St. Louis Eats and Drinks With Joe and Ann Pollack

LiLuMa

A desire for a rather late dinner-after 10 p.m., late by most St. Louis standards-took us to the Central West End and, following our occasional habit of going where a parking place pops up, we went to a spot we hadn’t visited for a while. LiLuMa has settled into the southeast corner of Euclid and Maryland as a near-institution, with its outdoor dining a particular draw. The intersection has an almost-constant stream of interesting foot traffic, and large windows allow folks who prefer air conditioning or the absence of bus exhaust fumes to watch the passing scene from two dining rooms and a short corridor connecting them.

We kicked off with fried okra, southern Americana incarnate, little chunks in a light cornmeal breading, crisp and greaseless, just the dish to convert people who think they don’t like okra. (Many years ago at a church supper in Lamesa, TX, that’s just what happened to Ann.) Tasty alone, equally tasty with the accompanying buttermilk dipping sauce.

An heirloom tomato salad with white anchovies was a don’t-miss, given the time of year. Tomatoes are at their peak, and heirloom varieties are now far more available than they were only a couple of years ago. It looked gorgeous, a tangle of microgreens atop the tomato and the fillets of tangy, salty marinated anchovy laced throughout. But the tomatoes in this $12 salad (the most expensive appetizer that night) were three thin slices of one small oval tomato and one larger, rather mushy, slice of another. Not good enough at that price.

Pastas are priced as first courses, in the Italian style, although they’re also available as entrees. They’re fresh, not dried, reflected in the good texture, slightly chewy but not gummy. Mixed mushrooms sauced one dish, their juices and a some garlic moistening things; the other wore spinach and lemon with a little cheese as an additional accent. Both were excellent, and the latter was very bright and sparkling indeed, unusual and delicious. Each serving was about a cup of pasta plus the toppings.

For those unfamiliar with semifreddo, it’s an Italian dessert, somewhere between mousse and ice cream. Unlike ice cream, it isn’t stirred as it chills out, and it often has gelatin to help it keep its texture, which ideally should be not as hard as ice cream. (The word translates to half-cold.) A lemon semifreddo charmed. Usually creamy lemon things aren’t lemony enough, but this hit the right spot, topped with blackberries and a blackberry coulis. The texture was reminiscent of a Fudgesicle, the firmness that the ice cream business terms quiescently frozen, rather nice as a contrast to the same old same old. Lemon and blackberry always have a good time together, so even the garnish worked well.

On the wine list, there’s a Brachetto d’Acqui sparkling red from Banfi. We thought about the sparkling shiraz from Australia that has been so good and decided to try it, but it turned out to be extremely sweet. Maybe it’s some folks’ idea of an aperitif, but it wasn’t ours. The remainder of the wine list is first-rate, very heavily Italian, with a full range of prices.

Liluma

238 N. Euclid Ave.

314-361-7771

website

Lunch & Dinner Mon.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $19-$29 

Yoo Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg

Gertrude Berg was truly an amazing woman. She wrote and performed, as Molly Goldberg, in 12,000 episodes of one of radio’s first serials, which went on the air in 1929, a week after the market crash. She made the transition to television in the well-known New York minute, earning the first Best Actress Emmy ever awarded. When loyalty to a fellow cast member and a right-wing advertiser boycott ended that program ("I Love Lucy" moved into the time slot), she went on stage and won a Tony as Best Actress, starring opposite Cedric Hardwicke in "A Majority of One."

Aviva Kempner’s rock-solid documentary, "Yoo Hoo, Mrs. Goldberg," which opens today, honors Berg and Goldberg, and also their precursor Tillie Edelstein, who was born in 1898, reared in the Bronx and in the Catskill hotel business until she married an English engineer, Lewis Berg, and took his name, adding it to the Gertrude she had adopted earlier.

From a childhood ambition to be an actress, she wrote humorous sketches to amuse hotel guests in bad weather, expanded them to honor small-town, back-fence stories and moved them to the big city, where discussions took place through open windows over fire escapes or air shafts. The show was not afraid to tackle political issues of the day, from the anti-Semitic rants of Father Coughlin to Hitler’s actions in Europe. Most, however, were light-hearted and family oriented, to be copied in "Fibber McGee," "Henry Aldrich," "The Great Gildersleeve" and dozens of other programs.

