Friday, May 29, 2009

Jay Leno and his final 'Tonight Show': 'I agree. Conan rocks.'



ay Leno was gracious and funny during his final night as host of The Tonight Show. His main guest was the program's new host starting Monday, Conan O'Brien. Seeing them together, the difference in comedy styles and sensibilities was striking. Where Leno is straightforward and old-fashioned in going for the big, topical guffaw (one major reason he commands the time period's largest audience), O'Brien is more sly, ironic, and self-deprecating (qualities he shares with his time-period competition, David Letterman -- hmmm, a possible problem for Conan?).

This night, however, it was just interesting to see Leno and O'Brien interact -- or rather, not interact. There wasn't much chemistry between the two men. O'Brien came out with some clever material about moving to California and the new studio from which he'll do the Tonight Show. Leno looked on, smiling politely.

At one point, an audience member yelled out, "Conan rocks!" Leno said, "I agree. Conan rocks."

In some ways, it was a typical Tonight Show. In his final late-night monologue, Leno went out with jokes that characterized his run. The man who brought us The Dancing Itos yukked this night, "I was cleaning out my office today, and I find O.J.'s knife! I had it the whole time! How could I be so stupid!" Ooof. Taking a jab at NBC's current low prime-time ratings, he referred to his future 10 p.m. time slot as "a secluded spot where no one can find me."

But toward the end, a different Leno was on display. Instead of the mighty joke-machine he prides himself on being, Leno allowed some nice, non-sappy sentiment to fill his final moments. He talked about how some staffers had met, married, and had children during his Tonight Show tenure... and then brought those offspring onstage. Sixty-eight young people of varying ages, smiling and waving.

It was a very sweet, low-key, and sincere way to end his version of The Tonight Show. And come Monday, we'll see what Conan does with the job.

Did you watch? Will you follow Jay to 10 p.m.? Will you watch Conan's Tonight Show

Nuggets’ Birdman Soars, on the Court and Off



By JOHN BRANCH

DENVER — Chris Andersen is hard to ignore, a 6-foot-10 Nuggets forward whose gel-hardened faux-hawk rises to 7-1, whose doodle pad of a body is covered in Technicolor artwork, whose headband covers the tops of his ears.
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Rick Wilking/Reuters

The 6-foot-10 Andersen is averaging 6.8 points, 6.6 rebounds and 2.07 blocks a game this postseason.
N.B.A.

From top, Jessica Rinaldi/Reuters; Jed Jacobsohn/Getty Images; Larry W. Smith/EPA

With his jumping ability, his tattooed wingspan and his faux-hawk and headband, Chris Andersen, aka Birdman, has become a cult hero and an unlikely role model in Denver.

Fans at the Pepsi Center, including an increasing number dressed as birds, stand and cheer whenever Birdman is about to enter the game. Some flap their arms in anticipation.

Andersen, a 30-year-old bench player who was suspended from the N.B.A. in 2006 for two years because of drug use, is an unusual cult hero and the unlikeliest of role models. But the stands are sprinkled with small children wearing headbands and spiked hair, men dressed in yellow feathers, and people of all ages wearing “Birdman” T-shirts or the hot-selling No. 11 jersey.

“Role model?” Andersen repeated the other day, almost spitting out the chicken he chewed in the players’ lounge. He laughed. “I guess so.”

The first tattoos came a decade ago, after he returned from a stint in China. A symbol on the inside of one forearm means “good,” he said. The symbol on the inside of the other means “bad.”

“It’s not good arm, bad arm,” he explained. “I’m stuck in the middle of the good and the bad. Everybody’s stuck in the middle.”

Andersen’s popularity stems from some cosmic combination of hops, hustle, hair and history. Even he does not quite understand it.

Denver Coach George Karl uses Andersen like a booster shot. Andersen often changes the complexion of games and, almost instantly, the mood in the arena.

“I’ve always felt that the ability to compete and play harder than the opponent is a tremendous talent,” Karl said. “And Chris kind of has that. He energizes by playing hard. He’s unorthodox. I think it’s a great story.”

Andersen is averaging 6.8 points, 6.6 rebounds and 2.07 blocks a game this postseason for the Nuggets, who trail the Lakers by 3-2 in the Western Conference final. Game 6 is in Denver on Friday night.

