50 Years Of 'Rocky Horror'

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I'm David Biancouli. Come up to the lab and see what's on the slab.
I see you shiver with anticipation. Both the stage and screen versions of The Rocky Horror Show, starring Tim Curry as an extraterrestrial visitor who believed in sexual freedom and fluid sexual identities, had beginnings that might best be described as Rocky.

Richard O'Brien's stage musical, The Rocky Horror Show, began in London in 1973,

ran for a while in a Los Angeles nightclub, then moved to Broadway in 1975.

It opened there in March, starring Tim Curry, Richard O'Brien, and Meatloaf,

and closed a month later.

The movie version had been filmed before the brief Broadway run and was released later that year, but it too vanished quickly. Vanished, that is, until a year later, when a New York movie theater began hosting midnight screenings of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, launching a phenomenon that's still going strong.
And next spring, the Rocky Horror Show is returning to Broadway, courtesy of a new production by the Roundabout Theatre Company. The Rocky Horror Picture Show movie starred two then-relatively unknown actors, Barry Bostwick and Susan Sarandon.
They played young sweethearts Brad Majors and Janet Weiss. Brad and Janet are very much in love, though, as the movie

begins, they haven't yet given in to their passionate impulses. Oh, Janet.
Oh, yeah.

I love you, too.

There's one thing left to do.

I do.

During a violent rainstorm, Brad and Janet seek shelter at a remote castle.

It's run by Dr. Frank N.
Furter, a cross-dressing mad scientist from outer space

who is self-described as a sweet transvestite from Transylvania.

How'd you do, I?

See, you've met my faithful handyman.

He's just a little broad dine, because when you knocked,

he thought you were the candy man. Don't get strung up by the way I look.
Don't judge a book by its cover. I'm not much of a man by the light of day, but by night I'm one hell of a lover.'m just a sweet transvestite From transsexual Transylvania Over the course of the movie, Frank, played by Tim Curry, builds the perfect sexual partner, seduces both Brad and Janet, and ends the movie pleading in song for people to follow their own dreams, embrace and explore their own identities, and tolerate other lifestyles.
Fifty years later, it's a message that still seems timely, even daring. Be it, don't dream it.
Be it, don't dream it. Be it, don't dream it.
Today on Fresh Air, we note the 50th anniversary of the original Broadway stage production and that same year's release of the Rocky Horror Picture Show by revisiting our 2005 interview with Tim Curry. Terry Gross spoke with him when he was about to star in another outrageous Broadway musical, Spamalot, playing King Arthur.
At that point, Tim Curry's post-Rocky horror career had included roles in the movies Clue and The Shout, the TV miniseries It, he played Pennywise, and Rock Follies of 77, the TV series Wiseguy, and tons of voice work for animated movies and TV shows. He suffered a stroke in 2012, but at age 78, continues to provide voices for cartoons.
And in 2016, he appeared as the criminologist in a Fox TV movie version of the Rocky Horror Picture Show, which starred Laverne Cox as Frankenfurter. Let's begin with a scene from the original 1975 movie version.
Brad and Janet have entered the castle soaking wet, and Frank and Furter's

assistants have stripped them down to their underclothes as Frank looks them over, wickedly.

Magenta. Columbia.
Go and assist Riff Raff. I will entertain...

Um...

Brad Majors.

This is my fiancée, Janet Weiss.

Weiss.

Weiss?

Enchanté.

Well, nice.

And what charming underclothes you both have.

But here, put these on.

They'll make you feel less vulnerable.

It's not often we receive visitors here.

Let alone offer them hospitality.

Hospitality?

All we wanted to do was to use your telephone, damn it, a reasonable request, which you've chosen to ignore.

Dad, don't be ungrateful. Ungrateful?

How

forceful you are, Brad.

Such a perfect specimen

of manhood. So

dominant.

You know, like so many other

of your fans, I first saw you in

the Rocky Horror Picture Show in the 70s.

