The Unfettered Critic – November 2025

DEAR PUBLISHER PARKER, Citizens of Jacksonville, and all the ships at sea,

As you know, we traditionally think of this column as a two-fisted (well, four-fisted, if you’re going to be picky about it) effort. For seventeen-odd (and some even odder) years, we’ve endeavored to enhance our little corner of this “lifestyle magazine” with multifaceted fistedness. In fact, this submission would count as Column Number One-Hundred and Sixty-Six, if only…

Alas, it’s a submission not to be.

This month, sadly, we must refrain from providing a column. We’re a fist short, you see, as one of those appendages is temporarily impaired, and cannot maneuver the keyboard in the classic qwerty fashion that column writing—or any kind of writing, actually—requires. Yes, one of the fab four fists has been encased in a cast of waterproof thermoplastic, modern medical science’s new, improved version of plaster.

You may think that you remember us discussing the subject of “casting” in previous columns, but that was about “show biz.” No such entertainment value here. This is about oops, and ouch—following an Olympics-class “reverse belly flop” maneuver that may have looked funny but didn’t feel funny. Thus, the aforementioned cast.

Hence, no typed words coming your way this month.

It’s not as though there isn’t lots of cool stuff to write about. We thought about waxing enthusiastically on the return of The Morning Show, finally back (on Apple+ TV) with Jennifer Aniston, Reese Witherspoon, and the amazing Billy Crudup; it’s as sharp and cynical about the TV industry as ever. Or we could define the meaning of “entertainment” by espousing Tony and Ziva, the NCIS spin-off on Paramount Plus. The actors have aged a wee bit since we last saw them, but the chemistry we fell in love with years ago is still there. We could suggest you share the diversion we’ve discovered in a buried treasure from 2003, The Last Detective, starring British actor (and former “Doctor Who”) Peter Davison, on BritBox.

And, of course, we could have rendered words galore in remembrance of one of the most talented, prolific, and beloved actors of the century. In fact, Robert Redford’s passing inspired one of you, Dear Readers, to request a column dedicated to his career. One day we may follow through with verbiage on the wonders of Butch Cassidy, his own favorite performance as Jerimiah Johnson, and 1967’s movie version of the play “Barefoot in the Park.” Not to mention his endearing performance as the not-so-scary Angel of Death in the Twilight Zone episode “Nothing in the Dark.” We love them all. (Meanwhile, keep those requests, of any kind, coming, please.)

But this danged gimpy fist has kept us from focusing, even though we love this time of year, with the demise of that lengthy heatwave and the appearance of brightly colored leaves. We might have talked about Jacksonville’s Haunted History Tour, or enthused about the tremendously imaginative Imaginarium show at Art Presence, where we saw so many of our favorite people at the enchanted reception.

So as you see, we aren’t submitting a column this month. The fist just can’t type. Or drive. Or unscrew the top from a Tylenol bottle without the assistance of a handsome, helpful, live-in companion…

But don’t fret. We promise to be back next month with flying fingers, assembled words, punchy punctuation, and the Oxford Comma properly in place.

Assuming, of course, that the damned non-plaster cast is off by then, making us once again…

Your faithful,

Unfettered Critics