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Weekend Butler: The painting that saved Bill Murray’s life, Eric Carle’s search for a lost cat, Best TikTok, the sickest and funniest film, and more

Published: Jun 03, 2021
Category: Weekend

THE PAINTING THAT SAVED BILL MURRAY’S LIFE
The painting (above) is “The Song of the Lark,” by Jules Adolphe Breton. The story is Bill Murray’s. Because he’s Bill Murray, someone laughed. He’s not telling a funny story

BEST TIKTOK EVER (FOR ADULT NEW YORKERS)
Click here.

THE WEEKEND POEM
“Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven,” by W.B. Yeats

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams.

COULD THAT BE….HARVEY WEINSTEIN ON “CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM?”

ERIC CARLE
Eric Carle died. I wanted to know more. I found two especially good links.

1) Watch Eric Carle read “The Very Hungry Caterpillar.”

2) A memory from Lara B. Sharp, on Facebook:
Many years ago my cat Julian — I called him The Shmoo — was let out of my apartment by an irresponsible and perhaps, in hindsight, diabolical landlord of my rent stabilized apartment in Williamsburg, Brooklyn. I was absolutely devastated, of course, so I posted homemade fliers — Have You Seen My Cat? — with several of The Shmoo’s photos, and offering a substantial reward, ALL over the neighborhood.

Shortly after my fliers were up I received a phone call from a very concerned man telling me that HE was going out to look for my cat. Every day, for five days, morning and night, this unknown man called me to ask after my lost cat, and every day he reported back to me about his own search… He was so unbelievably kind to me, while I sobbed into my landline telephone… I told him that I had no education, and no career, and no family… The Shmoo, my rescued dumpster cat, was my Everything… I talked and talked and talked about about myself, and he endlessly listened…

Eventually, my extremely overweight cat was returned to me from the kitchen of the Italian restaurant a block away. He spent the whole time there, eating ravioli and meatballs. Aside from being four pounds heavier and stinking of roasted garlic and stewed tomatoes, he was fine.
The first person I called with the great news was the nice man on the phone!

He was as happy as I was about the return of The Shmoo, and he asked if he could meet him… Normally I’d be like, ‘Nah bro, you ain’t gettin’ my address,’ but this unknown, older gentleman was so kind and so supportive of me – like the dad that I’d never had – that I said I’d love to meet him, and have him meet my fat, beloved kitty…

When he arrived, because I knew he loved cats, and not much else about him, and because I wanted to express my gratitude, I gave him a huge stuffed cat from FAO Schwartz as a gift, and after he met The Shmoo, as he was leaving, he handed me a thin envelope…

Inside, was a beautiful book, called ‘Have You Seen My Cat’, and it was signed by the author, Eric Carle.

The sensitive, selfless person who listened to my sobbing, for days on end, called me twice a day, and physically searched all of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, for my chubby lost cat, was the famous children’s book author Eric Carle.

The revelation was so stunning to me that terminal shyness set in, and I never phoned him again.

To be treated like a daughter, when I’d never had a father, and by such an important person, who cared so much about a kitty that I loved so dearly, meant more to me than I was able to express at that time… All these years later, it still means just as much.

Many years later, when The Shmoo eventually passed away, I had him cremated with an Eric Carle postcard of ‘The Hungry Caterpillar.’

I’ve never told this story before, because it was so precious of an experience that I kept it to myself. I’m sharing it today, because I have so much love for him, and I always will, and because I can’t stop thinking of him. I will never, ever forget him. For five whole days, I had the world’s greatest dad.”

THE WEEKEND MOVIE: “THE DEATH OF STALIN”
I saw “The Death of Stalin” in a small theater on Long Island. Small audience. I was the only one weeping with laughter. I understood why: you’re being asked to laugh at cruelty, pettiness, small-mindedness. You’re being asked to root for Khrushchev. Not for every taste.

I wondered if I’m the only one who finds this level of satire funny. I asked friends if they’d seen it. “Best comedy of the year,” they said. “Sick.”

The set-up: After decades of iron-fisted rule, Stalin is dying. Or dead, it’s hard to be sure, and not just because the intrigue is suddenly thicker than borscht — his successors can’t find an experienced doctor to save him because they’ve all been jailed or executed.

Nikita Khrushchev: Which doctor have you called?
Georgy Malenkov: Oh, well…
Lavrentiy Beria: The subject’s currently under discussion.
Georgy Malenkov: As acting General Secretary, I think that, well, the Committee should decide.
Nikita Khrushchev: The Committee? But our actual General Secretary is lying in a puddle of indignity! I think he’s saying, “get me a doctor now!”
Georgy Malenkov: No, I-I don’t agree. I think we should wait until we’re quorate.
Nikita Khrushchev: Quorate? The room is only 75% conscious!

Michael Palin is Molotov, a spineless functionary. Steve Buscemi is Khrushchev, looking for an opening. Jeffrey Tambor is the preening Malenkov. Co-written and directed by Armando Iannucci (who did “Veep”).

Watch this. Then, if you’re in my comedy tribe, click here to rent the stream.