Good night, Jay Leno

You know, I don't mean this to sound like a dig at Jay Leno, who I've appreciated as a very funny guy ever since the days when I covered him in Houston comedy clubs during the early 1980s. (Of course, I've always been more of a David Letterman fan, but never mind.) But while watching his farewell Tonight Show after 17 years on the air, I couldn't help feeling... well, not immensely moved. And I certainly don't think of his leaving as anywhere near the epochal pop culture event that Johnny Carson's departure was. Sure, I know: Carson was on for 30 years, and had a great deal more time to evolve into an icon. But I also wonder if, because there are so many more viewing choices now, no one will ever again have the stature of a Johnny Carson in our collective pop culture consciousness. Come to think of it, as we proceed apace in the Age of Media Demassification, I don't think Conan O'Brien will ever have a stature equal to Jay's. That's the just the way is now. I'm not saying that's tragic. But in a way, I think it's a little sad that, the more options we have from which to choose, the fewer things we have that bring us together.

R.I.P.: Charles Nelson Reilly (1931-2007)

If you're not old enough to remember Charles Nelson Reilly as an unpredictably puckish presence on game shows, variety hours and Johnny Carson's couch during the 1970s, you might not understand why so many folks are genuinely sad today after hearing about his death. (On the other hand, you might recognize his voice as that of The Dirty Bubble for SpongeBob SquarePants.) And even if you are old enough -- well, you still might not know that he studied acting alongside Jason Robards and Hal Holbrook, earned Tony Award nominations (and actually won a glittering prize) as a stage actor and director, and starred in an extremely funny and extraordinarily candid one-man show recorded in the 2006 performance film The Life of Reilly.

As I noted in my Variety review of the latter: "There's a suggestion of still-simmering anger when he recalls a brutal brush-off by an NBC talent scout in the early 1950s: 'They don't let queers on television.' Ultimately, however, Life of Reilly is vivid proof that living well, and laughing heartily, can be the best revenge." So maybe, just maybe, someone will finally give this movie -- so well-received on the festival circuit last year -- some theatrical and homevideo exposure?