'Extraordinary Measures': My visit to the Crowley home

I was lucky enough to write the cover story for our February/March 2010 issue of Irish America magazine, which meant interviewing Brendan Fraser, the star of "Extraordinary Measures," as well as John and Aileen Crowley, upon whose real life the film is based.

I saw "Extraordinary Measures," also starring Harrison Ford and Keri Russell, at a screening on December 17. I didn't have much of an idea of what to expect: the thing about a press screening is that you have the opportunity to see the film before reading reviews, without seeing the trailers or magazine ads or subway posters that have since sprung up everywhere.

I did know that the screenplay was based on the story of John Crowley, one of Irish America's Business 100 honorees, and his family. When two of John's children were diagnosed with Pompe disease, John and his wife Aileen risked everything to take up the cause, raising money for research and founding a start-up that eventually joined up with a larger pharmaceutical corporation, which developed a treatment for Pompe that John credits with having saved his children's lives.

"Extraordinary Measures" compresses the timeline of the Crowleys' experience, and merges several doctors into the Harrison Ford character. But many of the day-to-day scenes of the family's interactions, the most touching moments that they share, and the witty banter between them are lifted straight from the Crowleys' real lives.

This movie made me cry, a lot: admittedly not an incredible feat (I often have to leave the room during that Sarah McLachlan ASPCA commercial). But it also made me laugh. Fraser and Russell have great chemistry together, and even when Harrison Ford is ninety-nine years old I will never tire of watching that smirk that starts in one corner of his mouth. The kids in the movie, played by Meredith Droeger, Diego Velazquez and Sam Hall, give the story their whole hearts, and Meredith especially, who nails Megan Crowley's sarcastic humor on point, has plenty of show-stopping moments.

I came out of the "Extraordinary Measures" screening moved and inspired, but I assumed this was largely due to the screenplay. I didn't expect that the Crowleys themselves would so blatantly exude the same warmth, humility, grace, motivation and humor that the movie grants them.

I was absolutely wrong.

The next day, December 18, I took a train from Penn Station to Princeton, New Jersey to meet the Crowleys: John, Aileen, John Jr., Megan, and Patrick. Of all the interviews I’ve done, I was especially excited about this one, and was intent on executing it with as much sensitivity, efficiency and professionalism as possible. My appointment at the Crowleys' house was at 4 p.m.

By 4:15, I was still stuck at the Princeton train station with eleven dollars, one bar left on my cell phone, coffee on my pants and no idea how to get to their house.

Several mildly panicked phone calls later, with the help of the Crowleys' publicist and my editorial assistant, I was on the phone with Aileen Crowley and felt much less like a professional journalist than a lost kid.

Luckily for me, Aileen happens to be the best mom on the Eastern seaboard.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I said to her, my hands practically frozen to the payphone’s receiver and my nose running like a three-year-old. “My train was delayed and my directions indicated your house was much closer to the train station and none of the cab companies I’ve called recognize your address and I can’t find an ATM and my cell phone’s about to die.” I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, offering a string of shoddy excuses to a family who, when faced with impossibly challenging circumstances, offered none at all but rose to the occasion in a fashion incredible enough to be the subject of two full-length books and a major motion picture. Talk about putting your own problems in perspective.

“Oh, it’s fine!” said Aileen. “I just walked in the door.” And with that, she gave me perfect directions, told me to take my time, and, in the way that only a mom who is very, very good at her job can do, made everything better.

The rest of my visit with them, while it went much more smoothly than my arrival, was just like that: the Crowleys are gracious, welcoming, insightful and incredibly funny. See the movie, but read about their journey too. It's pretty extraordinary.

The Crowley Family Story, Part One: The Disease

The Crowley Family Story, Part Two: Extraordinary Measures

The Crowley Family Story, Part Three: The Family

Brendan Fraser on playing the real John Crowley in 'Extraordinary Measures'

Green at the Golden Globes

The 67th annual Golden Globe Awards aired this past Sunday, with the big winners of the night James Cameron's Avatar (which I still haven't seen, but at this point, how could it not be overrated?), the quirky not-so-cult TV hit, Fox's Glee, and a handful of umbrella designers. Refusing to let the rain dampen their spirits, the stars were out gloating, graciously accepting and, for some, hiding disappointment on the red carpet and at awards parties afterwards. And a solid handful of those stars were Irish.