His 2.46 blocks-per-game average in the regular season trailed only Orlando’s Dwight Howard, but his 5.76 blocks per 48 minutes led the league. Andersen credits his jumping ability to long bike rides to and from school, and a high school coach who had players jump from the floor to the top of wooden boxes, the biggest taller than a table.

Karl said he did not look at Andersen and shake his head, or his arms, like so many others.

“No, I look at him and say thank you,” Karl said. “He’s a gift from the gods.”

He actually is from the countryside near Iola, Tex., about 100 miles north of Houston. The retelling of his complicated back story has given rise to some mythology.

“I did not grow up in a barn,” Andersen said. “I lived in a barn for year because they were building a house.”

Andersen’s parents separated when he was 7, and his mother struggled to support her son and two daughters. Andersen bounced from a grandfather’s house in Tennessee to a children’s home in Denton, Tex., where he spent about four years. He was back in Iola with his mother before his freshman year in high school.

Poor grades led him to Blinn Junior College in Brenham, Tex., beginning a whirlwind basketball tour that included the Chinese Basketball League, the International Basketball League, the International Basketball Association and the N.B.A.’s Development League. In 2001, the Nuggets made Andersen the first-ever call-up from the D-League.

His popularity with fans took root in three seasons in Denver. It was during a summer league that Andersen’s teammates took to calling him Birdman, for his long wingspan and his penchant for aerial acrobatics. The last tattoo Andersen got, before this season, was “Birdman” across his back.

He signed as a free agent with the New Orleans Hornets in 2004, and had his best statistical season — 7.7 points and 6.1 rebounds per game. That earned him a four-year, $14 million contract. But his personal life crumbled. He and his mother stopped talking (and still have not spoken, he said). He broke up with a longtime girlfriend. Hurricane Katrina hit, knocking the Hornets to Oklahoma City.

In January 2006, Andersen was suspended for two years for failing a drug test. He has never said what the drug was, and declined to do so this week. He insisted that his was not a clichéd case of a young athlete from a difficult background earning too much money, too soon.

“It wasn’t that,” Andersen said. “I didn’t get money and start partying. I had a lot of things going on in my life that were eating me alive and I had nobody to turn to. And so I turned to alcohol, and alcohol turned to something else.”

He called Mark Bryant, a Denver lawyer who had befriended Andersen years earlier. Bryant told Andersen to “come home” to Colorado and live with Bryant’s family, which included his wife and two young sons. Bryant said in a phone interview that he did not recognize how serious Andersen’s problems were.

He learned quickly. A day after returning from the N.B.A.’s arbitration hearing in New York, where the suspension was upheld, Andersen was reportedly seen drinking and dancing at a nightclub. Bryant confronted him.

“He said, ‘I wasn’t dancing,’ ” Bryant recalled.

Bryant ushered Andersen to rehabilitation. Andersen spent 30 days at Promises in Malibu, Calif. He spent about six months living with the Bryants.

“His job was himself,” Bryant said.

Andersen learned to handle his own finances. He met Brandy Newman, now his fiancée. He moved to the small town of Larkspur, Colo., south of Denver, far from the nightclub haunts. He trained and sometimes even attended Nuggets games, building a hunger for what he had thrown away.

The Hornets took Andersen back last spring. The Nuggets signed him back last July.

“If it wasn’t for what led to that suspension, and me having to go through the suspension, and then me rebuilding my life, I wouldn’t be in the position that I’m in now,” Andersen said.

During Game 4 on Monday night, Andersen rose from the bench. An anticipatory cheer rose through the arena.

Andersen opened the second quarter with a dunk off an alley-oop pass. He blocked a shot, then another, leading to two Denver baskets. The Nuggets built a double-digit lead and cruised to victory.

Rocky, the mountain lion mascot, appeared in a No. 11 jersey, a faux-hawk and a headband. Andersen highlights flickered on the video boards overhead. Throughout the arena, people flapped their arms.

Andersen, too, waved his. Once again, things were just taking off.

LeBron James' epic performance



Well, I never saw anything like that before.

Sure, like every football fan, I saw Kellen Winslow against Miami, exhausted, bleeding, spent -- someplace close to dying -- come back on the field again and again, catch another pass, block a field goal, catch another pass. It was 1982. Winslow had a pinched nerve, and he was cramping, and he had a bloody lip, and he had to be carried off the field. And he stumbled back on. He caught 13 passes in that playoff game, he scored a touchdown, he would not relent.

