Beetle Bailey

I finally finished off a two disc set of animated cartoons of the popular (still?) comic strip Beetle Bailey.  With the exception of a bonus episode (unaired TV special from 1989), all of these were short clips (10 minutes) from 1963-65.   With a few exceptions, most of the major characters were present. 

 Growing up, this comic strip was by far my favorite.  I’ve always been a big buff of the military despite being consigned to civilian oblivion by my substandard hearing.  We purchased a few paperback collections in the 70s when I was growing up, but I tried to follow it in the newspaper whenever possible.

 Beetle Bailey.  Always a private: he suffered such flak from his comrades on a promotion to PFC that he managed to get himself busted down to private again.  Also, always a slacker, perpetually devoted to finding ways to sleep and avoid work, much to the annoyance of his commander, Sgt. Snorkel.  Also, his eyes are always obscured, either with the standard Army cap or the steel helmet.  (Note: the helmet shape hasn’t changed even after the Army adopted the Kevlar “Fritz” type helmet in the 1980s). 

In the animated series he has a girlfriend, “Bunny”.  He’s the younger brother of “Lois”, from “Hi & Lois”. 

 Sgt. Snorkel.  The quintessential “NCO” (non commissioned officer aka “no chance outside”).  Gruff, aggressive, overweight, and somewhat of a belligerent bully…but that’s his job.  His dog, Otto, is his only friend.  The Army is his home: sent off-base on a furlough, he invariably returns early.

 Other enlisted men: 

Zero.  Dimwitted, buck-toothed farmboy – but likable nonetheless for his innocent good nature.

Killer.  Slim mustache, always on the lookout for female companionship; he fancies himself a ladies man.

Rocky.  Kind of a wiseass, a biker, delinquent, anti-authority weasel.  He runs Camp Swampy’s newspaper and is constantly making the officers look bad. 

Plato.  The over-intelligent private, somewhat of an overweight philosopher.

Cosmo.  He has a far stronger role in the animated series than I recall from the strip: he always has a card game or scam going on – a real Sgt. Bilko type.

Cookie. The mess hall chef.  He always wears a dirty wife beater and has cauliflower ears.

Corporal Yo.  A very recent addition, likely due to PC pressure to add an Asian character.  Yo is very much an overachiever, the opposite of Beetle.

Gizmo.  Another recent addition: sort of a nerdy tech guy who can explain to General Halftrack what email and websites are.

 Officers.

Lt. Fuzz.  In the animated series, they give him a southern drawl (is that how they talk in Missouri?).  He’s the typical young, fresh, second lieutenant who pulls rank even if it’s clear Sgt. Snorkel knows far more than he does.  Remarkably, Mort Walker disclosed that his own alter-ego was Lt. Fuzz.

Lt. Flap.  The Afro-American officer.  He’s completely absent not only from the ’63-65 animated series, but also the newer bonus episode.

Captain Scabbard.  Walker once described the source officer as a drunk, but the cartoon version doesn’t do much except give Lt Fuzz orders from General Halftrack.

Major Greenbrass.  His only role seems to be to play golf with General Halftrack.

Chaplain Staneglass.  The Army chaplain (priest).  Usually nothing more than a source of counseling – a bit like Deanna Troi on STNG.  Father Mulcahy on “M*A*S*H” was probably the best portrayal of an Army chaplain (and I mean the TV William Christopher, not the movie Rene Auberjonois). 

General Halftrack.  What I recall most was his later form as somewhat of a washed up general forgotten by the Pentagon and lusting after Ms. Buxley (wouldn’t we all?)  The animated series tends to play him down as more of a sympathetic buffoon, whereas the later strips and the bonus episode give him the full Turtledove Custer treatment (big ego, dirty old man). 

 The ladies:

Ms. Blips.  The Army woman – very plain with no boobs.

Ms. Buxley.   Civilian secretary to General Halftrack, provocative and alluring.  Sort of the Joann (Mad Men) of the strip.

Sgt. Lugg.  Buxom female counterpart to Sgt. Snorkel, a more recent addition.

 The strip originated in 1950 with Beetle as a college student (U. Missouri knockoff, Rockview U.), who quickly joined the Army to impress chicks (this was Korean War time) and never left.  It’s always stateside at Camp Swampy, a typical CONUS (continental US) Army base where combat is nonexistent.  Even through Vietnam and the Gulf War, no mention is really made of foreign conflicts.  Really, the strip is supposed to portray the peacetime Army as a dull place where nothing really happens.  Although the humor is mostly fairly tame, it is remarkable that Walker has been able to stretch this premise as long as he has.  Long before Jerry Seinfeld gave us “a TV show about nothing”, Walker gave us humor on an otherwise dull and boring Army base…for over 60 years.