Glee, winner of the Golden Globe for best musical or comedy TV series, owes its creation to Irish Catholic-born Ryan Murphy, who acquired at least part of his knowledge of the school music circuit to choir practice as a Catholic school kid from first through eighth grade. Another of the three creators, Ian Brennan, is also Irish-American. Jane Lynch scored a Best Supporting Actress nomination for her performance as the glee club's arch-nemesis in the show.

The not-so-Irish Sandra Bullock won the Best Actress in a Motion Picture - Drama Golden Globe for her portrayal of the much-more-Irish Leanne Tuohy in Blindside, while Drew Barrymore won Best Actress In A Mini-series or Motion Picture Made for Television for Grey Gardens (bonus Irish-American points for the show's Kennedy connections.) We can also boast both the Best Actor winners for Motion Picture - Musical or Comedy and TV series - Musical or Comedy: Robert Downey Jr. for Sherlock Holmes and Alec Baldwin for 30 Rock (one of NBC's bright spots this season).

Irish celebrities in the nude--I mean, news.

Irishcentral.com reported this morning that Lindsay Lohan's official sex tape is about to be released on the Internet, filmed by a waiter at a chain restaurant. Which obviously begs the question: which one? (Fingers crossed for Applebee's!) Lindsay's spokespeople seem most concerned that its unauthorized release will overshadow her recently
filmed documentary about child trafficking in India. I wouldn't be too worried-- at 47 seconds, I'd say as video footage goes it's hardly Youtube-worthy. Hustler disagrees, as it's reportedly offering £100,000 for it--approximately $163,000. Dear Hustler: how about sending that money to Haiti instead?

In other naked Irish celebrity news, heartthrob-turned-professional-frat-boy Jesse McCartney has his lawyers threatening to sue any website planning to publish an allegedly "manipulated and doctored" photo of McCartney "all by his lonesome, laying on a bed with a candy G-string, fully exposed," according to TMZ.com. The New York Post, ever the pillar of professional journalism, says the photo comes from an angry ex.

Lastly, the Leno-O'Brien battle continues on heatedly, or so I hear. I can't say I'm particularly invested in either side--if I'm awake at that hour on a weeknight, you can bet I'm off doing something more interesting than watching late-night television. But this week has had both hosts making progressively more personal comments about each
other and the network: On Monday night, O'Brien joked that he'd like to "work in a classier business with better people, like hard-core porn." TMZ reported today that O'Brien received a response from adult film company Pink Visual officially offering him a job. Apparently they hear there's a demand for "tall, lean, pale, male 'gingers' that have a David Caruso kind of thing going on." Cute.

For Irish scandals, Mark McGwire beats Iris Robinson any day!

It's been an exciting time for Irish scandals. Not only did last week give us our very own Celtic cougar, the real-life Mrs. Robinson, but this Monday Major League Baseball all-star Mark McGwire came forth with a long-awaited confession about his past steroid use in the 90s.

I should preface this by saying that it's very recently I've brought myself to care at all about the grand world of sports. The great American pastime was ruined for me as a small child growing up in New Jersey, when I went to a Phillies game with my dad and spent the whole time trying to catch fly balls (I didn't much see the point of attending any event that you couldn't go home with a souvenir). When one finally, miraculously, landed between my row and the row behind us, the surrounding audience of middle-aged, beer-bellied men decided that the prized baseball ought to be given to the boy sitting behind me: talk about early memories of developing feminism. Baseball, I decided then and there, was a dirty, unfair game. I pouted and ignored sports altogether for approximately the next thirteen years.

All this changed when I turned 21, graduated college, moved into Manhattan and discovered the wide world of bars and the cable TVs that play nonstop in them. I attended my second baseball game in October and was amazed to find that it combined things I love wholeheartedly (Big-screen televisions! The outdoors! Roller-coaster heights! Beer and hot dogs!) into an undeniably fun experience. I was hooked. I followed the baseball season with bated breath right up until the heartbreaking World Series loss of my beloved Phillies to the despicably over-funded Yankees (sorry, New York)-- and luckily, the football season and cutthroat competitive spirit of the office
football pool were there to comfort me.

