Fred Astaire

There's no end to movie books — star memoirs, critical career overviews, coffee table "making of" commemorations (The Art of John Carter: A Visual Journey — really?!), sex-laden, scandalous tell-alls. Heck, somebody's even written a book about movie stars on bikes. But is that a bad thing? Of course not. For the serious film addict, watching movies is never enough. We crave more information, more insight, more dirt. So here are three compelling, original, cinema-inclined new books: The Astaires: Fred & Adele, Kathleen Riley (Oxford University Press, $27.95)

Although an era of style and grace passed on when Fred Astaire died Monday, images of his dance wizardry remain both in film and video. According to Steve Apple, executive editor of The Video Insider, a national trade publication based in Philadelphia, a number of Astaire films currently are available on videotape. "The availability of these films will vary from store to store," Apple said. "Stores that have large inventories, such as Movies Unlimited, will have all or most of these films.

When a Fred Astaire movie came to the Congress Theatre, we all groaned. It meant that on Saturday afternoon - movie time in the neighborhood - we had to go up Milwaukee Avenue to the fancy Harding, which cost more. Or down the street to the grimy Oak, which ran nothing but the worst B-films. But anything was better than sitting through a Fred Astaire movie, with their sappy stories, mushy love songs, and dance after dance after dance. His movies were the worst, the pits. No Errol Flynn boldly sword fighting with pirates.

Looking at the photos, those endlessly elegant portraits of top hat and tails, that ran beside his obituaries, I couldn't help wondering how the man would have fared in films today. There was no angst in Astaire. Nor any violence. Nor any heavy breathing. If Fred Astaire was in a bedroom, he was dressed in silk pajamas. If Fred Astaire took a woman in his arms, it was to face the music and dance. If Fred Astaire and his co-stars made it together it was cheek to cheek. Every one of the stories about his death at 88 included the terse notes from his first screen test: "Can't act, balding, can't sing, dances a little.

Having seen every Fred Astaire movie, I'm qualified to say that not once did Fred Astaire grab his crotch. It's possible that he grabbed his crotch in the privacy of his home or dressing room. But that would be of no concern to the public. I mention this because Michael Jackson, the alleged super-duper star of show biz, has been described by many dance critics as being the Fred Astaire of his generation. While I'm no expert on dancing, I watched Jackson perform during half time of the Super Bowl, and I saw little that reminded me of Astaire, other than being skinny.

He had the same screwy physical equipment as Stan Laurel: the protuberant, wide-set eyes, those spindly limbs, that Gumby torso. Yet while Laurel's features provoked yuks, Fred Astaire's inspired swoons. And they continued to do so for 84 years as a performer who scored in virtually every field of the entertainment industry, most of them invented during his lifetime: vaudeville and Broadway, radio and Hollywood, records and television. He contributed something to every medium he touched, but it is through film that Astaire's greatest work endures.

Although an era of style and grace passed on when Fred Astaire died Monday, images of his dance wizardry remain both in film and video. According to Steve Apple, executive editor of The Video Insider, a national trade publication based in Philadelphia, a number of Astaire films currently are available on videotape. "The availability of these films will vary from store to store," Apple said. "Stores that have large inventories, such as Movies Unlimited, will have all or most of these films.

There is a paradox in dancer Fred Astaire's singing. His voice was tonally thin and underpowered, but he was able to make a virtue of his limitations and turn his voice into a major asset. Astaire knew he was no vocal virtuoso in the conventional sense. Instead, he took a different approach. He never milked a lyric or wallowed in sentimentality, and he projected an emotional conviction and conversational ease of phrasing that were new to popular singing. It was this gift as much as his stardom that attracted George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and Irving Berlin, and the other leading composers of his day to write for him. The Fred Astaire songbook is thus crammed with standards, from Porter's "Night and Day" from the 1932 stage musical (and later film)

"Albert Ayler, Sunny Murray and Gary Peacock. " Asked to name his favorite musicians, Hal Russell - whose NRG Ensemble performs tonight at 8 and 10 at the Painted Bride Art Center - replies without hesitation during an interview from his home in Lion, Ill., a Chicago suburb. When it's pointed out that he has just recited the entire personnel of Ayler's 1964 album Spiritual Unity, Russell quickly appends the name of Don Cherry, the added starter on Ayler's Ghosts, another over-the-edge classic from the same period.

