“The mourners here were friends of my parents, musicians from Yorkville: family friends from out of town whom I’d met on a few occasions, all nice folks who played music at one time or another, a little loopy from too much prescription medication for joint inflammations and anti-social tendencies, who suffered from deafness in one ear and ringing sensations in the other. There were men in deerskin vests and bolo ties, wearing graying lambchops. Wiry guys with high foreheads and veiny forearms, session players who followed their own style, all skinny leather ties and short sleeved cotton shirts and scraggly facial hair, single earrings and sweatbands onstage, a dress code for rockers in midlife as rigid as a street gang’s.”
“Loren & Rose” showcases the enormous talent of Jacqueline Bisset in her role as Rose Martin an actress rising to great acclaim in “Lisa Overnight” her greatest commercial success and her biggest curse as once you reach the summit it may be more of a slide down as how much room is there left to ascend once you are at the peak? It was certainly not with, “Mega Gator’s Mom” and a series of B and C films that followed her breakout role.
Young and upcoming film director Loren (Kelly Blatz) hot off the success of a short film that has traversed the festival circuit meets Martin for lunch at Martin’s favourite restaurant in Topanga Canyon (now devastated by the ongoing Los Angeles County wildfires). Over the next five years they meet at the same restaurant Martin acting as muse and confidant to an uncertain and anxious Loren trying to build a film director career.
The discussions between Martin and Loren are intense and the restaurant becomes a stage for Bisset and Blatz to showcase their impressive talents. The film ostensibly is about the bourgeoning mentor-mentee relationship between Martin and Loren but it is more about life in general and in particular about acting, directing, the history of theatre, art, the meaning of cinema, creativity and commercialism, approaches of different directors, love and grief. Martin is a treasure trove of life and professional experience which is received with gratitude but not without challenge by Loren.
While Bisset and Blatz excel in their roles one senses solid chemistry between them throughout that often one may forget they are acting as their relationship seems ensconced in reality more than in their acting. The last supper scene is positively memorable and what a swan song for veteran Bisset and the lesser know Blatz.
And Paul Sand as Phil the owner of the restaurant is understated, witty and sarcastic yet at times effusive.
The acting ability of Bisset and Blatz is accentuated by the solid foundation of writing and directing by Russell Brown.
“Loren and Rose” will be available exclusively 28January2025 on Amazon Prime.
I am not going to include a link to the trailer here as the film must be watched and digested in its entirety so offering you tidbits in a trailer does great injustice to it.
After my Ritz-Carlton meltdown in Manhattan for months I had no idea where I was nor did I really care. Was it post traumatic stress disorder or depression?
I was told that I had been transported on a chartered jet courtesy of Don Lupara from New York to Naples where I was transported along the coast to a sanitorium in the beautiful tourist trap village of Positano. Apparently the standard treatments were not working as I was not communicating and just rocking back and forth mumbling “GINERVA” and then I would sob for hours. I ate very little and shriveled away to a dangerous body measurement.
I started to recognize myself again after eating a big bowl of Pasta a La Nero. This pesto/zucchini/cheese pasta was Ginevra’s favourite and it must have jolted my memory. It was weeks later that improvements were noted. Food as medicine for the mind?
Speaking of the mind I was experiencing terrible flashbacks about John Lennon, Ginevra and the execution of those two teenagers Guido and Lino. I had made a breakthrough sparked by bowls of that medicinal pasta but had hit a roadblock.
Don Lupara, as my “guardian” I learnt later had authorized an experimental treatment for extreme depression Dr. Muzzio O’Leary had pioneered in the Bolzano Psychiatric Institute. The treatment was called “fear and loathing protocol” which Dr. O’Leary had used with several Las Vegas showgirls. With measured doses of LSD the trauma causing the mental illness was relived in an exploratory and guided manner to have the mind explain to itself the continuing trauma was nothing but a reaction to an awful reality but no longer a debilitating reality. Medical gobbly gook but it worked extremely well in my case. Unfortunately one side effect was a craving for pesto so I ate huge quantities of pasta which. Considering my skeletal frame wasn’t all that bad.
My private suite at the Positano Psychiatric Institute
I was housed in an exclusive asylum up in the Positano Hills with a breathtaking view of the ocean below. 14 months after my meltdown it was me I was finally dealing with. Don Lupara had popped in for a few visits and the Fat Fox had red eyes, a mottled complexion and was yellow skinned. He looked atrocious. A haggard caricature of his former self. One day he showed up for a talk with me about my future. He had a final cure in mind. MURDER!
As for Greek red wines there is no star performer of world renown at least yet! Argentina has Malbec. Chile has Bonarda. United States Cabernet Sauvignon. Canada Cabernet Franc. Greece? Xinomavro or Agiorgitiko? I don’t think so perhaps because of limited distribution in North America.
The Lemniona grape
Lemniona is the rising star of the Greek red varieties and will be a driving force for the development of numerous top wines around Greece in the years to come. The quality potential of this red variety, used to make dry red wines, was identified when only few vines were left. Several years of research and microvinifications, bringing together numerous scientists, growers and producers, started yielding some impressive results.