Berg, who lived on Park Avenue, wore furs and pearls and had no Yiddish accent whatsoever, was a hard-driving taskmaster, but her loyalty to Philip Loeb, who portrayed her husband on TV, was her undoing. An active union man, a founder of AFRA (later, and still, AFTRA) and Actors Equity, Loeb was accused in 1950 of Communist sympathies, and her sponsor, General Foods, wanted him fired. Berg refused. She won, but only a temporary victory, because the show was canceled a few months later. Berg even appealed to Cardinal Francis Spellman of New York, asking that he use his influence, but when the Cardinal said his price would be her conversion to Roman Catholicism, she withdrew her request. Loeb’s tragic story was told later in "The Front," with Woody Allen, Zero Mostel and Herschel Bernardi, the originator and the first successor, respectively, of the role of Tevye in "Fiddler on the Roof."

Berg, obviously a driven woman, kept right on acting, and even though she won a Tony for "A Majority of One," Hollywood cast Rosalind Russell as the Jewish housewife from the Bronx, and Alec Guinness to replace Cedric Hardwicke as the Japanese businessman with whom she develops a relationship.

The only footage of Berg, besides a few clips from "The Goldbergs," are some scenes from an interview she did with Edward R. Murrow. Lots of tributes, anecdotes and stories, however, from Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg, NPR’s Susan Stamberg, Ed Asner, Norman Lear and many other friends and family members. Interestingly, Asner blames Berg’s show for making it more difficult for Jews to assimilate, just as "Amos ‘n’ Andy" may have made it tougher on Afican-Americans who wanted to fit into American society. However, most of the interviewees credit Berg and her work with improving the image of Jews in American society.

Kempner, who also did a brilliant documentary on baseball Hall of Famer Hank Greenberg, has done it again.

Opens today at the Plaza Frontenac

-Joe

Play The Game

Did I miss something? Did I pull a Rip Van Winkle and are we now in the 1970s or 80s, and in the run-up to the television season? Probably not, but I could swear I saw a pilot the other day. It was called "Play the Game," and it stars Andy Griffith, and Doris Roberts and Liz Sheridan, who were in just about every television series in those days.

So it’s proper that all three are in a retirement community (such a chilling term), and Griffith still has the urge, if not the ability. As proof of his failing mental status, he asks his grandson to help him become a "chick magnet," or maybe "chick maggot." The grandson’s background?

He’s a car salesman.

David, the grandson, played smarmily by Paul Campbell and obviously blinded by looking in the mirror, gives Grandpa stupid advice. It doesn’t take many moves for Grandpa, but suddenly he’s involved with Edna (Sheridan), who turns him every way but loose. At the same time, Grandpa meets Rose (Roberts), and Rose has a granddaughter. David meets her, of course, and the rest is history, or maybe mystery, but even in the glory days of television, when anything got on the air, "Play the Game" would have fallen as short then as it does now.

Marc Fienberg wrote and directed; it’s his first time around. Hope he gets back to his sophomore year in film school as soon as possible.

At multiple theaters.

-Joe

Taking Woodstock

Looking backward is a wonderful way to spend time. Surrounded by fond memories that cast a golden haze, everything looks so much better. Reality gets lost in reminiscence, just as it does in "Taking Woodstock," opening today and painting the famous festival in kind and lovely colors – with only a couple of exceptions.

After "Brokeback Mountain" and "Lust, Caution," which dealt with complex stories and a lot of sex, Lee was obviously looking for an easier project. Enter the 40th anniversary of Woodstock. Exit a simple, almost-innocent view of the wild and wacky weekend, based on a memoir by Elliot Teichberg, using the pseudonym of Tiber, and played with a sort of ingenuous charm by Demitri Martin, obviously struggling with his homosexuality. Teichberg’s family owned the El Monaco, a shabby motel in White Lake that became what amounted to festival headquarters for the action in nearby Bethel.

This is not to denigrate Lee, whose skills were tested mightily by the sheer mass of people in the film, but he sticks to the mud and marijuana, doesn’t bother with the festival’s performances, seems satisfied with light-hearted entertainment.

