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| November 16, 2005 |
REVIEW: 700 Sundays
 Billy Crystal guesses he had about 700 Sundays to spend with his father. After that, his father died when Billy was just 15-years-old and immediately after an eternally unresolved argument between the two. There lies the weight that keeps Crystal's book version of his popular Broadway one-man show from being little more than a series of zingers and laughable riffs.
Indeed, 700 Sundays is just this side of unpredictable which makes it refreshing as opposed to other celebrity memories which are more, what's the word -- oppressive. For those who expect Billy to dwell on his Hollywood highlights (Harry met Sally once, did you know?) will be disappointed.
Or perhaps they won't. After all, the comedian chooses instead to focus his wit on the Long Island oddball roots that produced his genius, and that's far more entertaining than a rehash of old movies.
As for Crystal's father, he was a big-shot jazz promoter. His uncle, Milt Gabler, launched the Commodore music label and recorded Billy Holiday before she was Billy Holiday. Louis Armstrong even showed up at a family Seder, and the rough-voiced singer was asked why he didn't "cough it up." Amusing to be sure, anecdotal indeed, but the real magic of Crystal's tale is in the relationship he shared with his father.
It was his father that got him a tape recorder when he confessed his desire to do comedy and it was his father who didn't come down hard when the son showed up at the family dinner table doing off-color schtick lifted from the best of the Borscht Belt. We should all thank Billy's father, because we got Billy out of that deal.
We should all thank Mr. Crystal for this poignant and funny piece of literature (not to mention a little one-man play). Sure the early jokes don't translate nearly as well on the page as they do coming out of the comic's own mouth, but these are the warm-ups to the rest of the book. The rest of the book is priceless.
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