Gorko movie reviewer Mitchell Kennedy strikes out into the world of nonfiction with his latest, an introspective whirlwind tour through the man’s own childhood and youth. What makes any of it compelling in any way remains to be seen.
OPENING PARAGRAPH OF ‘MITCH: A MEMOIR’
Call me Mitch. Some years ago — never mind how long exactly — having little or no money in my purse, and in fact still imbued of a baby’s diaper, I already knew I would be a famous movie reviewer, sometimes imbibing the silver scenes with popcorn with extra butter and salt, sometimes just ordering regular butter, and Coke. I still recall the first movie they took me to, a terrible picture by the name of Flight of the Freemason, the tall red backs of the seats, the smell of butter and bubble gum, the velvet curtain, the newsreels. I remember how my eyes were glued to the screen as Freemason Fred, who would become my childhood hero, fought through the scenes with his muscular arms and pointed boots, and secret handshakes. That was the beginning of it all.
And that is as far as Mitchell got with this one. We are looking forward to seeing what happens to Mitch: The Man, the titular of the second chapter, according to the notes he left in the upstairs bathroom.