The Best is Yet to Come

When asked in a Vanity Fair interview if Ronan Farrow was Sinatra's kid, Mia Farrow replied "possibly". In response to the follow-up foofaraw, Ronan tweeted: "Listen, we're all 'possibly' Frank Sinatra's son."

Ain't it the truth. I know I am.

But seriously - is he or isn't he? Well, there are the blue eyes: Ronan has them, Frank was known for them: Ol' Blue Eyes. But Mia also has them. In fact, Mia and Frank looked a lot alike so that's not much help.

One day recently I was watching Ronan in an interview: he stops talking and smiles, and I'm like: "Holy Chairman of the Board, who did I just see?" It was Frank. A smile so undeniably like that of the famous crooner, all lip curl and charm, that I felt the mystery was solved.

It's quite possible you have to see footage of their smiles in action to see what I mean - photos show it somewhat, but it's in the movement, the shaping of the lips, the sparkle in the eyes.

Ultimately though, folks will go on debating this until one of two things happens: either Ronan dons a fedora or he takes a DNA test. Either will do, either will reveal the truth.

But, honestly, why do we care?

I think some wish Frank was Ronan's dad because they loved Sinatra and like this living embodiment of him. Or more accurately, they loved Frank's image and the era in which that image was fashioned. A simpler time, they will say. But it was only simpler for some; others, many others, had a more complex go of it. I think Sinatra himself belonged in the latter category.

Frank had a good voice, perfect phrasing and perfect pitch, and his songs hold up today. But despite the appeal of cocktails in Palm Springs and bartenders named Joe , it's not a time I'd want to go back to - and I sincerely wish some people would stop trying to bring back those decades.

This is the 21st century, and Ronan Farrow is his own person: intelligent and gay and happy. Frank had his swinging time in the 20th century, and now he and it are gone. He lives on in his songs and movies (some good performances there) and in bloodlines. Is Ronan Farrow part of the latter?

Possibly.

Every single movie that Frankie made - good, bad and ugly - is in the following story - it's my koo-koo tribute to Francis Albert Sinatra -

Suddenly, the Man with the Golden Arm (not The Oscar) was Out on the Town with all the Guys and Dolls in High Society getting Higher and Higher and feeling Young at Heart. Take me Out to the Ball Game, the man with the blue eyes demanded, then took the Road to Hong Kong and went Around the World in Eighty Days on Von Ryan’s Express, traveling From Here to Eternity with The List of Adrian Messenger which read: Ocean’s Eleven, Sergeants 3, Robin and the 7 Hoods, and 4 for Texas, - the latter 4 being: Pepe, Dirty Dingus Magee, Tony Rome and Pal Joey. All of them wanted to be The Manchurian Candidate but only Some Came Running and none were doing the Can-can. Not as a Stranger, The Detective prepared to Meet Danny Wilson but instead Johnny Concho showed up. With his Marriage on the Rocks and Never so Few on his Carousel, the P.I. found a Lady in Cement and assumed there’d been an Assault on a Queen. He needed that like A Hole in the Head so he set The Tender Trap to catch The Naked Runner whom he suspected was also The Kissing Bandit, and wouldn’t that be Double Dynamite? Meanwhile, The Devil at 4 O’clock declared The Pride and the Passion to be The First Deadly Sin which Cast a Giant Shadow over The Miracle of the Bells (not to mention Cannonball Run II). And while It Happened in Brooklyn, he declared: Meet me in Las Vegas in The House I Live In because that’s where None but the Brave and Kings Go Forth. Till the Clouds Roll By, Come Blow Your Horn and Step Lively, for The Joker is Wild. Anchors Away.

Thanks for reading!