Young Frankenstein

Gratuitous Violins rating: **1/2 out of ****

I've always been a Mel Brooks fan and "Young Frankenstein" has always been my favorite Mel Brooks movie. So to say that I've been eagerly anticipating its debut as a Broadway musical would be an understatement.

Judging from the reaction earlier this week at the Hilton Theatre, I wasn't alone. Even before any actors appear on stage, before the orchestra plays a single note, there's a big round of applause. Clearly, I'm among fans. The audience is pumped to hear their favorite dialogue, see their favorite scenes from the movie.

Well, after all the controversy over $450 premium tickets, over the refusal to release box office tallies, does Mel Brooks deliver? Yes and no. Judging by the amount of laughter and applause I heard, people probably went home happy. This is a very faithful adaptation of the movie in content, if not always in spirit. And I shared much, but not all, of their enthusiasm.

Don't get me wrong, I really enjoyed "Young Frankenstein" and I'm glad I saw it. There were many things about it that I loved, and I did laugh, just not as much as I expected. While all the memorable lines and scenes from the movie are in the musical, to my ears they sometimes fell flat. (Even though, I have to admit, they elicited plenty of applause from everyone else in the audience). This is the first musical I've been to where just the appearance of a set on stage got applause, because people knew what was coming next.

Being a fan of the movie is kind of a double-edged sword. I can't help but compare the actors to their counterparts in the movie.

Take Roger Bart's performance as Dr. Frederick Frankenstein. While I think he got better as the show progressed, in the early scenes he just didn't seem to create a very memorable character.

In the movie, when Gene Wilder says "my name is pronounced Frohn-kun-steen," you can sense from the tone of his voice the barely suppressed rage. It's a great moment, and I was really looking forward to Roger Bart's take on it. But when he says the same line, I simply didn't feel any of the same emotion. I thought to myself, "Is that it?"

I felt the same way in the scene where Frederick and his fiancee, Elizabeth, played by Megan Mullalley, are saying goodbye to each other. In the scene from the movie, between Wilder and Madeline Kahn, there's a subtle shift in Kahn's tone of voice between her rather breathless expressions of love and her admonition that Frederick not touch her too closely, lest he mess up her hair or fingernails. With Mullalley, the scene just didn't seem nearly as funny.

Part of the problem is that the Hilton Theatre is a cavernous venue by Broadway standards, and I think the show gets a little lost. I sat three-quarters of the way back, in the left orchestra. When I saw "Curtains" in April at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre, I sat in the third row, in the center orchestra, and I enjoyed it more than "Young Frankenstein." A large part of it was simply that I could see the actors's faces much better. I think that you simply see a different show up close.

The parts that worked best for me in "Young Frankenstein" were the ones where the actors seemed to just get a little zany, a little over the top, more madcap, where they used more physical humor that worked no matter where you were sitting in the audience. I laughed during the scene in the cottage where the blind hermit scalds the monster with hot soup. It's such a memorable scene from the movie that I think the audience would have been disappointed if it had been left out.

I loved the way Sutton Foster as laboratory assistant Inga rolls around in the haywagon and yodels en route to Frankenstein's castle. Andrea Martin is wonderfully creepy as Frau Blucher, who inspires terror in horses everywhere, and Shuler Hensley makes a very appealing monster.

For me, a highlight was Christopher Fitzgerald's hysterical turn as Igor. (Or Eye-gore). Of all the actors in "Young Frankenstein," he does the best job of taking a character from the film and making it his own. I reveled in Fitzgerald's performance from the moment he pranced across the stage in his black cape and ever-changing hump. I didn't even miss Marty Feldman's bulging eyes. He is absolutely wonderful.

Frankly, while the songs were funny, I didn't find them very memorable. Some of them, like "Transylvania Mania," didn't seem to move the story along. (I guess Mel just needed a big show-stopper to end the first act). But I loved the way director/choreographer Susan Stroman turned "Puttin on the Ritz" into a big song and dance number.