So when the story broke this Monday about Mark McGwire coming clean (sort of) about his use of steroids after accepting the position of hitting coach for the Cardinals, I found myself actually paying attention in a way I wouldn't have a year ago.

No one could claim to have been surprised by McGwire's confession. At the congressional hearing on steroids in 2005, McGwire's statements were evasive, to say the least: basically, that if he'd denied using, he wouldn't have been believed, that his lawyers had advised him to say nothing, that in America we are innocent until proven guilty, and, my personal favorite remark, "I'm not here to talk about the past. I'm here to be positive about this subject," in response to a representative's question about whether he was using the Fifth Amendment to avoid incriminating himself.

Jose Canseco's 2005 book "Juiced" was less vague, claiming blatantly that McGwire had been using steroids since the 80s. McGwire's constant avoidance of the topic was less a convincing claim of innocence than a formality.

So when Mark McGwire told us on January 11th that he'd been an on-and-off steroid user for decades, including during his historic record-breaking 1998 season, it wasn't shocking. What I found most interesting about his statement was the line, "Looking back, I wish I had never played during the steroid era." Not, "I wish I'd broken all those records with my own physical strength" or even "I wish I'd set a better example for younger generations of players." If he couldn't play with superhuman power, he wished he hadn't played at all.

American sports are about entertainment: we know this because of how much athletes are paid, and how much people will pay to watch them. HD TV wouldn't have happened if not for people wanting to watch sports bigger, better, faster, more impressive. Sports aren't fair or noble. They're just fun. So what do we do when we don't like the means by which athletes give fans exactly what they want?

The reason I watch this show: Neil Patrick Harris

Last night marked the 100th episode of the hit sitcom How I Met Your Mother, and for me this meant one thing and one thing only.

Neil Patrick Harris.

Sure, episode 100 of the series, now in its fifth season, might contain an exciting guest appearance from OC alum Rachel Bilson (possibly, maybe, perhaps, but probably not The Mother herself). Okay, Marshall (Jason Segal) and Lily (Alyson Hannigan)'s successful long-term relationship with its minor conflicts (episode 94: Marshall learns why it's important to put your dishes immediately in the sink!) is adorable. I guess some of the show's audience must be dying to find out if Robin (Cobie Smulders) ever breaks out of her wee-hours public-access morning news show and into real journalism. And oh, there's that main character guy (Josh Radnor as Ted Mosby) that nobody seems to like all that much--even his kids in the opening scenes seem pretty disinterested in finding out who their mother is.



But there's a very simple reason I've watched and adored every single episode of the Emmy-winning sitcom: NPH's catchphrase-coining, suit-sporting, smooth-talking, scene-stealing turn as the womanizing all-around bad guy and unofficial star of the show, Barney Stinson.

Yes, I know I'm not of the right generation to have seen a single one of the Doogie Howser, M.D. episodes that made him famous. I know that my recently completed Sarah Lawrence education (finishing-school-turned-feminist-haven) should keep me from finding misogyny endearing even in its TV-friendly, satirical forms. And, yes, I'm also aware that NPH is, in real life, gay. But I can't help it. I'm head-over-heels smitten.

I'm not the only one. High-profile magazine stories in People, Out, New York magazine, and plenty of others have extolled NPH's appeal as "a man's man" (Out), or, more bluntly, a gay actor who can pass the great American screen presence test: girls still want him, guys still want to be him.

Just as he transcends genre without blinking an eye--his transition from child stardom into his Broadway career was equally as impressive as his title role as antihero Dr. Horrible in the Joss Whedon-created Emmy-winning web short dreamed up during the writers' strike and his hilarious alter ego in the Harold and Kumar franchise--NPH also seems to slip gracefully in and out of sexual stereotypes with an enthusiasm matched only by its tongue-in-cheek-ness, giving Barney's outright offensive lines a context that makes them playful.

So, regardless of my lukewarm appreciation of the rest of the elements of How I Met Your Mother, I'll continue on through season five as a diehard fan, just for my NPH fix. I mean, have you seen the 100th episode? Spoiler alert: he sings.