember the man's name but he was a vulgar and mean old bastard who normally wouldn't have peed on us if we were on fire...But the screenwriter knew the Legend and had booked him at a club he used to manage. And so we were made fun of more than anything. It was like Don Rickles insulting you from a stage in Las Vegas. You felt honored.

I'm pretty sure I was wearing Duck Head khakis, a Brooks Bros pink oxford button down, a blue blazer and Bean bluchers and a Ranger belt. I wore that a lot in NY when I was poor. We're drinking beer and having a good time. This legend guy is pretty good. Despite having suffered a stroke, he straps his arm to the neck of his guitar with his trouser belt and does some amazing slide stuff. We're all in awe. And then the Legend squints his eyes at me and nods, "This next one's for you." Everyone oohs and ahhs. Crime writer slaps me on the back and the Legend sings, "I got the White Boy my closet is as small as a Matchbox blues." I'm reminded of that night when I look at Mr Spanos beautiful clothes. Woe is me and my closet. If you have a lot of money, love clothes and want to know more about Mr Spano go to Film Noir Buff for some detals and much better photos here http://www.filmnoirbuff.com/