But I still never saw anything like that before.

Yes, I saw George Brett, 1985, his team down to Toronto two games to none, and he told his teammates, "Climb on back for this one" In the first inning he hit a home run. In the fourth he hit one high off the wall for a double. In the sixth, with his team down 5-3, he hit another home run. In the eighth, with the score tied, he singled, went to second on a bunt, went to third on a groundout, scored the game winner on a single. And somewhere in all that he made perhaps the greatest defensive play of his life, throwing out Damaso Garcia at the plate. The Royals won, and they won the World Series, and it's hard to imagine one player doing more to make it happen.

But I still never saw anything like that before.

Yes, I saw Ali come back from the dead in the 14th round to knock the mouthpiece out of Frazier's mouth, and I saw Tiger Woods win a U.S. Open on one leg, and I saw Sampras vomit in the fifth set at the U.S. Open and then go on to victory, and I saw Michael Jordan make the big shot time and again.

No, I never saw anything like LeBron James in the fourth quarter against the Orlando Magic on Thursday. I have no idea if Cleveland has enough to go into Orlando and win Saturday. My mind tells me it will be tough. My mind tells me that even Thursday -- a game Cleveland won by 10 -- Orlando was the more complete team, the better coached team, the more resilient team, the more confident team. My mind tells me that TNT's Kenny Smith and Charles Barkley are right when they say that nobody alive, nobody, can do THAT again, what LeBron did.

But it's not my mind that speaks loudest now, not after watching LeBron James play that fourth quarter. He looked beat. He bent over and clung to his shorts -- the surest sign, Al McGuire and Billy Packer always assured us viewers, of a man's exhaustion. He had seemed to grow weary of being a one-man team -- all game long, he seemed almost to be PLEADING with his teammates to get involved, to make some shots, to help him help them. At first, they did make some shots. The Cavaliers led by 22. Then they didn't make shots. Orlando rushed back and trailed by one at halftime. The Cleveland pace slowed. The crowd noise deadened. LeBron was brilliant but consumed. The Magic led by eight early in the third quarter.

And then ... that fourth quarter. The numbers are the numbers -- the Cavaliers scored 34 points, and LeBron James had a hand in 32 of them. He scored 17, and he dished four assists, and he grabbed four rebounds. To see it: Mind blowing. Every time down, the Cavaliers would get the ball to James around the free-throw line. He would hold the ball, look over the court, and you wondered if he could even move he looked so tired. You could see him just stand there, and it was almost as if you could hear the thought in his mind: "Damn it, why does it have to be me again?"

And then, "Who else could it be?"

And he drove, hard, time after time, he attacked, and he waited for all five men to collapse on him. And when they did, he would sometimes toss it out to Daniel Gibson or Mo Williams or someone else who stood behind the three-point line, alone wide open. Other times, he would keep going to the basket, take off, take the inevitable punishment, shake off the defenders, try to put the ball in the basket. This wasn't, as announcers would say, Superman doing superhero work. No. Superman is impervious. With LeBron, you could see that every foul hurt, every step was exhausting, every move was made with the weight of an entire city on his shoulders. Still, he kept on going, kept scoring, kept making the passes, kept blowing minds. Who can keep up that pace? Who can take on five defenders every time down the floor? Who can carry a city that has not won a championship in 45 years?

LeBron's final numbers: 37 points, 14 rebounds, 12 assists -- not just a triple double, but a triple dozen ... here is the list of players in the last 20 years who have managed 35 points, 12 rebounds, and 12 assists in a playoff game:

1. LeBron James, May 28, 2009.
2. Nobody else.

There have been other great playoff performances, of course, and it's always easy in the rush of the present to forget about those, to leave behind Jerry West or Dr. J, to leave behind Bird versus Dominique or the Magic baby hook or Tim Duncan's quieter brilliance or Michael two dozen times, to leave behind Dwayne Wade or Steve Nash or Kobe and Shaq or Paul Pierce just one year ago.

I'm not saying this was fundamentally different from those, except maybe it was a little different. It is becoming clearer and clearer that Orlando has some sort of Cavaliers kryptonite. Maybe it's the matchups, maybe it's the coaching, maybe it's the size factor, but whatever the reason the Cavaliers never look good against Orlando, and they hardly ever beat the Magic. The Cavaliers won Thursday, but after the game ended, Charles Barkley was stuck between awe and disgust. "That was too hard," he said, and those were the perfect words. That was too hard. LeBron James had beaten Orlando single-handedly. And it was too hard.