And Lee gets a marvelous performance from Liev Schreiber as Vilma, a blond, long-haired cross-dresser and former Marine who decides he can handle security and help Teichberg grow up at the same time. He could win an Oscar nomination as a supporting actor. Eugene Levy is outstanding as Max Yasgur, who opened his dairy farm ("all my cows have names") to those seeking Nirvana, and so is Jonathan Groff as Michael Lang, the producer of the festival and a man who paves over problems with ease. Paul Dano and Kelli Garner also stand out as a loving couple in a VW who take our hero on a delightful trip. Emile Hirsch is moving as Billy, a high-school friend of Teichberg now mostly delusional after an Army hitch..

There’s quite a bit of nudity from the Earthlight Players, a troupe of hippie actors who hang out in the barn on the Teichberg property, but it’s innocent, too. There really was such a group. The only harsh, very disturbing note, comes from Sonia Teichberg, Elliot’s mother (a savage performance by Imelda Staunton), who is so crassly tasteless and greedy that she casts a dark shadow over all the lightness that James Schamus, the screen writer, can offer, and that Lee can transform to film. If this is how young Teichberg sees his Mom, well, this a job for Dr. Freud.

At multiple theaters.

-Joe

FIVE Bistro

Five, born in the Grove, is growing up on the Hill. But its focus remains, reflecting the Italian heritage of the neighborhood and its owners, the Devoti family. Son Anthony dances lead in the kitchen, as he has for its lifetime. Five is roomier than it was, and seems quieter, even on a busy evening early in the week. The Art Deco paintings in the style of Tamara de Lempicka now hang on dark green walls, and the servers are attentive to the needs of guests, whether regulars or newcomers.

In the current economy, bread baskets are one place that restaurants often have often cut back. Not here. Extremely fresh foccacia arrived with seasoned olive oil, the combination particularly tasty for reasons we couldn’t quite put our finger on at first. Then we realized that there was just a little truffle oil brushed on the bread, providing the wow factor to kick things off.

A charcuterie platter showcased housemade prosciutto, tender and sweet, rather than deeply salty, and another, an unnamed and unrecognized piece of cured pig, was chunkier and saltier, and extremely tasty. Alongside was a small brick of pate, subtly seasoned and studded with what seemed to be hazelnuts. Even the pickle appeared homemade, not so tart and small as a French cornichon. Coarse mustard marked the plate, a small container of mixed olives, and perhaps best of all the selections, a cherry and shallot chutney that was absolutely irresistible. Eggplant soup, with a hint of celadon green in its color, sported a swirl of creme fraiche, but the main feature was the lovely flavor of the eggplant itself, which often is distant and elusive. A generous serving at a proper temperature, it brought considerable satisfaction.

We could have been happier with the grilled salmon. It arrived cooked to medium, which is not unreasonable, and it was of satisfactory quality. But the freshly cooked fish sat on a bed of timidly flavored, room-temperature tomato sauce, alongside some various green beans. Various, because some were crisp and others quite tender.  On the other hand, the pork shop was rave-worthy. Faintly pink inside, a little less than an inch thick, it was moist, tender and utterly delicious, worth picking up to gnaw the last bits off the bone. It rode on a puree of crowder peas, something we don’t ever recall seeing in a restaurant that has a wine list. Crowders are related to black-eyed peas, and the puree was earthy and yet delicate. Some diced turnips hung around for the fun, as did a little napa cabbage, all homey-seeming vegetables gone upscale.

Maybe we’ve just had bad luck with desserts, but they’ve always seemed to come in second to the savory dishes here. The best we found this time was a sampler of sorbets, which included a very impressive cantaloupe that captured the melon’s flavor very well indeed, some nice tart plum and a blueberry that was pretty good. The chocolate sampler had been sold out, so the chef had subbed a fruit sampler. A blackberry panna cotta had the toughness that comes after gelatin has been sitting for more than a day or so, and lacked sufficient flavor, a blackberry-cinnamon ice cream that was mostly cinnamon and merely okay, and what was called a shortcake with peach preserves. The crumbly scone-like biscuit was unexciting, although the peach preserves perked things up considerably. Overall, the course lacked the excitement the meal had provided to that point.

The wine list is strong on Italian varieties, with many moderately priced choices that will be pleasant companions to the dinner selections.