And when you see somebody in a movie

for the first time, it's sometimes hard to

Thank you. You know, like so many other of your fans, I first saw you in the Rocky Horror Picture Show in the 70s.
And when you see somebody in a movie for the first time, it's sometimes hard to tell how good they are. You don't know, is this all they can do? Do they do other things too? Is this what they're really like? Or, you know, how much are they acting? And so I saw you, I guess it was probably like the late 80s, in Wiseguy, the TV series.
Yes. And you played a kind of Phil Spector-ish, brilliant but crazy record producer.
That's right. And a great, really terrific performance.
And I think that's when I really got the picture. Wow, he's really good at doing all kinds of things.
That's so nice. I mean, it's sort of important for me because, you know, that first performance that sort of introduced me to everybody was so out there and so...
I'll say, yeah. So kind of outrageous that, you know, I was a very quiet boy for a while, you know, just to make sure that people got it, that, you know, that wasn't necessarily who I was.
It was my first movie, you know. That was your first movie? Yeah.
How did you get the part? I got the part because I used to work a great deal at a theater in London called the Royal Court. And I guess they have a little theatre upstairs which seats about 60 people, and I did Brecht there, and I did a sort of Rudyard Kipling show there.
And I guess the next show, I did a dreadful musical, a Marxist musical called Give the Gaffer Time to Love You with a director who kept saying, Barry, the second act just simply isn't Marxist enough. And that, of course, never even opened to the critics.
But the next show coming in was this other musical called The Rocky Horror Show. And originally I played Frankenfurter as though he was German.
It was Dr. Frankenfurter and everything was very interesting and stupid.
And then one day I heard a woman on a bus saying, do you have a heist in town or a heist in the country? And I thought, yes, she should sound like the queen. That's great.
She should sound like the queen. But that's how it happened.
And it just started in this tiny theater, you know, and it just took off like a sort of rocket. Did you like the kind of cheap horror films that it in part parodied?

Oh, absolutely.

And I mean, Richard's brilliance really was just, you know, it was really like reaching up a hand into the zeitgeist and just grabbing, you know, horror 50s horror movies, Sandra Dee comic books, and 50s rock and roll, and just hurling them all together with some fishnet tights thrown in. And the fishnet tights really came from a brilliant costume designer called Sue Blaine, who I'd worked with before, actually, in a wonderful theatre in Scotland called the Glasgow Citizen Theatre, where we did a production of The Maids, where I wore exactly that corset.
The Jean Genet play? Yeah, the Jean Genet play. I played Solange, and we bought the corset for three pounds off a barrow in the market in lasco and wore it back to front that's funny you'd be wearing it in for like this transgressive playwright jenay and then absolutely absolutely well there's probably nothing that can get you into character quickly like black bikini briefs uh fishnet stockings the garter belt the corset the whole thing well that was a fairly late development.
I mean, I had no idea it was going to be like that. You didn't when you accepted the part? No, no, no, no.
I thought I'd be in a white lab coat, you know. So how did the whole thing, how did it all evolve then? Well, it evolved because it was much funnier that way.
And I mean, the great, I thought the great gag about, you know, the way that we all looked was, and I've always said this to anybody who's ever asked me about playing Frankenfurter, if they were playing it, you know, to just never think about it as drag, because it's not. It's just what people wear in Transylvania.
It's just what everybody wears in Transylvania, so just get over it, you know? It's truck driver drag. It's not about going boop, boop, a doop.
It's just what they happen to wear. I think the thing I found most amazing about the whole phenomenon of Rocky Horror was watching like the 12-year-olds outside the theater parading around in their transvestite close because they were all it was like all these 12 year olds outside the theater parading around in their transvestite clothes because they were all it was like all these 12 year olds outside the theater imitating you in in your get up and and you had to just kind of ask yourself what what is going on here what do the 12 year olds make of it i mean are they going through some kind of gender thing or do they just love the movie like what is this about i think it's all of the above actually i mean i think first of all they love the movie because Like, what is this about? I think it's all of the above, actually.
I mean, I think, first of all, they love the movie because it's daring. To pretty much everybody it was daring at the time, less daring now.
To them it's daring and it's also, I think, you know, there are several reasons why it's endured the way that it has. It's a kind of rite of passage now, I think.
And actually, first of all, it's a guaranteed weekend party to which you can go with or without a date and probably find one if you don't have one. And it's also, I think, a chance for people to try on a few roles for size, you know, figure out, help them maybe figure out their own sexuality.
I mean, I think that's probably taking it a little deeper than it needs to go, but I think it has had a useful purpose in that way, and I've certainly had some very interesting and moving mail from people who have said, you know, thanks for helping me figure out who I was, you know, and that's very nice. Did you ever go to one of like the midnight screenings back in the 70s and watch the movie with the people who were reciting along and when they would make a toast on screen, people would like throw toast, you know, at the screen and, you know, the whole, the whole bit, it became an incredibly participatory experience for the people who came to see it time and time again.
I did go. I went a couple of times.
Oddly enough, it started happening at the Waverly Theater. In Manhattan.
On 6th Avenue in the village. And ironically, I was living a block behind it on Joan Street oh you're kidding so I would see on my way home all these people and you know I got to know about it rather quickly because I was a neighbor wow and finally I went to see it and in fact I had to sort of call the theater because you know you could never get in and I said you know I'm in it and I'd really love to come and see it and get an eyeful and the operator said you're the third Tim Curry to call this week so finally I showed up and they sort of believed me and took me in and the word spread rather swiftly and people were sort of coming up and touching me and running away and giggling and it was a very, very peculiar experience.
And then finally the usherette, I don't know what you call them really, that's what they call them in England, came and sort of dragged me out of my seat and announced that I was an imposter and threw me out of the theater, which is quite funny, really.