"Young Frankenstein" worked as a movie because it was a satire, a sendup of the horror movie genre. Transylvania in the movie was a dark and foreboding place. The musical tries to recreate some of that, with the look of Frankenstein's castle and laboratory, and I loved those sets and the sound and lighting. But overall, I wish "Young Frankenstein" the musical had been a little less cheerful, a little more tongue in cheek. Somehow, this Transylvania is a little too sunny and bright.

The Farnsworth Invention

A couple of days after seeing "The Farnsworth Invention" at Broadway's Music Box Theatre, I took the NBC Studios tour, which begins with a short film about the network and its origins. There's a quote from David Sarnoff, the founder of the National Broadcasting Company, talking about television's potential. “It is an art which shines like a torch of hope in the troubled world."

In Aaron Sorkin's play, Sarnoff, portrayed by Hank Azaria, is less the visionary idealist waxing poetically about the new medium, and more the hardheaded, ruthless businessman trying to turn the new medium into a profit source. It's a stark contrast with Philo T. Farnsworth, played by Jimmi Simpson as a technological wizard who doesn't have a clue about the cuththroat realities of the business world.

While I enjoyed both performances, I knew Hank Azaria from movies and television. I was unfamiliar with Jimmi Simpson, and he's quite a revelation. I thought he was terrific - a mixture of boyish charm, scientific know-how and real-world naievete.

The race between the two men to invent television - and claim credit for the invention - is at the heart of the play. Each acts as narrator for the other's life story.

So we learn how the young Sarnoff and his family faced persecution in Russia, and became part of the wave of Jewish immigration to New York City in the early 20th century. Farnsworth, born in Utah, grew up in a farm family in Idaho. From an early age, they fell into the roles that they would assume as adults - Sarnoff as a businessman, Farnsworth as an inventor.

While David C. Woolard's costume design isn't very flashy or showy, it helps to accentuate the differences between the two men, as does Mark Adam Rampmeyer's hair and wig designs. Sarnoff is all slicked back hair and finely tailored suits. Meanwhile, Simpson's coiffure looks a little unruly and uncombed, and his clothes always appear slightly unkempt, like he got dressed in a hurry. He's a man for whom personal appearance is clearly an afterthought, while Sarnoff never forgets the importance of a good presentation.

Azaria and Simpson are fascinating to watch as Sarnoff and Farnsworth. Their dress, their manner of speaking, their body language, offer a study in contrasts. Sarnoff is brusque and blunt and and forceful and knows his way around the boardroom. Farnsworth has a certain gee-whiz boyish quality as he rushes around on stage. He may be a scientific genius but he doesn't know very much about how to impress potential investors.

Of course, I have no idea how close these two portraits hew to reality. I've never been a big fan of Aaron Sorkin's television work. I find it melodramatic and and corny and some of his characters stereotypical.

And with Sarnoff especially, he veers dangerously close to a stereotype. He seems to want to blame Sarnoff for selling out the hope that television could be a force for good in a changing world, that if only he'd shown more backbone, we'd have better-quality programming, less fluff. In Sorkin's view, Farnsworth is clearly an angel, a babe in the woods taken advantage of by ruthless corporate interests.

In addition, I felt a little cheated to learn that a key scene in the play is a total fabrication. It's impossible to know how much of the story really happened the way Sorkin presents it, and how much of it is embellished for dramatic purposes.

Also, since much of the story revolves around science and the intricacies of patent law, there's quite a bit of exposition, more telling the story than showing it. And I found some of the technical jargon a bit hard to follow.

Still, despite those quibbles, "The Farnsworth Invention" is a fascinating portrait of two men who ushered in a technology that changed the way we look at each other and at the world, bringing us to places that we'd never seen before, giving us experiences we've never had before.

