This column originally appeared on Aug. 12, 2007
Maybe you saw the news that a New Mexico production company is proposing building a multi-million dollar film and television studio in the Philadelphia area. Maybe you didn’t. But then again, maybe you saw the major motion picture “Chubb-Chubbs Save Xmas,” and maybe you didn’t. I will tell you that from what I can gather, both productions rate about one star on my grading scale — out of a possible 100.
It’s not that I don’t love the idea of saving Xmas, or the whole Mid-Winter Holiday Season Concept for those of you atheists and pagans celebrating at home. Nor do I object to the idea of locating a film and television production facility in the Philadelphia area, for that matter.
No, when I read the story, the sentence that struck me as something for the cutting room floor was this one: “Pacifica” — that’s the name of the production company from New Mexico — “is looking at sites in Bucks, Delaware and Philadelphia counties.”
“Cut!” as they used to say in those Hollywood movies about Hollywood movies.
Never mind the fact that we’re dealing here with a company named Pacifica that’s located in a state that does not currently border the Pacific Ocean, or any ocean that I’m aware of. But here they are practically slapping us folks in Chester County who are of the firm belief that our hometown would make the perfect place for a studio, slapping us like Moe would slap Curly.
The announcement comes about a month after state lawmakers approved $75 million in film tax credits for the fiscal year that started July 1. Gov. Ed Rendell said at a news conference with the film production company’s chief, who is trying to put together a $10 million incentive package to get the studio project off the ground, that the idea was a natural for the Philly area.
Rendell said the Philadelphia region should be attractive to filmmakers for its variety of shooting locations, from rural farms to the gritty neighborhoods of the inner city. “This area has unlimited capacity for different scenes,” said Rendell, the former Philadelphia mayor and current Eagles acolyte. “You can't get urban grime in Albuquerque.”
Hey, yo, Ed! If you hadn’t looked, we got it all. You want rural, we’ve got rolling hillsides that roll into other rolling hillsides. You want grime, take a walk around Phoenixville sometime and see what ends up on the soles of your shoes. You want drama like the Western standoff in “High Noon”? Check out the battle between Borough Council in West Chester and their historic preservation comrades. You want comedy like the confused townsfolk in “Blazing Saddles”? Do the words, “Hear ye, hear ye! The Council of the City of Coatesville is now in session!” strike your funny bone?
According to the Associated Press, the Delaware Valley studio would need to grow to about 1 million square feet, comprising sound stages, production offices and other space. One million square feet is about the average size of a foyer in a Mcmansion in Upper Uwchlan. We’ve got square feet just sitting around waiting to be used — a lot of it in strip shopping centers that have nearby Quiznos, so catering wouldn’t be a problem.
And did I mention that Bam’s all set for his close-up?
Showing posts with label Bam Margera. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bam Margera. Show all posts
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Me and The Babe
This appeared May 14, 2006
Before there was Bam, there was The Bambino.
Mr. Margera of West Chester, star of his own "reality" television series on MTV, may owe his nickname to Mr. George Herman "Babe" Ruth, late of Baltimore, Boston and New York City.
Back before there was a cult of celebrity in America, there was a cult of Americans who fed off the celebrity of baseball's greatest player, instantly known as Babe.
There's been much talk lately about The Babe, what with Barry Bonds making his way up the home run ladder toward Ruth's 714 mark. All that chatter pleases me no end, because I love Babe Ruth, and I love hearing stories about him.
And, of course, because of the connection he has with Chester County.
I first learned of that connection when I read Robert Creamer's marvelous 1974 biography, "Babe: The Legend Comes to Life." Creamer digs past the old chestnuts about Ruth and his love of hot dogs, his orphanage background and his called shot home run against the Cubs, and weaves some wonderful little-known tales about Ruth into the mix.
One that caught my attention concerned Ruth's weaving road trip in July 1920, just after he'd joined the New York Yankees. He put his young wife, a few fellow players and an older coach in the passenger seats of his four-door touring sedan and set out from Washington, where the Yankees had played, back to New York.
Now, remember, this was in the day when automobile driving was in its infancy, and drivers really hadn't come to understand how the rules of physics matched with the laws of physiology in determining how your car could stay upright. So Ruth, as was his habit, refreshed himself along the road with sips of bootleg whiskey.