Did you protest? I actually had my passport on me, and I pulled it out, and I said, still think I'm an imposter? And she said, oh, Mr. Curry, I'm so sorry.
Please come back in. And I said, I wouldn't dream of coming back in.
and I saw it once

I saw it once

on the strip

in LA

because

I was

doing a gig there

with And I saw it once on the strip in L.A. because I was doing a gig there with my band when I was making records, and I took them up to the balcony to see it, and I remember my drummer coming out and saying, we don't have to dress up like that, do we? I said, no, you really don't, and I shan't be either.
But it was odd. I mean, it's a very peculiar experience.
I mean, the first person to actually shout back in the theater was David Bowie's first wife, Angie. Really? I remember when Bowie came, and he brought this huge entourage, and she was with him, and when Richard O'Brien was about to kill me, she shouted, no, no, don't do it.
And so I guess she was one of the first people to sort of do that. And Mark Shaman, who's sort of a famous composer now, was one of the first to actually talk back in the Waverly.
I think he began it here in New York.

And now, of course, it's everywhere. Your father was a chaplain in the British Navy.
Yes. What did your parents think of your role in Rocky Horror? Well, he, alas, was dead because he died when I was 12.
So he wasn't even aware that I was an actor even. I think my mother, my mother who, you know, is really like one of those sort of Monty Python ladies, you know.
I can't imagine what's going on. You know, who always had a hat.
Since my first job in the theater was hair and, you know. And you were probably naked in that, right? And I did appear naked in it.
I think, you know, it was a relief to her that I actually was wearing clothes of any kind. At least you were covered by a corset and garters.
She was happily unaware that part of the character, particularly Frank and Fertre, who at his most gracious, was based on her. In what way? Well, it was sort of her telephone voice, you know.
Do you have any tattoos, Brad? My sister, when she saw it, fell on the floor and said, you know, does she know? And I said, no, she has absolutely no idea, and please don't tell her um she thought it was very very amusing and brought all her friends so she was pretty hip lady my mother and she she got it i mean you know um astonishingly um she loved it she didn't like it as much as the pirates of penzance which i did in drury lane because the queen mother came to to that, and that was the total seal of approval of my career. And I would bet that the Queen Mother did not go to hair or Rocky Horror.
I don't think she went to either, although Princess Margaret did come to Rocky Horror and had a wonderful time. Really? And Princess Diana actually requested to meet me because she was such a Rocky Horror fan.
So did you ever meet Princess Diana? I did actually meet Princess Diana. I was doing a production of Love for Love, and it was taken to Vienna for British Week, and we played at the Berg Theater, and Prince Charles and Princess Diana were the guests of honor, which was when she said that she very much wanted to meet me and so they sort of put me at the end of the receiving line.
And Prince Charles said, I think I've seen you on television. Haven't I seen you on television? I said, yes, sir, I'm sure you've seen me on television.
Yes, I thought I'd seen you on television. But Diana said, you were in the Rocky Horror Show.
And I said, yes, ma'am, I was. I was, but I'm sure that you haven't seen it.
She said, oh, yes. She said, it quite completed my education.
she was a very funny girl and a very beautiful one. And sort of a very wicked smile came with that sentence.
She was great fun. Tim Curry speaking to Terry Gross in 2005.
A new version of the Rocky Horror Show is scheduled to arrive on Broadway next spring. After a break, we remember sports writer, author, and NPR commentator John Feinstein, who died last week at age 69.
I'm David Bianculli, and this is Fresh Air. It's astounding.
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John Feinstein, one of the nation's leading sports journalists,