Lemniona wine has an extremely deep and vivid purple red colour. On the nose it is rich, very expressive, with red fruit, herbs, minerality and cooking spices. The palate has a great line, with a firm, textured but never aggressive tannin frame. Alcohol can be relatively high, although rarely above 13.5%, but it is always very balanced by the bright acidity. Today, because of its high profile, it is cultivated in a number of areas almost all around Greece. Nevertheless, in many of these it has a rather experimental status rather than used to make commercially available wines.
Lemniona is one of these rare red varieties that manage to pack extract, concentration, acidity and flavour, without leaning towards fatness and volume. It is for people looking for the next generation of ambitious, yet graceful reds. Lemniona, especially when young, is excellent with beef and other rich red meats. Most commercially available examples are ready to drink but will benefit for at least a few years of bottle age, while they will reach their peak in a decade or even more.
We try a Limniona from Domaine Sabanis.
Aroma: Black cherry, pomegranate, fig, hazelnut but the cherry predominates sometimes bright red cherry then suddenly black cherry in a dual personality.
Palate: Tannic but far less than one would expect from and Xinomavro of the same vintage. Loads of cherry for sure but fresh fig too. Moderate finish.
Personality: Although I carry a big stick, I am no Barolo or Xinomavro. A wine fitting for Zorba or Melina Mercouri but never on a Sunday!
Food Match: Kleftiko (Lamb in parchment paper).
Cellarbility: Will soften over the next 4 years. Consume by 2029-year end. I might go out on a limb as I am not familiar with the grape but it just might reach its peak in 2030. No harm in trying with a couple of bottles.
I wanted desperately to return to Naples to my Ginevra who I was beginning to miss terribly. Physicians at the Roosevelt Hospital in New York were concerned the bone chip near my heart might be a potential risk so travel was forbidden until a round of tests was completed. I was in gnawing pain and miserable. John Lennon, who had become a close friend, had been gunned down in New York. I just had to leave this cesspool even if it was to the violence of Naples. Ginevra did the best she could to keep my spirits up talking about our baby kicking her in the womb like a professional soccer player. That made me chuckle but being so distant it just made me cry in utter desperation.
I took long walks in Central Park but it brought more sadness as it sparked memories of the wonderful walks I had in the park with John Lennon. It was as if I had no place to turn to but a depressing and lonely hotel room at the Ritz-Carlton Central Park South. I had no appetite. Nothing to do. No place to go. New York once a glowing gem for me was nothing more than a piece of fool’s gold.
Then it happened. The worst day in my life. After a walk in frigid Central Park I returned to the Ritz and as I entered into the lobby one of the crew from Don Lupara’s family I recognized “Greasy Fingers” Alfonso. Alfonso said he wanted to check up on me as Ginevra was unable to. We went to the lobby bar and had a martini and Alfonso said my beloved Ginevra, my sweet Calabrian plum and my unborn child had been killed in a roadside explosion. It was Cyclops that claimed responsibility. Naples, an assembly line of death.
Ginevra dead at the roadside: Her last words were “Penniless”!
As for what happened after that I remember very little except descending into a hellish violent rage. In fact it was a rampage smashing mirrors, lamps and anything in sight in the Ritz-Carlton lobby. I was later told Alfonso had attempted to stop me but I tossed that muscular man aside like a toddler. Police came along with the boys in white from Bellevue. After being subdued by a tranquilizer dart I was placed in a straight jacket and off I was whisked. Ginevra dearest had been taken from me.
John Lennon died at 11:15 p.m. at Roosevelt Hospital and I was released three days later. The bullet had traversed clean through my shoulder except for nipping a bit of bone which X rays revealed came to rest a few centimeters from my heart. Those hollow point bullets are nasty things.
Hoping John Lennon is with the angels
In considerable pain I cabbed it from Roosevelt Hospital to my suite at the Ritz Carlton Central Park South thanking the dulling effects of morphine on the pain. I thought about The Rolling Stones song “Sister Morphine”. It made me gloomy and lethargic. The press circled the entrance to the Ritz-Carlton wanting to speak to the man that was holding John Lennon’s hand comforting him as he lay bleeding on the pavement. I took a big swing with my good arm and knocked a camera to the ground. Out of control I screamed obscenities at these newshounds. Thank God hotel security darted out and dragged me into the lobby.
Yoko decided there would be no funeral for John but a cremation service. Ringo was the only Beatle that appeared in New York and at the request of Yoko both Ringo and I minded Sean while the cremation service occurred. Ringo told me he simply could not attend the service due to the violent death of his former bandmate. It would shatter him to pieces. If he had only died a natural death Ringo lamented.
Yoko returned looking haggard and dreadful. I was asked to attend a small reception in the unit but declined. I had a long conversation with Ringo about John and while he was no saint he was a decent man. The stories Ringo told me were said in confidence so I can’t repeat them here. Ringo said we should keep in touch.
So how did I feel about the death of John Lennon. I was crushed with the tragedy and furious with “America” for its history of violence and its gun obsession. How could a little fucked up fucker like Chapman possess a 38 special? Chapman was so fucked up he was reading my favourite American novel “Catcher in the Rye” calmly across the street from the murder scene when he was apprehended. Chapman was a psychotic Holden Caufield. I had to leave this country.
