I love ventriloquists. I also love people who do something so well you can't imagine anyone doing it better. I was therefore in theatrical ecstasy last night attending The Two and Only, a one-person (one if you don't count puppets and ventriloquist figures) show starring Jay Johnson. You may remember Jay from his regular role as, of all things, a ventriloquist on the long-running sitcom, Soap. He talks about that in this stage production but he also talks about how and why he became a voice-tosser…and there's a touching, eye-moistening tale about his mentor, a ventriloquist named Arthur Sieving, who worked with a wooden partner named Harry O'Shea. Mr. Sieving built Johnson's first professional figure, Squeaky.

Before he got Squeaky, Johnson worked local events and amusement parks with a Juro-brand Jerry Mahoney figure. Back in the fifties, the Juro company manufactured thousands of these wonderful toys — in three editions. One was a small, clunky one with a movable mouth. The middle range one was built more like a real ventriloquist figure, albeit a bit smaller, and had a moving head in addition to the moving mouth. And then there was the high-end model, which added in moving eyes.

The model with the moving eyes was scarce. Johnson had the middle version…and so did every kid in the fifties who watched Paul Winchell on TV performing with the "real" Jerry Mahoney and thought, "I wanna do that." Most of us entertained our parents and the neighbors then, lacking the kind of drive you'd have to have to practice enough to be professional — and perhaps lacking the talent — we gave it up. And obviously, I'm using the first person here because I was one of them. That photo above of the kid with the Jerry Mahoney figure? That's not Jay Johnson. That's me.

Jay did not give up. As he explains in his show, he practiced and he practiced and he practiced and then he practiced some more. This is not merely a matter of learning how to talk without moving your lips. A ventriloquist has to be an actor, a puppeteer, a comedian and a bit of a magician. A lot of it is misdirection and acting, making the audience forget that the figure (what non-pros call the "dummy") isn't alive and isn't speaking on his/her/its own. Johnson is as good as anyone who's ever done this for a living. Like a great illusionist who gets you to wondering if maybe he somehow did really saw the lady in half, he makes a large part of your brain accept that there are two separate brains and mouths up there. In the 95 minutes or so he's onstage, Jay relates the history of his profession with surprising insight into its effect on the masses through the ages. He discusses his passions and what it all meant to him. And every so often, he hauls out a different friend made of cloth and/or wood and brings it to life. He also manages to be very, very funny.

He put this show together a few years ago with the help of directors Paul Kreppel and my old pal, Murphy Cross. They refined it in local theaters and then took it to Broadway where it won a Tony Award. It's back in Burbank for a limited engagement (too limited, I think) at the Colony Theater. If you can get there before December 13, get there before December 13. It has my highest recommendation. The guy is incredible.

In fact, I'll show you how incredible he is. Here's a clip from an appearance he made with Mr. Letterman. Keep an eye on his face. A lot of ventriloquists can talk without moving their lips but they adopt a frozen smile that makes them look like demented flight attendants. That inhibits their ability to react and be the proper straight man for their little wooden partners. Not Jay Johnson. Like I said: I can't imagine anyone doing this any better…

Nikke Finke posted this item on her blog under the headline, "Why Hollywood Moguls Are Such Dickwads?" (The URL title is "Why Are Hollywood Moguls Such Asswipes?" I wish she'd make up her mind.)

I found this interesting: Tobey Maguire last night was a guest on Conan and said the Sony Pictures execs wouldn't give him the Spider-Man suit even after he shot the first and second movies in the franchise. (Insiders now claim he never asked…) Calling it humilating, he said he mentioned it on Oprah. Only then did the studio send him not just one but two Spidey suits.

I don't get how the headline fits the item. First off, it doesn't even pretend to tell us "why." And though not one person in this town would question that moguls can be dickwads — if not asswipes — this isn't much of an example of that.

Then, you have to presume he asked for one. Finke admits the record isn't clear on that. Secondly, you have to presume he asked the appropriate Hollywood Mogul. If he asked, say, the person in charge of wardrobe, they probably didn't have the authority to hand over studio property worth — what? — a hundred grand or so? These movies are an ongoing franchise and it's kinda possible that they might need those costumes again.

Plus, there's this: Mr. Maguire just signed for Spider-Man 4 and 5 for a reported $50 million plus a share of profits. If he wanted a costume, his agent could have just called up the head of Sony and said, "Hey, Tobey would also like two Spider-Man suits and a couple of Maseratis," and they would have had them at his door within the hour.

And there's really this: A man named Steve Ditko designed that costume. What Tobey Maguire gets paid per day for wearing it is probably more money than Mr. Ditko has earned in his entire life. That strikes me as maybe a bigger injustice than the fact that Maguire had to ask on Oprah to get one.