a commentator for NPR, ESPN, and the Golf Channel,

and the author of more than 40 books, died last week at the age of 69. He was an ex-jock who understood the world of athletes.
He was known for his insights and inside portraits of some of the most talented and temperamental characters in sports, though he was more often drawn to the obscure, struggling athlete. Feinstein began at the Washington Post as an intern in 1977 and covered the police and the courts before turning to sports reporting.
He later became a columnist. In 1985, he took a leave of absence from the Post to research and write his first book, Season on the Brink, about his year shadowing the volatile Indiana basketball coach Bobby Knight.
It became a bestseller, as did his book A Good Walk Spoiled, a behind-the-scenes look at the pro golf tour. His book A Civil War was about the fierce rivalry between the Army and Navy college football teams.
He also wrote books about tennis, minor league baseball, and a series of sports-based mysteries for young readers. John Feinstein spoke with Dave Davies in 2011 upon the publication of his book, One-on-One, Behind the Scenes with the Greats in the Game.
Well, John Feinstein, welcome back to Fresh Air. I want to talk with a basic staple of sports reporting, and that's the locker room interview after the game when guys gather around athletes.
And I want to just call on my limited experience here. Back in the 1980s, NPR relied on its member stations for a lot of its sports reporting.
And although I mostly covered politicians and elected officials, I did cover some big sporting events. And what I noticed in the athletes' locker rooms was how relatively timid the sports reporters seemed to be about asking a tough question.
And it occurred to me that elected officials and politicians need the media. They have some obligation to talk.
Athletes really don't need sports journalists, do they? No, it's a very good point. And they behave that way a lot of the time because they're not trying to get elected to anything.
They're not trying to sell a program to anything. They just have to perform on the field, on the court, wherever they might happen to be, the golf course.
And there is a great disdain for the media among many, if not most, in sports. And the locker room is their domain.
Now, things have changed since the 80s in that for the most part, we're pretty much banned from locker rooms nowadays. The creation of the interview room, I think, is one of the worst things that's ever happened to sports journalism.
Because if you think the answers in a locker room are rehearsed and canned and cliched, stepping up, giving 110%, wanting to win for my teammates. It's 50 times worse in an interview room, at least in a locker room.
If you have the time and or the patience and kind of outweigh the hordes and can get with a guy one-on-one, especially if you know him a little bit, you might be able to get a little better answer than that. But more and more now, teams on the college level, certainly, and more and more on the professional level, are banning the media from the locker rooms after games and saying, go to an interview room and we'll bring you somebody and put them behind a microphone.
Right. And a lot of your book is about the business of getting meaningful access to players and coaches, moments in which they may be candid.
How did you learn that? Well, I think it goes back to my first days as a reporter when I was still in college. It became apparent to me that the more you could see what was real, as opposed to what was served up to you, whether it was in a locker room or in a practice, or if you could get somebody to let you into a team meeting, or if you could get an athlete away from their domain and put them in a restaurant for lunch or dinner or anything.
But I think I really learned about that, not covering sports, but covering news. When I was first at the Washington Post, I spent several years covering cops and courts and politics.
And I learned from that, that the less formal the situation was, the more you learned. And I do some of my best reporting without a notebook in my hands.
When I'm just talking to someone and I ask about their family or about last night's ball game and then eventually work my way towards a real question rather than just walking up with a notebook or a tape recorder in my hands. Because when you do that, that's what you are.
You're a notebook or a tape recorder. You're not another person.
When you walk up and say, hey, can you believe what happened in last night's game? Then you establish common ground and you become a person rather than just a reporter.

Right.