All in all, the new location is a definite step up, the service kinks have been eliminated and Anthony Devoto is hitting his stride in the kitchen.

FIVE Bistro

5100 Daggett Ave.

314-773-5553

www.fivebistro.com

Dinner Tues.-Sat.

Credit cards: Yes

Wheelchair access: Fair

Smoking: No

Entrees: $23-$26

 

This Week's Wine, August 25, 2009

The Wines of Texas Are Upon Us

In my sports writing days, I traveled to Texas a lot, covering college and professional football, which is the state religion of Texas. Basically, Texas was legally dry in those days, but people who could get into the Dallas Press Club could get a drink. So could members of countless other clubs, usually with a temporary membership fee of a dollar. Whiskey was extra, but many people carried brown bags with open bottles, paying several bucks for a glass of ice and a mixer.

Wine? What’s wine? Oh, that’s the stuff you drink in church. . . .

Try a Falstaff, or a Pearl, or a Dixie.

Times certainly change. A couple of weeks ago, I went to Dallas for a weekend of wine – Texas wine – and a lot of it was excellent. I’m part of a group of wine writers who think that California is not the be-all and end-all, though we believe a lot of excellent wine is made out there, and a couple of dozen of us were on hand, representing newspapers, magazines, television stations and blog sites from Virginia, Maryland, California, Georgia, Colorado and the District of Columbia, in addition to Texas and Missouri.

The Texas Department of Agriculture does fine work promoting the wine made in the state, helping grape-growers and wine-makers with expertise and other types of support, including a marketing department that is actively into the 21st century.

So I have a wine glass and a tote bag and a corkscrew that say Drink Texan Wine. Texas is fifth in the nation in wine production and its 190 wineries are a bit more than twice the Missouri numbers. The Spanish brought wine to Texas in the 17th century, and German settlers to the Hill Country revived the dormant industry in the mid-19th century, about 30 years after German immigrants brought grapes and wine to the Augusta and Hermann areas.

Both states took a beating from Prohibition, but Texas, hamstrung by a tangle of archaic liquor laws that make the cat’s cradle of Missouri laws look simple, took longer to re-establish its wine industry. It began to lurch forward in the 1970s, sped up nicely 20 years later.

Interestingly, both states owe a great debt to Thomas V. Munson, a leader in viticulture education and experimentation. A genius horticulturist, Munson taught a large group of Missouri winemakers, then moved to Texas and settled in Denison, where, almost single-handedly, he saved wine for humanity. He had found grape root stock in Missouri when he was here, took samples with him to Texas. He then exported the same stock to France, whose vines faced extermination by the phylloxera louse. With the classic vinifera grapes (Cabernet Sauvignon, Chardonnay, Merlot and others) grafted onto Munson’s root stock, louse-resistant vines were produced, though eventually, about a century later, the phylloxera became able to feast on the Missouri stock, and another resistant stock was developed.

Munson, honored by the French government, which erected a statue to him in Montpellier, is considered the father of the Texas industry.

Texas is able to grow the classic viniferas in several parts of the state, and the development of drip irrigation made it possible to use acreage in the High Plains of west Texas and the Hill Country, in the central part of the state. They’re two of the eight federal Viticultural districts established in the state. That’s a few more than Missouri, but our state has Viticultural District No. 1, in Augusta. Napa is No. 2, but Lucian Dressel’s feat in acquiring that honor is all but ignored by Missouri for some reason.

Given the size of Texas, its various parts have the climate and soil – what the French call terroir – to grow all the classic vinifera grapes, the Bordeaux varieties mentioned above (though Chardonnay does not grow well in Texas), along with Malbec, Pinot Noir, Sangiovese, Syrah, Tempranillo and Zinfandel among the reds, plus the Pierce disease-resistant hybrid, LeNoir. The whites include a new hybrid, Blanc du Bois, developed at the University of Florida in the last 15 years, and a good selection for hot, swampy land around Galveston or southeast Texas, as well as Florida. Other white varietals planted across the state are Chenin Blanc, Gewurztraminer, various Muscats, Pinot Grigio, Riesling, Sauvignon Blanc, Semillon and Viognier.

