Hollywood royalty can expose your age ∣ Ervolino

Ten years ago, I mentioned “On Golden Pond” to a younger friend who I thought might want to rewatch the movie with me.

I love movies. And I can watch good movies over and over and over again.

(There are even a few bad movies I can watch over and over and over again.)

“Sounds cool,” my friend replied, when I told him that I’d recently purchased the DVD. “‘Golding Pond?’ What’s it about?”

I laughed and said, “No. ‘On Golden Pond.’ With Henry Fonda? You know … you MUST have seen it.”

He shook his head. “When did it come out?”

I told him it was released in 1981. He said he wasn’t born until 1985.

I was still exasperated: “What kind of an excuse is that?”

I’ve never had kids of my own. But I know that even though a few of them are funny and adorable, most of them are loud and sticky and drive you crazy.

And they make you feel old.

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All of this, strangely enough, brings me to some good news.

(And, no, I’m not having a child.)

Last summer, I wrote a play and sent it to a theater on Long Island. Three days later, I received an email from the director: “This play is hilarious. I want to do it in the spring.”

The play is called “Frankinatra.” It’s about a crazy Italian family. (Now, there’s a shock.) And it’s opening at the end of March, which is why rehearsals started two weeks ago.

The play is being presented at the Manes Studio Theatre in Lindenhurst, but it is set in Flushing, Queens, not far from where I grew up, circa 1983.

During our first table reading, the 45-ish actor playing the 45-ish dad is called upon to sing the first line of “Strangers in the Night,” followed by a little “doobie-doobie-doo.”

Sinatra — who is not a character in my play, although he is constantly alluded to — had many “signature” songs. “Strangers in the Night” was definitely one of them.

So you can imagine the look on my face when the actor, who also happens to be Italian, looked up from his script and said, “I don’t know how this song goes.”

Nervously, I looked down at my own copy of the script, to make sure I hadn’t made some sort of typographical error.

(I hadn’t.)

I then looked around the room and realized he wasn’t the only puzzled person.

So I said the title, slowly and firmly: “Strangers in the Night.”

Response: Blank faces.

“I’m sorry,” the older actor then said to me. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

I had no idea what to say at that point, so I just said, “Oh.”

The director took the reins from there, urging cast members to do some Googling (and YouTubing) when they went home.

A few weeks earlier, I had found myself in a similar discussion with my 28-year-old niece after I used the phrase “Rat Pack.” I explained that it referred to the entertainment giants with whom Frank Sinatra often performed and hung around — Dino, Sammy, Joey…

She stared at me. Blankly.

In an effort to jog her memory, I said, “The phrase was later adapted to ‘The Brat Pack,’ referring to the then up-and-coming stars Demi Moore, Molly Ringwald, Rob Lowe…”

Another blank stare.

“I don’t know who they are, either,” she said.

Terrific.

After our first table reading came to an end, I fled to the men’s room in a cold sweat, splashed cold water on my forehead and stared at my almost 68-year-old face in the mirror.

I eventually calmed down and promised I would not write a column about this, whispering to myself, “You can’t be one of those columnists who write about getting old every week!”

But here I am, doing it anyway, despite that little promise.

(I’m old. I forgot. So, sue me.)

Years ago, the acclaimed director Mike Nichols recalled addressing a roomful of acting students and discussing the work of Tennessee Williams, Julie Harris, Bette Davis and Actors Studio artistic director Lee Strasberg. In short order, he realized that many of these students didn’t know who he was talking about.

He wasn’t angry. But he wasn’t happy about it, either.

Perhaps, in the back of his mind, he remembered having dinner in a Brazilian restaurant in New York, in 1968, with Julie Newmar, the actress best known at that time for playing Catwoman on the “Batman” television show.

I was with my family, two tables away, and my father eventually persuaded me to walk over and politely ask Miss Newmar for an autograph. I was 12 and very nervous, but she was sweet.

She also introduced me to the director — who had already won two Tony Awards and won an Oscar for “The Graduate.”

“Would you like his autograph, too?” she asked.

And I said, “No, thanks. I don’t know who he is.”

This article originally appeared on NorthJersey.com: Demi Moore, Molly Ringwald and the Brat Pack can show you your age