But then the athlete thinks he's having a conversation when he's, in fact, giving you on the record comment. Is that an issue? You know, it's never been for me.
Because what I have always done is if someone says something to me that I think might be controversial in some way or it's something I didn't know that would thus be news, I'll usually at that point, I'll take out a notebook or something and I'll say, let me make sure I have this – get this right or do you mind if I quote you on that or something. I don't want there to be any doubt.
I don't want anybody I'm working with to be surprised. And I have only once in my career had an athlete claim that he thought he was off the record with me.
And that was 30 years ago when I was a young reporter at the Post. I got sent to the home of John Riggins, the star running back who was holding out.
And he was in Lawrence, Kansas, and he was refusing to talk to anybody in the media. And I was the low guy on the totem pole at the post.
And my boss said, just go knock on John Riggins door and see if he'll talk to you, which I did. And John Riggins basically said, get out of here.
I'm not talking to anybody. And I said to him, look, John, if I go back with nothing, I'm going to be fired.
And he looked at me, said, I'll call your boss and tell him that I wouldn't talk to you. And I said, that's not good enough.
Can't you just tell me what it is you want? And he started talking about that it was the Redskins move and Bobby Beathard, the general manager, needed to do this and that. And I never took out a notebook.
And I stood there and I asked him more questions. And we talked for, I don't know, 10 or 12 minutes.
And I went back to my car, wrote down everything I could remember, didn't quote him specifically, but paraphrased everything that he had said to me in the story. And when another TV reporter called Riggins the next day and said, why would you talk to that guy when you're friends with us and you don't even know him? Riggins said, well, I thought we were off the record.
And when the guy called me from the TV station and said, John said he thought you were off the record, I said, did he really think I flew to Lawrence, Kansas because I was personally curious about his contract?

And that's the only time anybody has ever said to me, geez, I thought we were off the record.

