Foreword
I recently received from David Stone the following sincere social recommendation when one of his friends relocated to my area: “He can drink wine with you and make you laugh. He is toilet-trained and does not bark at passing buses.”
I first knew Dave as a fellow teenage filmmaker in suburban Philadelphia in the 1960s, where his particular brand of humor came to life on the set. Our friends were not a unified team of filmmakers but a pair of rival factions, constantly criticizing each other’s methods. But rather than criticize, Dave would look for a way for his talents to be congruent with it, so that he could make some contribution to anyone’s project. While doing that, he would look for incongruities that could find expression in ...
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