Elric of Melnibone

A few months ago I finished re-reading this saga for the third time.  These were fantasy stories written by Michael Moorcock in the 1960s.  I had originally read them in high school, long before digesting Tolkien or Robert E. Howard, so for a long time they were my standard for fantasy fiction.

 The main series consists of six silver (or white, depending on the publisher) small paperback books:

 Elric of Melnibone.  We’re introduced to the initial set of major characters:  Elric, Yyrkoon, and Cymoril, and the setting:  a fantasy world where Chaos & magic predominate; law, which takes the form of reason, logic, and science, is extremely weak, and the Lords of Law, while they do exist, are essentially banished to other planes, whereas the Lords of Chaos tend to be widely worshipped and acknowledged, and even appear in person several times, mostly Elric’s own patron deity, Arioch.  In particular, the two major countries, Melnibone and Pan Tang, worship Chaos, while none of the upstart Young Kingdoms appear to worship Law. 

            By this point, Melnibone, an island empire run by decadent sorcerors, has been in decline for centuries, and the former vassal states of humans, contemptuously referred to as the Young Kingdoms, have gained their independence and are beginning to flex their muscles.  Although still not yet fully capable of defeating Melnibone itself – which is protected by long-sleeping dragons which breathe napalm – they are moving in that direction.  In particular, Melnibone’s major rival, Pan Tang, is developing its sorcerous powers and cultivating a tighter relationship with the Lords of Chaos in order not merely to challenge Melnibone’s supremacy but to take over the entire world, on behalf of Chaos itself.  Melnibone and Pan Tang are loosely analogous to early 20^th century England and Germany, respectively.  Some of the Young Kingdoms have Earthly analogies, but this whole element is so attenuated, that it’s clear Moorcock was less interested in making any real political statements and more interested in simply using the world he knew as a convenient basis for his fantasy land, nothing more. 

             Elric himself starts off as the Emperor of Melnibone, but he is an albino, weak and unable to do much without sorcery and drugs.  Moreover, he’s moody and introspective, and doesn’t blindly accept centuries worth of brutal hegemony and depravity at face value.  His cousin Yyrkoon, who has no such scruples or doubts, covets the throne himself – “if you’re not willing to wield Melnibone’s vast power to corrupt and enslave the world, why don’t I take over?” - and barely bothers to conceal his ambition or contempt.  Elric is dating Yyrkoon’s sister Cymoril, and hopes to make her empress one day.  But fate has other plans…

            After Yyrkoon kidnaps Cymoril and takes her to the remote and primitive land of Oin & Yu, Elric follows them with the aid of the Ship of Land and Sea.  Eventually Elric has to chase Yyrkoon into a shade dimension, where he finds Stormbringer, a greater demon bound into the form of a huge, black sword.  The sword eats the souls of those he slays, excreting the magic energy into strength for Elric to enjoy without having to rely upon the drugs and sorcery (unreliable and far less effective) he used before.  But the sword also has a mind of its own, and is never completely under Elric’s control; is he its master or its slave? In particular, it has a nasty habit of impaling itself into the friend standing closest to Elric. This tends to give Elric a bad reputation, though doesn’t seem to affect his ability to find companions, lovers or adventures.

 Sailor on the Seas of Fate.  Elric leaves Melnibone run by Yyrkoon – despite everyone’s advice to the contrary – and goes off to explore the Young Kingdoms in one of these “finding myself before college” type of deals, albeit considerably more complex and dangerous than backpacking around Europe.  Fortunately he has Stormbringer to assist him.  Three separate adventures:  the 4 who are 1 (Eternal Champions cameo, part 1), Saxif D’aan, and R’len K’ren Aa.

 Weird of the White Wolf.   Elric leads the Young Kingdoms fleet to Imryrr; they loot the city, then get wiped out by the Dragon Riders on the way back.  In a heated confrontation deep inside the city, Elric ends up killing not only Yyrkoon, but also Cymoril as well – both victims of Stormbringer’s appetite for souls, both good and evil.

            Elric meets Moonglum, and from then on they are inseparable companions.  While Elric has his head in the clouds, pondering issues of fate, destiny, death, love, etc., Moonglum manages the pair’s finances and makes sure they have a place to sleep that night and food to eat. 