Now, the other issue you have is you establish friendly relationships with athletes and then you have to sometimes be tough on them. How do you handle that? It's the hardest thing you have to do, at least for me.
And I have run into it specifically, as I wrote about in the book, with Jim Valvano, who I had a very close relationship with. I would sit in his office when he was the coach at North Carolina State and had won the national championship at three o'clock in the morning and listen to him talk about looking for the next thing in his life.
And he felt as if he'd done coaching at the age of 37. And then came this scandal, for lack of a better word, at North Carolina State where the NCAA came in and investigated and Jim eventually was forced to resign.
And I wrote at one point that he sounded Nixonian when he was making his excuses for what had gone on at NC State. And he was furious with me.
And he said, how could you write that about me? And I said, because A, I thought it was true, Jim. But beyond that, if I just blindly defended you, then when I legitimately defend you, it'll have no meaning.
And he said, it would have meant something to me. And that hurt because I liked Jim Valvano.
And I understood the point he was making. I thought you were my friend.
And then you turned around and called me Nixonian. And it was a very hard thing for me emotionally to deal with.
And we did before he died of cancer in 1993. We mended the fence.
And in fact, Jim, the last time I ever spoke to him said, you were probably a better friend to me than the people around me who were telling me I hadn't done anything wrong. But it is a very hard line to figure out which side of it you belong on.
John Feinstein speaking to Dave Davies in 2011. More after a break.
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Listen to the It's Been a Minute podcast from NPR today. You've written a lot about golf, some great stuff, and I have to ask you about Tiger Woods, who was just such an incredible talent when he arrived.
I mean, he dominated his sport in a way that is rare in athletics. What was he like when you first got to know him on the tour? You know, I don't think anybody who does what I do has ever really known Tiger.
I do vividly remember the first time I ever saw Tiger Woods, because it turned out to be a little bit of a harbinger in a way. He was still an amateur.
He was just a kid. He was 18.
He probably looked 12 at the time. He was playing in Arnold Palmer's tournament down at Bay Hill in 1994.
And I was working on A Good Walk Spoiled, my first golf book. And I was standing on the range with three players, Davis Love, Billy Andrade, Jeff Sluman.
And Billy Andrade kind of tapped me on the shoulder and said, see that kid down there? And I looked down and there was this skinny kid hitting balls. And I said, yeah.
And he said, that's the next one. That's Tiger Woods.
And I'd heard the name, but I wasn't that interested, to be honest, Dave, because you hear all the time about this guy's the next one in sports, this guy's the next one in sports. I always tend to be skeptical and say, okay, show me.
And as luck would have it, I happened to walk off the range a little while later, about 10 yards behind Tiger Woods. He was walking alone with his caddy, and there were maybe 15 or 20 kids standing behind the ropes trying to get the autographs of any player walking on or off the range.
It was a practice day, and most players will stop in that circumstance and sign a few autographs. Tiger Woods put his head down and walked right between the kids, never looked left or right, and just kept going.
And I remember thinking to myself, who does this guy think he is? Well, as it turned out, he thought he was Tiger Woods. So I think he had it right.
But my early memories of Tiger are that he was always programmed, and his golf was overwhelming. But I remember feeling disappointed because he was obviously very bright.
He'd gone to Stanford for a couple of years. You could tell just by the way he reacted to things that he got things quicker than most athletes did, but he wasn't giving anything up.
His father, Earl, had programmed him, don't give away anything for free. So you remember those cliches I talked about that you get in the interview room? He was a cliche machine.
And if you tried to talk to him one-on-one, he really had no interest. And the only time I really ever had a lengthy one-on-one conversation with him was in 1998, after he'd won the Masters and had become a superstar at 21.
And he actually reached out to me because he was, I think, surprised, I guess, that I was one of the very few members of the media who was at all critical of his behavior. None of us could criticize his golf.
And other players had told him, look, John's a pretty fair guy. If you've got a problem with him, you should sit down and talk to him about it.
And to his everlasting credit, he did. He went to dinner at a restaurant in San Diego and talked for about four hours.
And it was very intense because Tiger was very smart, came right at you when he disagreed with you. We argued a lot about his father.
And one of the things you'd written about his father was that his father was, you know, the kind of manipulative sports dad. Classic stage father.
Right. Yes, exactly.
And in fact, what I had done was I had compared him in a piece I'd written in Newsweek to Stefano Capriati, who was the father of Jennifer Capriati, who you might remember years ago, came on the tennis tour, took it by storm. She was going to be the next Chris Everett.
Her father was making deals for her left and right when she was 13 years old. And I compared Earl Woods to Stefano Capriati, which infuriated both Tiger and Earl.
And I remember saying to him, if your father doesn't like the spotlight, why did he write a book about how he made you into Tiger Woods? And Tiger said, well, you know, so many people asked him about it. He thought it'd be easier just to write a book.
And I said, really, then why did he write the second book? Because there was a sequel. Tiger looked at me and he smiled.
He said, okay, you got me on that one. But it was one of the few concessions he made the entire evening.
We argued about a lot of different things, but it was a fascinating experience. And I hoped that it would sort of be a jumping off point where Tiger and I would have a relationship where even if we disagreed, we would talk about it.
And it lasted for a little while that way. And then I really believe to this day that his father said to him, you stay away from him.
I don't like him. I don't want you talking to him.
And that was really kind of the end of any one-on-one other than high tiger, high John between the two of us. You have some great stories in here about tennis.
And one of them I like was when you followed John McEnroe into the locker room at the U.S. Open because he wasn't talking to anybody.
And this was an example of you just getting access that other people couldn't get and it paying off. Tell us what happened.
Well, more accurately, I think it was that I knew back in those days that I could go into the locker room. And because Barry Lorge, my colleague from the Washington Post, was writing a lead and I was doing the secondary story, the sidebar, I had a little more time.
And John had come in. He just won the U.S.
Open. He'd beaten Bjorn Borg in five sets.
This was a few months after their historic five-set match at Wimbledon. And Borg had come back from two sets down to tie it at two sets apiece.
And I'll never forget, sitting there in New York City, John McEnroe grew up less than five miles from the stadium in Flushing, and the entire crowd was on its feet cheering for Borg. And I couldn't imagine what that felt like for McEnroe.
And he somehow won the fifth set, came in, gave kind of a desultory press conference, even McEnroe can be desultory in a press conference. And I thought, well, maybe if I go back to the locker room, I can get something.
I just wanted to ask him one question. How did that feel at that moment at the end of the fourth set when 20,000 people were cheering for a guy from Sweden in New York City? And I walked back in and McEnroe was the only guy in the locker room because the tournament was over.
Borg had left by car as soon as the awards ceremony was over, and it was just McEnroe and me in the locker room. At that point, I hadn't met him.
I was very young, you know, the kid reporter at the Washington Post, and I introduced myself, and John kind of looked at me like, yeah, and I said, I just want to ask you one question, and I asked him the question about how it felt at the end of that fourth set. And Dave, he just went off.
He said, could you believe

that? Could you, do you think if that match was in Sweden, there'd be one person pulling for me?