We tasted about two dozen wines, from all over the state and from dozens of grapes. Some were single-vineyard, estate-bottled wines, others were blends, often with proprietary names. Our task was to pick four winners, sweet white or rose, dry white or rose, sweet red and dry red, with winemakers selecting the category. Retail prices ranged from $12 to $40.

Those voted "best" were:

Dry Red: 2005 Tempranillo-Cabernet, Inwood Estates Vineyards, Dallas, $39.50: Dan and Rose Mary Gatlin use grapes from the High Plains, on the New Mexico border, and vinify in Dallas, but have made this blend of Tempranillo (65 percent) and Cabernet Sauvignon a glorious wine, almost black, with big fruit flavors, led by black currant, and a long, long finish with notes of chocolate. Perfect with beef on the grill.

Sweet Red: 2006 IV (Port-style Red), Sandstone Cellars, Mason, $40: Owners Scott Haupert and Manny Silerio, and winemaker Don Pullum, use only grapes from Mason County, southwest of Fort Worth, and simply name their wines in order. This delicious, rich, very Port-style wine is the fourth they have made (a fine dry red is simply called VI). With a year in barrel and a year in stainless, the Port has a wonderful richness, with chocolate and mint in the aroma, more mint and berries on the palate, coffee in the finish. A beautiful dessert wine.

Dry White: 2008 Pinot Blanc, Flat Creek Estate, Marble Falls, $34.95: Northwest of Austin, Rick and Madelyn Naber use Pinot Blanc grapes grown in the Hill Country appellation for this full-bodied delightfully crisp and well-balanced wine that shows a lovely touch of guava on the palate. A marvelous aperitif or excellent with broiled fish.

Sweet White: 2006 Madeira Blanc du Bois, Haak Vineyards and Winery, Santa Fe, $39.95: Owner-winemaker Ray Haak, who built the first winery in the Galveston area uses grapes from various parts of the state, and the Madeira was an overwhelming choice in its category, probably as close to unanimous as a group of wine writers can get. The wine is filled with aromas and flavors of peach and apricot, with a hint of honey on the palate. It’s glorious, the best wine I tasted among all the entries, though its powerful sweetness and high alcohol (18 percent) probably made it more memorable than if it were just another white wine.

However, I tasted a dry Blanc du Bois, also from Haak, and found it to be a pleasant table wine. Inwood also offered a 100percent Tempranillo that was delicious, a splendid companion to the 65-35 blend noted above.

A few other highlights included a beautiful rose from Cap Rock, just outside Lubbock in the High Plains, made of Ruby Cabernet and Sauvignon Blanc (95-5), would be a perfect match with Thai food and looks beautiful in a glass. Vino de Terra Alta, from Dallas winery Times Ten Cellars, uses grapes from the Davis Mountains appellation in the southwest part of the state is a complex blend of Tempranillo (37 percent), Syrah (33), Grenache (24), Cabernet Sauvignon (3) and Cabernet Franc (3). Last but not least, a powerful Sangria from LightCatcher winery of Fort Worth which starts with Merlot, adds peaches, brandy and apple juice for a wonderful flavor and a 16 percent alcohol.

The Texas wines I sampled were well-made, clean and flavorful, showing careful handling of the grapes. In their price range, and as table wines, they match wines made anywhere and are outstanding company for dinner.

-Joe

Last Train To Nibroc

The small towns of Kentucky are not common sites for plays with even a little sophistication, but with an apparent goal of some easy laughs, it’s not difficult for playwright Arlene Hutton to appeal to a different audience, the kind that laughs at bad grammar, ignorance, religiously uptight attitudes, people who might be termed hoosiers, or rednecks, or hillbillies.

That’s the unfortunate side effect of "Last Train to Nibroc," which opened over the weekend and will conclude on Saturday. It’s at the The Chapel, 6238 Alexander Drive, adjacent to the Memorial Presbyterian Church. Alexander, by the way, runs west off Skinker Boulevard, immediately south of Wydown Boulevard.

Set during World War II, Hutton began with a premise that might have worked, if she had left the story without the search for cheap laughs. Raleigh (an earnest Ted Drury) has just received a medical discharge from the service and is riding a train from California to his Kentucky home, where he will continue his quest to become a writer. May (an often rude and contentious Emily Piro) is heading home to a nearby Kentucky town from a Christmas holiday visit with her fiancé, in the Army, and will continue her work as a teacher, though she talks abut becoming a missionary. By the way, if we’re in December, even on a trans-continental train, May should not be wearing a summer frock, nor Raleigh a summer uniform.