It's interesting how these two men of very meager backgrounds symbolize two very different American experiences in the early part of the 20th century - East Coast and West Coast, urban and rural, immigrant and native born. Television, by creating a common American culture coast to coast, would play a great role in reducing those differences for future generations.

Cyrano De Bergerac

I was a little nervous about "Cyrano de Bergerac," now playing on Broadway at the Richard Rodgers Theatre.

I was afraid that the dialogue would be antiquated and I'd have a hard time understanding what was going on. While I vaguely remember reading an easy version of Edmond Rostand's verse play in high school French class, I didn't remember very much about the plot.

Well, I shouldn't have worried. While it took me a few minutes to acclimate myself to the rhythms of the language, I was soon swept up in the story of war and sacrifice and unrequited love. Aided by Gregory Gale's lavish costumes and Tom Pye's impressive set, this is how a classic should be brought to life. I thought it was exciting and poignant and I thoroughly enjoyed it.

Kevin Kline, prominent facial feature and all, is wonderful as Cyrano, equally adept with a pointed sword and a pointed phrase. He is the man for whom the word panache was invented, signifying a combination of flamboyance and courage. This was also the first time I'd seen swordplay on stage, and it was thrilling to watch. I can't believe how many hours they must have practiced to get it just right.

While I know Jennifer Garner is getting some very mixed reviews, I thought she was kind of appealing as the youthful and headstrong Roxane, who doesn't realize that her cousin Cyrano is in love with her. And I liked Daniel Sunjata as the less-polished, tongue-tied Christian, who needs Cyrano's help in proclaiming his love for Roxane.

But Kevin Kline is clearly the center of attention. I've seen many of his movies, but this was the first time I'd seen him on stage. One of the things that I like to do is watch the "star" when he or she doesn't have anything to say, and is just standing off to the side.

Early on, there's a point where he has to do just that. While I was too far away to really get a good look at his face, I thought, here's this movie star, this Oscar winner, and yet, he doesn't have to be the focus of attention every second. He's just standing off to the side as part of the company while someone else is speaking. Here's an actor who can blend into the background as well as step into the limelight.

But when the attention is on him, as it is in the play's final moments, he is riveting to watch. His heartfelt, sad, emotional turn at the end of the play had me in tears. This is a Cyrano that I will always remember.

In addition to seeing Kevin Kline on stage for the first time, it was also a day of other firsts for me.

It was my first time in the Richard Rodgers Theatre, and while the leg room left a lot to be desired, I loved walking along the corridor and looking at framed mementoes to some of Rodgers and Hammerstein's most famous works, including "South Pacific" and "State Fair."

To make the day even more special, two wonderful friends treated me to lunch at Angus McIndoe's and my first drink at legendary theater hangout Sardi's, known for the caricatures of Broadway celebrities that line the walls. It's a day on the Great White Way that I will never forget.

Rock 'n' Roll

If you're going to call your play "Rock 'n' Roll," at the very least it should have some of the energy and vitality associated with rock music. But despite the title, Tom Stoppard's new play, being performed at Broadway's Jacobs Theatre, too often reminded me of the mind-numbing blandness of elevator music.

Stoppard contrasts the life of British Communist and Cambridge University academic Max Morrow, played by Brian Cox, with that of Jan, his former student, played by Rufus Sewell. Both are re-creating the roles they played to great acclaim in London's West End. Also from the British cast are Sinead Cusack, in a dual role as Max's wife in the first act and his daughter in the second act, and Nicole Ansari, who portrays a Czech expatriate.

Jan returns to Czechoslovakia in 1968, just after the Soviet crackdown of a politically liberal government. The play spans the years between that period, known as Prague Spring, and the nonviolent Velvet Revolution of 1989 that finally brought down the Communist regime.

The most interesting parts of "Rock 'n' Roll" contrast Max's fervent belief in Communism and idealized view of the Soviet Union with the reality of Jan's life under a Communist government that quashes dissent, imprisons artists for being "parasites," and controls where people can live and work, even the music they can listen to.