He said, I know I misbehave and I understand why people get up. I didn't ask another question for

30 minutes. The only challenge was, I didn't have a tape recorder, was trying to write everything down

because he was talking so fast. So I ended up, I was supposed to write a 16-inch sidebar,

and I came back and told Barry Lorge what I'd gotten. And he called the desk and said,

you got to get John some more space. And I ended up writing 40 inches, and they ran every inch of

it. So a lot of times people have asked me, well, how did you get Knight to give you the access?

How did you get this guy to give you the access? The answer almost always is because I asked.

It's a that simple. One more thing.
You know, I've noticed in my career writing mostly about things other than sports that when I occasionally have done a story at a newspaper that dealt with sports, like I did a piece once about Philadelphia Eagles tickets and whether they were distributed fairly. And I got many, many times the email that I did when I did something about the mayor.
And it's clear that sports, you know, is something that people are really, really passionate about. But I also wonder, are there times that you want to just tell people, folks, these are games.
This is not life and death. Absolutely, yes.
But there's an element of no. And the absolute yes is, of course, they're just games.
And it's not life and death. And I wince every time there's a genuine tragedy connected to sports when people say, well, this puts life in perspective.
Because you know what? It doesn't. The next day, fans are going to be screaming about a losing coach or a bad call or something like that.
It's human nature. It's sports human nature.
And yes, I want to say enough already. But there's another part of me, Dave, that believes sports does play a very important role in our society because it does give people a place to go away from the often harsh realities of life.
And this was driven home to me in a very personal way when my mother died in 1993. And she died very suddenly and she died young.
And it was the worst thing I've ever been through in my life. And I went to bed every night and I couldn't sleep.
I just couldn't possibly sleep. And the only thing that distracted me from thinking about my mom was to think about games, to think about games I'd played in as a kid or swim meets I'd been in as a kid and games I'd covered and stories I'd been a part of and people I'd met in sports and trying.
I would literally sit there and try to remember every single play in game five of the 1969 World Series when my beloved and now pathetic Mets beat the Baltimore Orioles. And that got me through that period in my life.
Well, John Feinstein, thanks so much for spending some time with us. Dave, thanks for having me again.
I enjoyed it. John Feinstein speaking to Dave Davies in 2011.
The author, sports writer, and NPR commentator died last week. He was 69 years old.
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In The Alto Nights, a new biographical crime drama directed by Barry Levinson, Robert De Niro plays two leading roles. He stars as both Frank Costello and Vito Genovese, two Italian-American mob bosses who were longtime friends but became rivals in the 1950s.
The movie opens in theaters this week, and our film critic Justin Chang has this review. It's been 10 years since Barry Levinson directed a new feature, and if that seems like a long wait, I should note that it's taken 50 years for The Alto Knights, his new movie, to make it to the big screen.
The idea was first pitched in the 1970s, not long after the New York City crime lord Frank Costello, known as the Prime Minister of the Underworld, died at the age of 82. But the film languished in development hell for decades, and only got the green light a few years ago, presumably on the strength of a major casting gimmick.
Both Costello and his notorious friend-turned-rival, Vito Genovese, are played by the same actor, Robert De Niro. That's one way to liven up the formula, I suppose.
De Niro has played many mobsters in The Godfather Part II, The Untouchables, Goodfellas, and The Irishman, for starters. He's riffing on a lot of those characters in The Alto Knights, which often plays like a hectic rehash of mob drama cliches.
It's not entirely the movie's fault. The real-life events it's tackling here are why some of those clichés exist.
Frank Costello was the inspiration for the godfather himself, Don Vito Corleone. The Alto Nights begins with a bang in 1957.
Frank, the big boss of the Luciano crime family, is shot in the lobby of his New York apartment building. Frank survives, and knows immediately that it was Vito Genovese who ordered the hit.
But he keeps this a secret. He isn't interested in revenge, and he doesn't want to start a mob war.
From there, the story flashes back about 50 years, recounting in rapid-fire fashion how young Frank and Vito befriended each other in New York, where they hung out at the Alto Knights Social Club, a hive of gangster activity. Both men became bootleggers during Prohibition, rising through the ranks of the Luciano family.
Vito became boss, but fled to Italy to avoid a murder rap. By the time Vito returned years later, after World War II, Frank was in charge of a prosperous criminal empire, protected by paid-off cops and politicians.
Most of this backstory passes by in a barely coherent rush, which is a shame.

