Likelihood of Success

Elliott Gould? When I learned I had been nominated for the JIB awards I wanted to parody the concept of “Jewish American”-ism, and I picked a bunch of pictures of “famous American Jews” of the sort that a certain kind of restaurant has up on the wall to show which Jewish American mouths may or may not have been filled there.

Somewhat, but not entirely, randomly, I chose Comedy Genius Mel Brooks, who schmaltzes along in something that looks like retirement, Musical Genius Marvin Hamlisch, who lives forever in his melodies and is still doing nicely, thank you, on royalties, Wasted Genius Allan Sherman and … Elliott Gould, who, I felt, was basically what I could have been if I had been born twenty years earlier and been considerably taller.

In other words, he was the least like me of the four of them.

Okay, but what ever happened to Elliott Gould, whom I otherwise had probably not thought about for the last ten years? It just so happens that as I walked on the streets of Manhattan this week, The Village Voice, of all things, provided the — or an — answer.