Max's image of the Soviet Union is a place where "volumes of poetry in editions of a hundred thousand sold out in a day." Don't kid yourself, Jan tells him dismissively, "If pornography was available, the poetry would have sold like poetry in the West."

"Rock 'n' Roll" works best when the contrast between these two views is clear and vivid, when the dialogue is biting and direct. But too often, I found myself not really understanding the point that characters were trying to make. The philosophy got a bit muddled and preachy. Part of the problem for me may be that Stoppard is trying to cram too many ideas, too much history and political philosophy, into the play. And all of this comes at the expense of character development.

As a result, Jan kind of floats through this turbulent period. He never seems to be a fully realized individual. He never seems particularly defiant or defeated, even when horrible things happen to him, simply kind of detached. I had a hard time figuring out whether, or how, those experiences had changed him. And Max's Communism comes across more as an amusing eccentricity. He's a museum piece. While Cox and Sewell do a good job with what they're given, I just wanted to know more about them.

Stoppard is very interested in the role rock 'n' roll, and specifically the Czech band Plastic People of the Universe, played in effecting change during that time period. It was the arrest and prosecution of band members that led playwright (and later president) Vaclav Havel to write Charter 77, a manifesto criticizing human-rights abuses. Jan admires the band for its refusal to go along with the system. In a society where people agree "to be bribed by places at university or an easy ride at work," the Plastics are "unbribable."

The other stories - of Max's flower child daughter, of his wife, ill with cancer, simply never resonated with me, sad as they may be. I found the tangents - his daughter's fascination with former Pink Floyd band member Syd Barrett, his wife's teaching of the Greek poet Sappho, somewhat beside the point. Maybe they fit, but the connection was beyond me. Also, playing snippets of rock songs between scenes seemed forced. I could never figure out whether Stoppard selected a specific song to go along with a specific scene.

Max would have become a Communist in the 1930s, a time of excruciating poverty brought on by the Great Depression, a time when it seemed as if only the Soviet Union and those on the left were fighting against fascism in Spain and Nazism in Germany. At one point, he tells Jan, who is Jewish, that without the Soviet Union, he would be "smoke up the chimney." Jan tells Max that he would gladly trade workers owning the means of production for the British protections of free speech and the rule of law.

This dialogue - about the idealized view of a society and the more messy reality, about how to effect change in a totalitarian society, is when the play really comes to life. Unfortunately, those moments don't happen often enough.

(I thought it was especially ironic that Max, champion of the working class, seems to have no problem pulling strings to get his granddaughter admitted to Cambridge a year early.)

Theses two stories, about life under totalitarian governments in Eastern Europe, about British intellectuals' dalliance with Communism, have been told better. The Oscar-winning film "The Lives of Others" is a riveting look at East Germany and its secret police and how it was used to quell artistic expression. The BBC miniseries on the Cambridge spies explored the real-life counterparts of Max Morrow, what attracted them to Communism, and what eventually led them to betray their country.

There's an eight-page supplement that comes with the Playbill, describing some of the history and ideas in "Rock 'n' Roll." Perhaps it would have been better if I'd read it beforehand, but I shouldn't have to read it. All I need to know should be up there on stage.

Shalom Chaver

Sunday marks the 12th anniversary of the assassination of Israeli Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin. I wrote this 10 years ago, when I was living in Israel. It originally appeared in the Syracuse Herald-Journal.

TEL AVIV - I stood in an elementary school gym Wednesday morning not far from where the late Prime Minister Yitzhak Rabin lived and recited a few lines in Hebrew about his life:

Yitzhak Rabin was the grandfather of Noa, Yonatan and Michael.
Yitzhak Rabin was the father of Dalia and Yuval.
Yitzhak Rabin was the brother of Rachel.
Yitzhak Rabin was the husband of Leah.