There's no end to movie books — star memoirs, critical career overviews, coffee table "making of" commemorations (The Art of John Carter: A Visual Journey — really?!), sex-laden, scandalous tell-alls. Heck, somebody's even written a book about movie stars on bikes. But is that a bad thing? Of course not. For the serious film addict, watching movies is never enough. We crave more information, more insight, more dirt. So here are three compelling, original, cinema-inclined new books: The Astaires: Fred & Adele, Kathleen Riley (Oxford University Press, $27.95)

Max Raabe is having a most thrilling week. The dapper gentleman responsible for bringing the sounds of German cabaret, dance, and film music of the 1920s and 1930s to stages the world over just played his first show in Dallas. "Growing up in Germany, the only picture I have of this city was through '80s American television shows such as Dallas and Dynasty ," he says with a laugh. Days before the Texas gig, Raabe and his stalwart Palast Orchester played in Los Angeles, where they were greeted backstage by Mel Brooks, the legendary film director whose 1968 comedy classic The Producers featured the outrageously offensive German-themed tune "Springtime for Hitler.

Helen Buck O'Neill, 96, a former amateur golf champion and Broadway actress and dancer, died Friday, Dec. 3, at Holy Redeemer St. Joseph Manor in Meadowbrook. In 1940, Mrs. O'Neill defeated Helen Sigel Wilson to win the Philadelphia Women's Golf Championship at Philadelphia Country Club. A second-generation member of Huntingdon Valley Country Club, she was an eight-time women's champion at the club and won doubles championships with partners including her husband, Frank, for the Boyle Cup; her son Donald for the Griscom Cup; and Charlotte Buck for a mother-daughter title.

MANY of Michael Jackson's most ardent fans believe he was most influenced by James Brown, Smokey Robinson, Fred Astaire and Diana Ross. But the skills and direction he assimilated from them were merely the icing on an explosive cake. That recipe was given to Michael by the unbelievable Frankie Lymon. The Lymon sound, energy and exuberant buoyancy were all incorporated by Michael, just as Lymon's group the Teenagers influenced the Jackson 5. What's more, two huge fans of Frankie Lymon were Berry Gordy and Quincy Jones.

I looked down at my bloody toe peeking out from my open-toe sandal. Ten minutes into my first session of ballroom dance lessons, I knew that my husband, Rob, and I were in trouble. Limping to the sidelines to sit for a minute, I realized my fantasy was going up in smoke. I'd never be Ginger Rogers to my husband's Fred Astaire. I am a huge fan of the TV show Dancing with the Stars. I've watched it for the last three seasons, mesmerized as the celebrities and their professional partners glide across the dance floor.

Fayard Nicholas, who died Wednesday at the age of 91, was tops in tap. The elder of the Nicholas Brothers possessed the sparkle of Sammy Davis Jr. and the swank of Fred Astaire, peers who revered this showstopper as the king. Mourn Mr. Nicholas' passing, and also mourn the intolerance that consigned him to the role of specialty act rather than movie headliner. Years before Astaire danced on the ceiling with the help of special effects in Royal Wedding, the Nicholas Brothers danced up the walls - without camera trickery - in Orchestra Wives.

There is a paradox in dancer Fred Astaire's singing. His voice was tonally thin and underpowered, but he was able to make a virtue of his limitations and turn his voice into a major asset. Astaire knew he was no vocal virtuoso in the conventional sense. Instead, he took a different approach. He never milked a lyric or wallowed in sentimentality, and he projected an emotional conviction and conversational ease of phrasing that were new to popular singing. It was this gift as much as his stardom that attracted George Gershwin, Cole Porter, Jerome Kern and Irving Berlin, and the other leading composers of his day to write for him. The Fred Astaire songbook is thus crammed with standards, from Porter's "Night and Day" from the 1932 stage musical (and later film)

Philly was a dancing paradise in the 1930s. Dance palaces were everywhere, and young people like myself flocked to them. The one I remember best was the Wagner Ballroom at Broad and Olney Streets. It's long gone now. We'd dance to the music of Benny Goodman or Harry James and many of the other famous orchestra leaders of the day. We lived in a kind of dream world. There was nothing we couldn't do. Jitterbugging was so easy then, and the best dancers were awarded prizes in dance contests.

Dancing is not a surrogate for sex. Dancing is sex. Great dancers remind us of these truths - while teaching us that the lessons of both dancing and sex extend far beyond the acts themselves. Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire were two such teachers. They modeled not only how to dance, but also how all human partnerships work. In so doing, they taught their generation how to find comfort and connection in the midst of the pinched 1930s. She was born Virginia McMath in Independence, Mo.; he was born Frederick Austerlitz in Omaha, Neb. She was already a well-known movie star by the time the two first teamed up in Flying Down to Rio in 1933 (they danced for only one number - Astaire was only fifth on the bill)