But for one night, LeBron did it. And it was epic. It was like LeBron James was saying, "I don't know what will happen tomorrow. But we're not losing tonight."

In '24 SECONDS OR LESS', Explain Why Kobe is the Best



Want to prove that you're one of Kobe's biggest fans? Now you can.

Vitaminwater just launched an application on its Facebook page that allows you to upload a homemade video explaining why Kobe is the best basketball player on the planet.

The app - called "24 Seconds or Less" - already has videos posted by several fans, including New York Yankees pitcher Joba Chamberlain, Philadelphia Phillies first baseman Ryan Howard, and Minnesota Vikings running back Adrian Peterson.

The Susan Boyle story: If only she could freeze-frame this moment


David Hinckley
DAILY NEWS STAFF WRITER
If the world wants Susan Boyle's story to forever remain as soaring and inspiring as it feels on the video clip that more than 200 million people have watched, we need to move in right now and freeze-frame that moment.

Boyle's audition for "Britain's Got Talent," where she sang "I Dreamed a Dream," was a moment of pure unblemished exuberance. This ordinary middle-aged woman in an ordinary dress, unknown outside her small village in Scotland, catapulted herself in five minutes onto an international stage ordinarily reserved for those who meet a carefully promoted standard of elegance and glamour.

It's no mystery to anyone who watches that video clip how Susan Boyle made hundreds of millions of people just plain feel good. But no triumph comes without a cost, and for Boyle, part of the price is having her life suddenly peeled back, while just as suddenly having no idea where it will go from here.

Her life was not, it turns out, such a happy story before, and there are many ways it could become a troubling story again. Which is why the only way to ensure that one moment remains uncompromised would be to erase all the time before and stop all the time after.

That's just how life works, a fact of which Susan Boyle is well aware. She was born June 15, 1961, in the small Scottish town of Blackburn, West Lothian, and brought home to the modest "council house" where she lives today.

She says she still sleeps in the same room. Her parents were Irish Catholics who moved to Scotland so her father Patrick could work as a storeman at the British Leyland factory.

Her mother Bridget was a shorthand typist, but spent much of her time at home raising 10 children – six boys, four girls. Her mother was 47 when Susan was born, six years after her next-youngest sibling George.

A difficult birth left Susan briefly deprived of oxygen, leaving her with a learning disability. In the whirlwind of interviews she has given since her "Talent" audition aired in Britain on April 11, Boyle hasn't spoken in much detail about her childhood.

But as the baby in a family of 10, she seems to have felt distant from siblings who in some cases were old enough to be her parents and gradually over the years all moved away.

Two brothers who have since surfaced – George, now 53, and John, now 59 – remember Susan as a shy child, an inclination likely reinforced by her difficulty in learning and thus with fitting in.

In early photos, Boyle looks like a typical Scottish child, with a broad, friendly face. But her learning disability made her different and children being a cruel lot, her classmates took to calling her "Susie Simple."

Read more: "The Susan Boyle story: If only she could freeze-frame this moment" - http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/2009/05/04/2009-05-04_the_susan_boyle_story.html#ixzz0GvEnLgSK&A

Susan Boyle says show will go on: She'll sing in 'Britain's Got Talent' final


BY Lauren Johnston
Fans worried that Susan Boyle might throw in the towel on brink of victory can breathe easier - the Scottish singing sensation says the show will go on, and she'll be center stage.

Rumors spread that Boyle had threatened to bow out of the U.K. reality TV competition "Britain's Got Talent" after she appeared to crack under the pressure of her new found fame.

She reportedly buckled under the stress and broke into two separate swearing tantrums - hurling expletives backstage after judges for the show praised a performance by 12-year-old Shaheen Jafargholi, her rival for the show's top title.

But Boyle has vowed to perform on Saturday's show - the final round before a winner is chosen in the talent competition in a show set to air Sunday.

"I want nothing more than to stay and sing in the Britain's Got Talent final. I've spent weeks rehearsing," Boyle said in a statement released to Britain's Daily Mail.

Boyle had burst into tears and packed her bags to head home earlier this week, according to comments from judge Piers Morgan, who mans the panel with fellow judges Simon Cowell and Amanda Holden.