After some back-and-forth, with a nicely flirty undertone (remember that it is 1940), and the intermission, the two begin challenging one another as the second act begins, 18 months later. May charges him with not writing, corrects his grammar. He criticizes her choice of words and ridicules the fact that she has no idea of the conditions under which she will work and the life she will lead once she becomes a missionary.

Too often the humor is delivered with a broadsword rather than a saber, and the attacks on one another’s families descend into some outright cruelty.

Both Piro and Drury turn in bright, impressive performances, doing good work with what they have, but Hutton never gives them enough clay to properly mold a character, or to reach a conclusion that seems real.

At The Chapel, 6238 Alexander Drive, through Saturday.

-Joe

Anna Blair: Inside Story

Fran Landesman would be pleased and proud today. Anna Blair, who first met and sang with her last October, formed a cabaret evening of selections from Landesman’s great songs and poems and performed it with style and grace last night at Jazz at the Bistro. She repeats tonight at 8.

Blair, a veteran local actress and singer, offered nearly two dozen of Landesman’s works, either songs or poems set to music, with music by such as the late Tommy Wolf, her Gaslight Square accompanist, Ann Hampton Callaway, Bob Dorough and Simon Wallace, her London pianist for more than 30 years.

It was a lovely evening, with Blair’s small, innocent voice just right for the sad, somber, still-vibrant, hip songs. Blair simply let the lyrics come through, offering splendid enunciation and allowing the words to stand out without trying to put her own personality out front. She was terrific. Even when she got lost in one song, she simply stopped, talked to accompanist Carolbeth True, returned to the microphone and went back to the top, carrying it off stylishly in a splendid rendition.

Landesman, 87, a New Yorker, married St. Louisan Jay Landesman at a Greenwich Village party and married him in 1951. They moved to St. Louis where his family was in the antique business and a major supporter of cultural institutions. With his brother, Fred, a major partner, Jay and Fran opened the Crystal Palace, on Olive Street in what now is the midst of Grand Center, brought Mike Nichols and Elaine May, Will Holt and Dolly Jonah, Ted Flicker and other members of Second City from Chicago, soon were something new and different.

In 1955, they moved west, to a Landesman property near Boyle Avenue, and planted the first flower of Gaslight Square. Phyllis Diller, Barbra Streisand, Del Close, the Smothers Brothers, Lenny Bruce, Josh White, Herb Hartig and dozens of others performed. Fran and Jay, with Flicker, wrote "The Nervous Set," including two of Fran’s most classic songs, "Ballad of the Sad young Men" and "Spring Can Really Hang You Up the Most," both recorded by dozens of great singers and still among the sheet music on every piano in every New York cabaret. It went to Broadway, but "Spring," tied up in copyright litigation, was not sung there.

Blair has the right approach to all the Landesman lyrics. She leaves them alone and lets them carry their story. This is a Landesman concert, not a Blair concert, and that’s the way it should be.

Blair, whose between-songs commentary could have played in a church, was the polar opposite of Landesman, who dropped four-letter words and various other vulgarities as if they were M&M candies on a bridge table. Blair took notice of that in her introduction, saying that when she first met Landesman last October, she was floored when the 87-year-old writer and singer "used the f-word."

True proved a splendid accompanist; Joe Dreyer, the music director for the show, will fill the role on Saturday.

Landesman’s lyrics are rarely sharper than in a literary poem where she admits, "I like to go to bed with a good book, or a man who wrote one;" and her animal songs, about a pet Brontosaurus or the weather for ducks, show great charm.

The Blair-Landesman combination was a total delight, right from the opening number, the lovely, anticipatory "Small Day Tomorrow." But for Blair and Landesman, it was a big night last night.

At Jazz at the Bistro, Grand Center, tonight at 8.

-Joe

Something's Afoot

The first song I heard about a dinghy was "He’s Got the Cutest Little Dinghy in the Navy," and is was sung by Ruth Wallis, who made a specialty of lyrics with sex-laden double entendres during and after World War II, though she continued singing the same songs long enough to show up in St. Louis in the 1970s or 80s for an engagement at the St. Louis Playboy Club, when the city had one.