By the time the crew passed into Pennsylvania, one can assume that Ruth's blood alcohol level was something like a point-Avogadro's Number (6.022 times 10 to the 23rd). And so when he tried to round a curve in the road outside Wawa, Creamer said, Ruth flipped the car and sent everyone sprawling.
No one was seriously hurt - the newspapers got it wrong anyhow, reporting "RUTH REPORTED KILLED IN CAR CRASH" - and The Babe continued his marvelous 1920 season. But it got me thinking: Driving north from Baltimore to Wawa, he must have driven through Southern Chester County.
The thought of Ruth tooling up Route 1 in the middle of the night, drunk behind the wheel, while mushroom farmers were asleep in their beds filled me with a great glimpse of how close you can be to history without you even knowing it.
I read elsewhere that later in life, Ruth attended a street fair in Kennett Square hosted by Herb Pennock, his Yankees teammate and a native of mushroom country. After dinner, Ruth and his teammates began winning prizes at one of those booths where you knock down milk bottles with a light baseball.
It was a piece of cake for the crew, even throwing curve balls, but one of the players found the next morning that his arm had swollen to three times its normal size - the fault of the lightweight balls and the curves.
The teammate's name? Why, Waite Hoyt, of course. Hoyt's post-baseball career? Why, Cincinnati Reds' radio announcer, of course.
Hoyt's biggest fan? Why, me, of course.
Get the connection, Bam?
Before there was Bam, there was The Bambino.
Mr. Margera of West Chester, star of his own "reality" television series on MTV, may owe his nickname to Mr. George Herman "Babe" Ruth, late of Baltimore, Boston and New York City.
Back before there was a cult of celebrity in America, there was a cult of Americans who fed off the celebrity of baseball's greatest player, instantly known as Babe.
There's been much talk lately about The Babe, what with Barry Bonds making his way up the home run ladder toward Ruth's 714 mark. All that chatter pleases me no end, because I love Babe Ruth, and I love hearing stories about him.
And, of course, because of the connection he has with Chester County.
I first learned of that connection when I read Robert Creamer's marvelous 1974 biography, "Babe: The Legend Comes to Life." Creamer digs past the old chestnuts about Ruth and his love of hot dogs, his orphanage background and his called shot home run against the Cubs, and weaves some wonderful little-known tales about Ruth into the mix.
One that caught my attention concerned Ruth's weaving road trip in July 1920, just after he'd joined the New York Yankees. He put his young wife, a few fellow players and an older coach in the passenger seats of his four-door touring sedan and set out from Washington, where the Yankees had played, back to New York.
Now, remember, this was in the day when automobile driving was in its infancy, and drivers really hadn't come to understand how the rules of physics matched with the laws of physiology in determining how your car could stay upright. So Ruth, as was his habit, refreshed himself along the road with sips of bootleg whiskey.
By the time the crew passed into Pennsylvania, one can assume that Ruth's blood alcohol level was something like a point-Avogadro's Number (6.022 times 10 to the 23rd). And so when he tried to round a curve in the road outside Wawa, Creamer said, Ruth flipped the car and sent everyone sprawling.
No one was seriously hurt - the newspapers got it wrong anyhow, reporting "RUTH REPORTED KILLED IN CAR CRASH" - and The Babe continued his marvelous 1920 season. But it got me thinking: Driving north from Baltimore to Wawa, he must have driven through Southern Chester County.
The thought of Ruth tooling up Route 1 in the middle of the night, drunk behind the wheel, while mushroom farmers were asleep in their beds filled me with a great glimpse of how close you can be to history without you even knowing it.
I read elsewhere that later in life, Ruth attended a street fair in Kennett Square hosted by Herb Pennock, his Yankees teammate and a native of mushroom country. After dinner, Ruth and his teammates began winning prizes at one of those booths where you knock down milk bottles with a light baseball.
It was a piece of cake for the crew, even throwing curve balls, but one of the players found the next morning that his arm had swollen to three times its normal size - the fault of the lightweight balls and the curves.
The teammate's name? Why, Waite Hoyt, of course. Hoyt's post-baseball career? Why, Cincinnati Reds' radio announcer, of course.
Hoyt's biggest fan? Why, me, of course.
Get the connection, Bam?
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