A spokesperson for "Britain's Got Talent" - which airs on Britain's ITV network - later refuted the comments saying:

"Susan Boyle is still very much part of the Britain's Got Talent ... She, like all of our contestants, is being closely looked after by program makers ... Susan's personal welfare is very important to us, and we will continue to do everything we can to make sure she remains happy and well."

Meanwhile, fans across the globe - those in the U.K. and those watching via YouTube - are worried the emotional strain of the competition could throw the 48-year-old songbird off her game, and rob her of the win they feel she deserves.

Does she deserve to win? You tell us in the comments section below and by voting in our Daily News poll.

Read more: "Susan Boyle says show will go on: She'll sing in 'Britain's Got Talent' final" - http://www.nydailynews.com/gossip/2009/05/29/2009-05-29_susan_boyle_says_show_will_go_on_shell_sing_in_britains_got_talent_final.html#ixzz0GvDwd4QU&A

Drag Me to Hell (2009)



Mud and Guts
By JEANNETTE CATSOULIS

Many directors search for, but few find, that elusive intersection of chills and chuckles where Sam Raimi built his early reputation before being swallowed by the cultural weight of the “Spider-Man” franchise. When he made “The Evil Dead” in 1981, he was just 22, an ebullient boy whose movie thrummed with the excitement of its creator. Back then his stampeding camera, over-the-top imagination and cheeky way with foliage felt new and invigorating, a kick in the pants for jaded horror fans and a wake-up call for genre filmmakers.
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At a time when horror is defined by limp Japanese retreads or punishing exercises in pure sadism, “Drag Me to Hell” has a tonic playfulness that’s unabashedly retro, an indulgent return to Mr. Raimi’s goofy, gooey roots. More jolting and juicy than the typical PG-13 offering, the movie has a perfunctory plot that centers on Christine (Alison Lohman), a tenderhearted loan officer at a California bank.

Eager to prove to her boss (David Paymer) that she can toughen up in time for a demanding promotion, Christine denies a mortgage extension to a milky-eyed crone with yellow fingernails and matching sputum (a gleefully disgusting Lorna Raver). Later, in the menacing blankness of an underground parking garage, the old woman expresses her displeasure. Flying dentures are only the warm-up.

This early set piece, a breathtaking blur of energetic body slams and artfully deployed office supplies, is much too cartoonish to be repellent. (Only Mr. Raimi can make granny-bashing hilarious.) Emerging from the melee cursed by her elderly foe, Christine spends the remainder of the movie fending off an evil demon and the concerns of her milquetoast boyfriend (Justin Long), an earnest professor tired of returning home each evening to shattered furniture.

As her character arcs from sweet-submissive to deadly determined (and her wardrobe from business chic to mud-drenched T-shirt), her director rushes through a disastrous dinner party and a demented exorcism with giddy velocity, accomplishing more with curling shadows and billowing drapes than with an army of computer-graphics specialists. And if he seems a little too fixated on orifice abuse — Christine’s mouth and nose are repeatedly invaded by things that spurt and slither and suck — his visuals never feel punitive. Mean-spiritedness is not his way.

Swift and sure, “Drag Me to Hell” unfurls in vertiginous, comic-book frames, like a long-lost issue of “Tales From the Crypt.” Neither small humans nor smaller animals are exempt from the carnage, which is orchestrated (by Mr. Raimi and his screenwriting sibling, Ivan) to recall memorable moments in horror-movie history. The most chilling of these is the sight of the old woman’s car (played by Mr. Raimi’s own 1973 Oldsmobile), idling in the parking garage like the malevolent Plymouth Fury of John Carpenter’s “Christine.”

As for Ms. Lohman, she suffers the indignities of the genre like a champ, morphing from mouse to hellion as her expiration date approaches. And while no one will mistake her journey — whose title sounds like a desperate plea from the director’s fan base — for a masterpiece, the movie has a crackpot vitality that breaches our defenses.

In films like “Darkman” and the thematically similar “Spider-Man 2,” Mr. Raimi revealed a gift for merging the human and the fantastic, sustaining poignant love stories in the midst of horror and revenge. His talent is greater than this, but for now this will do.

“Drag Me to Hell” is rated PG-13 (Parents strongly cautioned). A feast of flies, phlegm, fisticuffs and embalming fluid.

DRAG ME TO HELL

Opens on Friday nationwide.