I recall reading John’s tea leaves and visualizing a menacing figure and what looked like an ambulance and having a sinister shiver eating some ice cream that day, Chapman’s…John’s favourite.
I had witnessed a tragedy as a spectator and around the corner was a deep tragedy that would take my mind and body where it had never been before. Was it the morphine talking?
I arrived from Rome at JFK Airport in New York on a foggy November afternoon. Given the water damage to my unit at the Dakota I made reservations for myself at the Ritz-Carlton Central Park South. I checked in had a double Martini (the best in New York aside from the Yale Club) then had a brisk walk to the Dakota. I had chatted with John Lennon upon my check in and we were to meet to inspect the damage to the unit. John had let my insurance company adjuster in to assess the damage last week.
The doorman announced my arrival to John who came down to meet me at the lobby. We headed up to my unit. The kitchen ceiling had collapsed leaving a terrible mess and John said the disaster recovery service hired by the insurance company cleaned up the mess but the damage was so extensive a new kitchen would be required. All the hardwood floors adjacent to the kitchen had been saturated with water and had buckled requiring replacement. A terrible inconvenience. John asked me up for a gin and tonic. He comforted me on my mini-disaster and to cheer me up invited me to see “The Elephant Man” on Broadway starring Bowie on December 9th with James Taylor and Yoko. John would never hesitate to extend his compassion to many.
I dealt with the insurance company and architects over the next few days and in no time construction was underway. I had my daily noon call with Ginevra and noting her increasing tension on each successive call I asked my sweet Campanian plum why she was stressed. Well Cyclops was becoming more threatening with Daddy, Don Lupara. Could I come back as soon as possible. I said I would return to Naples on December 11.
John asked me to meet him on December 8th in the service delivery entrance of the Dakota so we could head out to Jamaica New York for a late-night roti. I headed down to meet his limo around 22:00 hours. His limo approached and he exited the service entrance of the Dakota with Yoko. I heard several loud cracks just when I was approaching John. A hot fiery pain seared my shoulder and I spun around hitting the pavement. John was down immediately saying numerous times that he had been shot. With blood pouring out from my shoulder and ready to pass out I staggered to prostate John on the pavement. Yoko was standing over him sobbing. I took his hand and said to John that I had been shot and we would both be fine and walking in Central Park soon. He looked very bad with multiple wounds. After I heard gurgling sounds coming from his mouth when he attempted to speak I passed out. I recall saying to myself how much sicker the United States could get. A man of peace gunned down.
Upon our return to Naples we continued our holiday mode for a few weeks seeing the sites of Naples and eating for three. Ginevra was expanding rapidly. It would be two pizzas for dinner and many scoops of gelato afterwards. As my sweet Campanian plum was expanding rapidly and becoming more like a watermelon my confusion was as well.
After a pizza extravaganza where Ginevra ate three tasty artichoke and anchovy pizzas and drank four Brios it was time for a chat. What was our future aside from founding a branch of Weight Watchers in Naples?
Of course, we were deeply in love. But love must be tested.
What was our role in Naples? Ginevra had no doubts. We were to stay in Naples. We were to prepare to step into the shoes of Don Lupara when he was retired. Not when he retired but when he was “retired’. Don Ginevra was to rule the Scampian narcotics business and I was her head of the crews doing the on the ground business. An enforcer, executioner and arm of the family. Entertaining the crew and burying the endless cadavers and ensuring the families had a “survivor’s pension”. I would need lessons in Neapolitan, arms training and narcotic purity.
My life was to be one of crime, violence, benevolence, paternalism and terror.
It had a ruthless attraction but heck I was a lawyer upholding the law or so thought I but as I knew very well lawyers served the highest bidder like hired guns, defending street rapists and corporate rapists depending on who was paying the bills. But a ruthless thug? My dad Paneer Gupta was a hashish dealer in a milieu where all shared the trade as opposed to wiping out each other over minor transgressions. I was coming to the conclusion my sweet Campanian plum might just be no better than a Campanian Charles Manson.
Thank goodness I received a call from my pal John Lennon saying there had been a bad flood at the Dakota and my unit was damaged and I should come home…home? Where was my home? So saying adieu to Ginevra I headed back to New York to deal with the Dakota situation.
In the horizon tragedy upon tragedy was awaiting!
I had a dream and not one like Martin Luther King; this is what my Ginevra might be as the new narcotic queen of Scampia
“I remembered playing baseball past where Navi lived, back when it was an empty lot, but now the area was overrun with homes, housing mostly Indian families. Sikhs. Men with turbans and beards. Women who travelled in pairs, in gold flecked orange, beet, and yellow fabrics. They kept their lawns trim and undecorated. They took about two-thirds of the high school. An Indian veteran had not been allowed to enter the local legion hall on Remembrance Day because he was wearing a turban, and headwear was forbidden. The story had gotten into the newspapers, and our homely little suburb was declared the hate capital of the province.”
A Bird's Eye View of Fashion, Food, Travel, Culture, Beverage and Curiosity 