 The Vanishing Tower.  Elric meets the Burning God in Nadsokor (city of thieves and beggars), meets up with the other Eternal Champions (cameo part 2), finds Tanelorn (a magic, neutral city of peace) and FINALLY dispaches Theleb Ka’arna, a nasty sorcerer he’d been butting heads with ever since they competed for the affections of Queen Yishana.

 Bane of the Black Sword.  Back to Tanelorn, and he hooks up with Zarozinia, his last girlfriend.  [According to the Stormbringer stats, she is 10 years old, but the story describes her as no younger than her late teens.]

 Stormbringer.  Everything gets tidied up!  While the prior two books were on auto-pilot and don’t have much strategic value in the series, the final book does move things along in a dramatic fashion.  In particular, the Gods of Law, previously practically nonexistent in the series, now decide to emerge from literary obscurity and assist Elric.  He battles the armies of Chaos, who are led by the Theocrat of Pan Tang, Jagreen Lern.  The ultimate outcome is…well, I consider it worth wading through the six book series to get here.

 These are the main six books.  There are two more, plus a trilogy, which don’t really fit into this:  Elric at the Edge of Time (somewhat psychedelic but not very entertaining) and Fortress of the Pearl, which is enjoyable in its own right.  The latter sets up the Dreamthief trilogy, which is very recent, but promises only a more tangential role for Elric. 

 Eternal Champion.  Moorcock couldn’t leave well enough alone, and created 3 other “champions”: Erekose, Hawkmoon, and Corum.   Of these Erekose has only one book, The Silver Warriors, written in the first person.  Corum has a set of six (two trilogies: The Knight of the Swords, The Queen of the Swords, The King of the Swords; and The Bull and the Spear, The Oak and the Ram, The Sword and the Stallion), which are very similar to Elric’s.  His deal is he’s lost a hand and an eye, both of which are replaced with magical artifacts.  I recall an SNL skit parodying Steven King’s amazing ability to churn out horror novels seemingly automatically – the pages fly out of his typewriter.  For me, the Corum stories were like that, Moorcock’s fantasy system reduced to a set of repetitive and forgettable books.  Hawkmoon was a little better (The Jewel in the Skull, The Mad God’s Amulet, The Sword of the Dawn, and The Runestaff).  These are set in a “fantasy Europe” with “Grenbretan” as the arch-villain nation.  After the disappointment with the Corum series, I was expecting to dislike the Hawkmoon stories, but I found them to be quite enjoyable – except the very end, which was extremely disappointing.  

 In fact, realizing that his own fiction had become somewhat self-parodying, Moorcock went a step further to develop the Jerry Cornelius series (which I have not read, but plan on doing). 

 Stormbringer, the roleplaying game.  Similar to RuneQuest (also made by Chaosium), this allowed you to make an Elric wanna-be character, though Mournblade (Stormbringer’s twin sword) was off-limits.  My top character was a grotesquely powerful Melnibonean sorcerer, Jermyn Relic, thanks to a poorly designed scenario, “Hall of Risk”.  The game was well-supplied with scenarios, but I don’t recall any of them having the same cosmic impact as Elric himself; the idea was to play IN his world, without changing anything which actually happened.  A clever DM could have arranged a meeting with Elric, but chances are your character would probably lose the fight.  On the other hand, perhaps Jermyn Relic would have had a fighting chance….

 Moorcock and Hawkwind.  Leaving aside the two songs Moorcock co-wrote with Blue Oyster Cult, “Great Sun Jester” from Mirrors and “Black Blade” on Cultosaurus Erectus (for all its brevity, however, the song nevertheless nicely sums up Elric’s issues), Moorcock’s main musical relationship was with Hawkwind.  He wrote several of their spoken word songs, e.g. “Sonic Attack” and “The Black Corridor”, and inspired an entire concept album devoted to Elric, The Chronicle of the Black Sword.  Moorcock is often described as being as much a member of the band as Stacia or Bob Calvert, in a role like Robert Hunter (Grateful Dead) or Peter Sinfield (King Crimson).