I looked at the children sitting on the floor in front of me. The youngest, first-graders, were closest. It is impossible to look into the faces of children here and not wonder what the future holds for them, especially at a time like this.

Wednesday marked the second anniversary of Rabin's death according to the Hebrew calender. He was assassinated on Nov. 4, 1995, minutes after speaking at a peace rally in front of Tel Aviv's city hall.

His murderer, Yigal Amir, opposed the Oslo agreement with the Palestinians. For the past week, Israelis have attended seminars, speeches, rallies and concerts in memory of the slain prime minister. Every school, including the one where I work, held a ceremony. Classes Wednesday were devoted to activities focusing on Rabin's achievements, the events surrounding his assassination and its meaning for society.

My role in our school's ceremony was small. I was nervous speaking in Hebrew but I was glad I could participate. I came to Israel for the first time because of Rabin. I felt that if Israelis were taking risks for peace, I wanted to show my support.

That trip, in August 1995, affected me in a way I never anticipated. I never expected to feel so deeply, so emotionally, about this country. When I saw what had been built here, despite nearly a half-century of war, terrorism and international isolation, I felt so proud to be Jewish.

And I felt a sense of hope that after 50 years, Israel's existence was no longer in jeopardy, that Israelis would be able to live in peace. I remember our guide told my tour group: "Before, it was like we were on another planet. Now, we can breathe like a normal country."

Three months later, Rabin was killed. I was crushed. I understood the criticisms of the Oslo agreement. I knew that some Israelis felt it went against Judaism to give up any part of the Land of Israel. I knew some Israelis felt trading land for peace had not brought security, only more terror.

But I wondered what had happened to the optimism and hope I felt in August. How could a Jew, a religious Jew, have murdered the prime minister of Israel? I remembered something else our tour guide had said, "The war between the Jews will be worse than the war between Jews and Arabs." Time has not healed the rift between Jews. The country remains split between right and left, religious and secular.

A poster for an educational organization called "Gesher," Hebrew for bridge, said, "If there's no bridge, there's no communication." The picture showed two cacti pricking each other. It's a fitting symbol. Native Israelis are called "sabras," after the fruit of the cactus that is prickly on the outside and sweet in the inside.

Israelis cannot even agree how to mourn Rabin.

Members of the Knesset, Israel's parliament, from Rabin's Labor Party asked that Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu not speak at a session honoring Rabin unless he apologizes for "his contributions to the atmosphere of incitement" preceding the assassination. Netanyahu's supporters accuse the opposition of politicizing Rabin memorial events. Conspiracy theories have crept up regarding Rabin's assassination and the complicity of the country's security apparatus.

For nearly two years, I kept tacked to the wall above my desk at work a newspaper photograph from the rally where Rabin was killed. Last Saturday night, I became a part of that picture. I joined approximately 200,000 people at a rally on the same spot, now called Rabin Square.

A huge white banner with blue letters at one end of the square said "Friend, I remember." It's a new twist on the phrase Bill Clinton coined after Rabin's death, "Shalom chaver," "Goodbye, friend." Last year's version was "Friend, you are missed."

The crowd was mostly secular. There were many young people. I saw a few men with kipot, the head covering worn by religious Jews. It's sad that more religious Jews didn't come. Perhaps they feared that they would be unwelcome.

The rally was supposed to be nonpartisan. But there were a few anti-Netanyahu posters. The crowd booed the one government representative who spoke, Industry and Trade Minister Natan Sharansky. I couldn't believe it. Booing Sharansky? The man who languished in a Soviet prison camp for years for the "crime" of wanting to immigrate to Israel? The man whose plight galvanized Jews around the world? I was glad that when he finished, Labor Party leader Ehud Barak went to the stage, held up his arm and called him a hero.