Given his knack for dramas about immigrant experiences and boyhood friendships, in films like Diner, Avalon, and Liberty Heights, Levinson could have teased out something rich from Frank and Vito's early years. But the Alto Knights, which was written by Goodfellas screenwriter Nicholas Pileggi, is eager to race ahead to the tug of war between De Niro and De Niro.
Vito, who's violent and irrationally jealous, wants to seize back control of the outfit and turn it into a drug-dealing operation. Frank is trying to cultivate a legitimate, respectable image and tries to talk Vito out of it.
You're going down a very dangerous road. You know that.
And we ain't been down dangerous roads before. All of a sudden, we can't go down dangerous roads.
This is the road that I'm not going down because you're going to take us all down. This is not the way.
You know, it's just a matter of time you're going to get pinched. But don't forget, you're a racketeer.
You're a gangster. Come on.
All of a sudden, you want to be half in,

half out,

half a racketeer.

You can't have it both ways.

You're either in or you're out.

And whether you're

half in or half out,

that don't mean

you ain't going to get caught

the same way I could get caught

or I could go down.

It's the same thing.

Come on,

don't be naive.

We don't control this.

Somebody else does it.

This is a death sentence.

It's a big,

big mistake.

Look,

you do what you want.

You want to be a diplomat

Thank you. I'm not sure exactly what the movie gains from having one actor play both roles, unless it's trying to suggest that Frank and Vito are two sides of the same corrupt coin.
Whatever the case, De Niro is clearly at home with this gangland material, and it's fun to watch him argue with himself. As Vito, De Niro seems to be channeling Joe Pesci's hothead from Goodfellas, barking and cursing under a layer of prosthetic pancake.
As Frank, he smiles, shrugs, and plays it cool.

Frank doesn't want any trouble.

He just wants to rake in the dough,

hobnob with philanthropists and politicians,

and spend his nights at home watching TV with his wife,

played by a frowny Deborah Messing.

They have a loving, stable marriage,

unlike Vito and his fiery wife, Anna, played by a very good Catherine Narducci. The Alto Knights doesn't have many more ideas than this good mobster-bad mobster dynamic.
The script does pull together a lot of events from the 1950s, including a Senate investigation into interstate crimes and a historic summit that brought together hundreds of mob bosses from around the country. But the movie doesn't seem to trust its own story.
Barely a scene goes by that isn't embellished with popping flashbulbs and giant newspaper headlines, as if Levinson were trying to convince us that we were watching history in the making. Still, De Niro's performances do keep you watching.
Or at least one of them does. Vito may be little more than a walking tantrum, but Frank makes for good company.
Especially in those moments toward the end, when he seriously considers bowing to Vito and stepping aside. So what if De Niro is playing a sentimentalized version of a ruthless crook? Hollywood gangster movies, even the ones as dubious and derivative as this one, have always known a thing or two about selling us a beautiful lie.
Justin Chang is a film critic for The New Yorker. He reviewed The Alto Nights, starring Robert De Niro.
On Monday's show, legal scholar Ellie Mestal joins us to talk about the 10 laws he says are ruining America. In his new book, Bad Law, he argues that our country's laws on immigration, abortion, and voting rights don't reflect the will of most Americans, and we'd be better off abolishing them and starting over.
I hope you can join us. For Terry Gross and Tanya Mosley, I'm David B.
Cooley. Since Donald Trump took office in January, a lot has happened.
The White House Budget Office ordered a pause on all federal grants and loans. The impact of the Trump administration's tariffs is already being felt.
President Trump's efforts to radically remake the federal government.

The NPR Politics Podcast covers it all.

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Listen every day.

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