 Elric vs. Conan.  Robert E. Howard was writing in a small town in Texas, mostly in the early 1930s, during the Great Depression, when most people would probably enjoy escaping into fantasy worlds far away from unemployment and starvation.  I keep hearing about “Conan seeks to regain his lost throne of Cimmeria” and similar Aragornesque allusions, but somehow I must have missed the story where this is explained, and I’ve read most of the original Conan stories.  In fact, even when offered to share a throne with a lusty queen or empress, Conan declines, and goes off on his own again for more adventures.  The man cannot be tied down.  I really see no evidence that he’s anything more than a lone adventurer who makes his own rules and goes his own way.  Nor does he ever speak of destiny, fate, or anything of that nature.  Conan is the ultimate man of action: he simply goes out and does things.  If they were ever to team up together, Conan would probably smack Elric in the face and say, “Stop asking silly questions with no answers.  Just go out and do.  If this is indeed your destiny, you’ll wind up doing it anyway.  If it’s not, you can do as you please.  So why ask?”

 Elric vs. LOTR.  Likewise, “fate and destiny” don’t appear to be an element in Lord of the Rings.  Frodo and Sam take the Ring to Mount Doom not because Gandalf or someone else told them, “it is your destiny”, but because “it would be really bad if Sauron got hold of this, so it needs to be done, and someone needs to do it.  Tag, you’re it.”  Tolkien falls short of implying the mission is guaranteed to succeed.  On the other hand, for all of Tolkien’s rich linguistic and cultural background for Middle Earth, even The Silmarilliion is very vague about who the gods and deities of Middle Earth are….if any.  Is Sauron the Devil?  Or simply a vastly powerful being of evil?  Who is God?  Are there gods?  No real answers.  All the most powerful magical beings disappear into self-imposed exile and/or retirement in the Grey Havens (whatever, and wherever, they are), and non-human races either die off or – as the hobbits do – simply seem to converge with humanity.  

            However, despite the absence of Lords of Law, Lords of Chaos, a “balance”, etc. there is “good” and “evil” in Middle Earth and not merely a difference of viewpoints; Tolkien was not a moral relativist.  The good guys fight for what they know to be good against what they know to be evil; good is indeed good, and evil is indeed evil.  Aside from Sauron, Tolkien simply doesn’t identify or personify these forces into tangible deities who can be summoned (“blood and souls for my lord Arioch”) or appear for whatever reason.  

            I find it difficult to decide, between Elric and Lord of the Rings, which is better.  Suffice to say that they are different, and both are very good.

 As yet, none of Moorcock’s stories have been made into movies.   Since the Elric stories are his most famous and popular, I would think those would be first; much has been made of the stark contrast between Elric and Conan, and the latter by now has had no less than three movies.  Likewise, not only has Peter Jackson adapted LOTR to the big screen – successfully – even Tolkien’s more childlike prequel, The Hobbit, is due to be released  (I won’t hold my breath for a Silmarillion movie).  For Elric himself as a character, I’d be inclined to cast Stuart Townsend in the role, if not Orlando Bloom.  But we’ll have to see what happens.  The colossal failure of the “John Carter” film, a good story with a solid literary background, may be scaring the money away from an Elric project.  Stay tuned.  

Uriah Heep

By this I don’t mean the Charles Dickens character from David Copperfield (though I will discuss him briefly), but rather the English rock band from the 70s and still going strong as of 2012.

 Dickens.  Personally, I am fed up with “The Christmas Carol” and all the different variants thereof, of which the most notable were the Rich Little version, in which the impersonator turned various celebrities into CC characters, e.g. W.C. Fields as Scrooge and Paul Lynde as Bob Cratchit, or the more recent “American Carol” putting a Michael Moore type as Scrooge.  I’m also not keen on Great Expectations or Oliver Twist.  My favorite – and arguably his finest – was David Copperfield.

            The title character has a hard life, but some splotches of happiness and joy interrupt what would otherwise be yet another dreary, monotonous narrative, including brief periods growing up with his friend Agnes and her father Mr. Wickfield.  Unfortunately, Mr. Wickfield gets old and his assistant, Uriah Heep, begins taking advantage of him.  Heep is always overly polite yet very deceitful.  His “catchphrase” is “very ‘umble”, as if to say, “I know you don’t think much of me, so I’ll take advantage of this underestimation to trick and ruin you all.”  Eventually Copperfield exposes Heep and he’s sent off to prison where he belongs.  He’s a nasty creep, without even the charm of Othello’s Iago. 

 The band itself started in 1969, only indirectly taking the Dickens character as its inspiration: according to Classic Rock magazine, the name came when manager Gerry Bron noticed a roadie advertising his services under the stage name of Uriah Heep.  But given the title of the band’s first album, someone quickly discovered the original source.      