A sign on a building across the street urged Israelis to "return to the way of Rabin." Former Prime Minister Shimon Peres told the crowd, "We may be sad without him, but we may not despair. We have no other country and we have no other way except for Yitzhak Rabin's way."

Two singers performed John Lennon's "Imagine" in Hebrew. At the end of the rally, every one sang "Shir L'Shalom," "The Song of Peace."

In Jewish tradition, the anniversary of a person's death is observed by lighting a memorial candle and reciting kaddish, the prayer for the dead. Supermarkets have been selling candles with Rabin's picture. Many of those candles have been left at the spot where Rabin was killed, now marked by a memorial of black stones. People also leave bouquets of flowers and letters. There was a wreathe last week from the Jewish Federation of Los Angeles.

Around the corner, a wall is spray-painted with graffiti. There are snippets of songs about peace, a plaintive "lama?" "why?" and in English, "Do you remember the 4th of November?" The graffiti has been there for two years. Some call it a secular Western Wall. The Western Wall in Jerusalem, the holiest Jewish site, is where Jews have come for millennia to mourn the loss of the Temple.

One afternoon last week, I walked across the broad plaza, past workers setting up a stage for th rally, past a picture of Rabin and a sign that said, "Don't forget. Shout for peace." I walked down the stairs to the parking lot where Yigal Amir waited for Rabin.

At the foot of the stairs, I looked around at what Rabin saw in the last minutes of his life, a bustling, vibrant city.

In his speech that night, Rabin said, "I was a military man for 27 years. I fought so long as there was no chance for peace. I believe that there is now a chance for peace, a great chance." He acknowledged that "this is a course which is fraught with difficulties and pain. For Israel, there is no path that is without pain."

Whatever people thought of his policies, one thing cannot be denied: without Rabin and those of his generation, there wouldn't be an Israel today. Yitzhak Rabin was born in Jerusalem a Jew and died in Tel Aviv an Israeli. To that, I can only add, thank-you friend.

Location, location, location

I got an e-mail from Broadway Across America today explaining a little bit about how shows go about finding theaters.

For a relative novice like myself, it was pretty interesting. Some things I knew, like most Broadway theaters aren't actually on Broadway. But one thing I didn't realize is that a theater has to have at least 500 seats to be considered a Broadway house. I also hadn't realized the complex process that goes into matching a show with the right space. You have to take into account the size of the set, whether it's a large, technically oriented spectacle or something more intimate, whether it's a play or a musical. Also, in some cases, knowing where a show will play can make it easier to raise money from investors.

It was startling to read that, "For many years in the 1970s and 80s, booking a show into a theater was not difficult. Broadway was littered with empty legit houses, and producers had the choice of any number of vacant theaters." I knew that from watching the PBS documentary "Broadway: The American Musical," still it's amazing to look at what Times Square is like now and realize what it was like before the city cleaned it up in the 1990s.

Today, all 39 Broadway theaters are booked. “The ability to get a theater is at a premium now,'' says Nick Scandalios, executive vice president of the Nederlander Organization, which owns nine theaters. "There is no set process for booking a theater. The fact is most producers know all of the theater owners. Sometimes, it just takes a phone call.”

Scandalios offers some insight into what he calls the "symbiotic dance" between producers and theater owners, especially when a show isn't selling enough tickets to keep it viable. Because of the high demand for theaters, Scandalios explained that “there is an ongoing conversation between theater owners and producers regarding the closing of a show. It is a delicate dance to keep everyone feeling good about the production in question.” Hmmm, I bet that "ongoing conversation" is touchy one when the show isn't doing so well!

I'm going back to New York this weekend and Monday night, I'm seeing "Young Frankenstein," my 16th Broadway show since April. (If you add the second time I saw "A Moon for the Misbegotten," "Gypsy" at City Center and the one off-Broadway show I'm planning to see, it's actually 19 shows in six months). When you add in the money I spent on train tickets, hotel rooms, restaurants, cab rides, the subway and souvenirs, well, you can begin to understand why Broadway plays such a vital role in keeping New York City's economy healthy.