Imagine my surprise last night during "Something’s Afoot," when Colleen Caul, "the saucy maid" in "Something’s Afoot," broke into a song called "Dinghy," about an equally small craft. Eventually, it became a duet with the delightful Jordan Reinwald as Flint, the caretaker, Geoffrey, played by Nate McClure. He seemed quite proud of the size of the dinghy, in which they planned to flee an island before they were murdered.

The mostly dull comedy with music, which runs through Sunday, is a production of the Insight Theatre Company at the Heagney Theatre on the Webster Groves campus of Neerinx Hall.

James McDonald, David Vos and Robert Gerlach, who wrote book, music and lyrics, try to spoof old-fashioned English mystery yarns from the Agatha Christie-Arthur Conan Doyle-Mary Roberts Rinehart school, with the cast trapped in a single house or room where they experience a variety of exotic fates before someone exposes the villain. African spears, a Chinoise bar, an exploding stair, a gas-exuding wall phone (the play is set in 1935) and other odd devices claim their victims.

"Something’s Afoot" had a Broadway run of 61 performances in the spring of 1976, and Barbara Heuman sang about the dinghy.

Janet Wells, as Miss Tweed, the loudest speaker in the room, decides she’ll take the lead in finding the murderer, and she brings a strong lead to "Suspicious" and "I Owe it All," the latter a tribute to those early 20th-century mystery writers. Ed Reggi as the very stuffy, slightly over-stuffed Col. Gillweather, is dependable, and good marks go to Reinwald, John Kinney and Nate McClure, mainly because they do the best work with dance routines from choreographer Lara Teeter, some of which almost make up for the shortcomings of the script. It’s a weak story which desperately needs punching up, while the actors too often seemed to be in a very English fog. Accents were all over the map

Miss Tweed, Col. Gillweather and others bring a fond memory of Mr. Plum and Col. Mustard, but these authors simply don’t have a Clue.

An Insight Theatre Company Production through Sunday at the Heagney Theatre

-Joe

Streetballers

Talk about a busy man!

That’s Matt Krentz, who wrote, produced, directed and stars in "Streetballers," a feature film debut that opens here today, showing considerable style and talent, shot on locations ranging from our streets, parks and playgrounds to St. Louis Community College at Forest Park to Dogtown in time for the St. Patrick’s Day parade.

Krentz and Jimmy McKinney, former Vashon and Mizzou basketball star, are neighborhood pals and basketball players, with Krentz, as the short, white Irish kid needing a lot of conditioning work and some friendly camera angles to even be on the same court with McKinney. Nicholas Gartner’s cinematography is swell.

As a young writer (he’s three weeks past his 29^th birthday), Krentz makes the youthful mistake of bringing too much material. His palette includes basketball, gambling, abuse of alcohol, single parents, sibling relationships, an auto accident, several folks visiting from the other side of the Great Divide, racial animosity, college classes, sex, gunplay and a glitter of Shakespeare to wrap everything up.

Most of the actors are in their first films, but Krentz has them fixed solidly on good characterizations, a powerful script and lots of basketball. That sometimes like watching ESPN highlight shows because the shooting percentages, no matter what the range, are higher than St. Louis summer humidity and Alley Oop is a constant companion.

McKinney is a delight; he may not be a trained actor but he has good instincts, and while he brings his own touch to Shakespeare, he turns it into a lovely scene. And solid work from Adrieanne Perez as the girl who first attracts Krentz’s attention with her rifle, later fits in as "a girl to spend time with," one of his dreams.

Krentz breaks his movie into what might be considered "chapters," with sporting philosophy from various people. However, his Joe DiMaggio comment, "A ball player’s got to be hungry to be a big leaguer. That’s why no boy from a rich family ever made it to the big leagues." obviously overlooks Bill Bradley. Krentz, a St. Louis-born basketball player, should remember Bradley, son of a bank president and good enough to be an NBA Hall of Famer. Another quote comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson, whose name should not be misspelled.

But over all, Krentz has put together an outstanding first effort, with a mostly exciting film that shows he understands both basketball and relationships. We can look forward to his next.

At the Tivoli and Ronnie’s

-Joe