And I think it really does trickle down to the rest of the country. Already this year, I've seen "Hairspray" and "Wicked" on tour. In the next six months, I'll see "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee," "Spamalot," "The Wedding Singer," "Rent," and "The Drowsy Chaperone." I don't know how many of those shows would ever have seen the light of day without a vital, vibrant Broadway theater scene.

On tour across the United States, each of those shows helps keep a city alive and safe by filling a downtown performing arts center and nearby restaurants and shops. Hopefully, it also creates interest in other theater offerings in the city that aren't tours of big Broadway shows. I know it did for me.

Sammy's Hill

Since the presidential campaign season's been in full swing for about a year and we have another year to go, I figured I'd catch up on some political books I'd been meaning to read.

"Sammy's Hill" was near the top of the list. The Wasington Post describe's Kristin Gore's 2004 debut novel as "A chick-lit romp with a Capitol Hill twist" and that pretty well sums it up. It's a light, fun read with a likable heroine and some keen insight into what life is like in the Washington fishbowl. (Gore has also written a sequel, "Sammy's House," that came out in June.)

I like chick lit and I'm not ashamed to admit it. (I wish I could say I spend my reading time lost in literary classics, but that would be wrong). Still, I'm usually more interested in the world our heroine inhabits than in the ups and downs of her love life. (Have you noticed how these books always end on an up?) Plus, I like reading about politics, so the combination sounded great. I figured that Gore, being Al's daughter, would have some special insight.

Her heroine, Samantha "Sammy" Joyce, is a twentysomething staffer for Ohio senator Robert Gary. Sammy's specialty is health-care policy. She's hard-working, has a boss she truly admires, and, in a hallmark of chick lit, has her share of quirky personality traits.

For one thing, Sammy loves talking to telemarketers: "Over time, I had definitely developed favorites. Zelda from the phone company was one of the stars. I had her personal extension on speed dial and called her up periodically just to check on things."

She's also been a hypochondriac ever since taking a seminar on communicable diseases during her freshman year in college. "Since then, I had dedicated myself to doing the little I could to prepare for the disasters that were sure to befall my relatively defenseless body."

Gore has plenty to say about politicians, the legislative process, the media and the voting public, some of it serious and some of it brimming with satire.

To increase the chances of getting a health-care bill passed, Sammy's boss allies with a colleague whom Sammy considers "arrogant and slimy." (Her love interest is the arrogant, slimy senator's speechwriter). The legislation that she's labored so hard over is changed so dramatically that it ends up doing the opposite of what it was intended to do. "The bill was supposed to be about changing the system for the better, not compromising to the point of irrelevance."

This scene probably came right from conversation around the Gore family dinner table. At one of Senator Gary's town hall meetings back in Ohio, a farmer asks the senator about subsidies, a mother is concerned about overcrowded classrooms. Then, there's an older woman who "talked about how annoying it was that her neighbor had put the mulch pile right up against her fence and could RG call him and ask him to move it."

Gore takes a dig at the television networks' post-debate coverage and the focus on focus groups of ordinary voters. "I found the undecideds' ability to make up their minds incredibly annoying. And I suspected that their prolonged indecision was just a ploy for further attention, since they were such a wanted demographic."

My major criticism, and this seems par for the course in the chick-lit genre, is that for a smart, accomplished young woman, Sammy has a few too many damsel-in-distress moments, a few too many moments that make her appear somewhat flighty.

For me, the best parts of "Sammy's Hill" aren't the "chick" parts that chronicle Sammy's love interests, but Gore's description of the political process, how legislation gets passed, and the compromises that occur along the way.

"Sammy's Hill" is being made into a movie, and in March, producer Doug Wick said "It will do for Washington, D.C., what 'Talladega Nights' did for race car driving. We are going for a bold, subversive comedy."