 Sound.  The 70s were a time when so-called “swords & sorcery” rock came into vogue.  Bands which later turned more mundane and mainstream metal – Rush, Scorpions, Judas Priest – were far more exotic and colorful at this time, case in point the albums Caress of Steel, Fly to the Rainbow, and Sad Wings of Destiny for the aforementioned bands, respectively.  Probably no band more epitomized this style than Heep: combine Mick Box’s bluesy riffing, Ken Hensley’s rich keyboards, and David Byron’s pedantic vocals and lyrics, and the recipe is complete.  No less than four album titles, Demons & Wizards, The Magician’s Birthday, Wonderworld, and Return to Fantasy, evoke that imagery as well.  Yet they sound different than Deep Purple (except: see below) or Led Zeppelin, the main “blues + keyboards” bands which generally get the most publicity and credit.

 Band members of the original, classic lineup.

Mick Box (guitarist) (far right).  Now the only consistent member in all lineups, its Tony Iommi.  He played SGs and Les Pauls, and has a very blues-based feel to his playing.  He’s actually quite likable and a nice guy.

 Ken Hensley (keyboards) (middle).  Early on he didn’t have much impact, but as the band developed, he contributed more and asserted more control – much to everyone else’s annoyance.  He eventually left the band in 1980.   Since then he’s been solo and still plays lots of Heep stuff. 

 David Byron (vocals)(left of Mick Box).  Very much the Ozzy Osbourne of the band, though considerably more articulate, by which I mean that although subsequent singers may have matched or exceeded his vocal abilities (doubtful), he will always be considered the “classic” vocalist for the band.  Like Ozzy, he considered himself a master showman.  He died in 1985 of alcohol/drug related illnesses, but he had been kicked out of Heep back in 1976 for being an intolerable asshole.  Fame and fortune went to his head, he refused to deal with his substance abuse issues, and they had no choice but to sack him.

 Gary Thain (bass)(far left).  Much less of a jerk than Byron, but he was fired in 1975 due to his drug issues and died shortly thereafter.  

Lee Kerslake (drums)(Thain’s right).  Nowadays he’s probably better known as the drummer for Ozzy Osbourne on the Blizzard of Ozz album.  After Ozzy he rejoined Heep.

 Honorable mentions:  Gerry Bron was the band’s manager and producer, its Sandy Pearlman (BOC) or Terry Knight (Grand Funk Railroad).  Definitely one of the more hands-on managers.  John Wetton, better known with King Crimson (Larks Tongues, Starless and Red) took over from Gary Thain for Return to Fantasy and  High and Mighty and juiced up the band considerably in the late 70s.  He left after Byron was sacked. 

 Albums

You can divide them into pre-D&W, D&W, post-D&W (Byron), and post-Byron.

Very ‘Eavy ,Very ‘Umble, Salisbury, Look At Yourself.  The first three albums saw the band developing its sound, rich and luxurious with lots of keyboards, blues-based rock guitar, flowery lyrics and harmonies, and some lengthy epics (“Salisbury” and “July Morning”).  Of these I much prefer Salisbury, due to “Time To Live” and “Simon the Bullet Freak” as well as the title track. 

 Demons and Wizards.   The peak album: from “The Wizard” to “The Spell” there is not a single bad song.  Every now and then a band knocks one out of the ballpark, and for Heep this was it.  Anyone starting out should definitely begin with this one.  If you don’t like D&W, you won’t like anything else.

 The Magician’s Birthday, Sweet Freedom, Wonderworld, Return to Fantasy, and High And Mighty.  It went downhill from D&W, but “past peak” is a relative term.  I only recently picked up these albums and listened to them, as Ken’s verdict (that of all things “cool” – perhaps not) was that these albums were not worth listening to.  Hmmm.  Well, none of them came close to matching D&W, but even High And Mighty, the last one with Byron singing, was still pretty damn good.  Classic Rock describes this period as massive infighting, personality conflicts between Ken Hensley and the rest of the band, personality conflicts between David Byron and the rest of the band, personality conflicts between Gerry Bron and the band, obscene amounts of drugs and alcohol, so much so that you wonder the albums ever saw the light of day, much less sound this good.  Methinks the band sold itself short in the article; not as good as D&W, but how could you top that?  Do we ignore Wish You Were Here, Animals and The Wall because we all agree Dark Side was Floyd’s “peak”?  Do we ignore the White Album and Abbey Road out of insane adulation of Sgt. Pepper?   Toss out Burn because it’s not Machine Head? I don’t think so.  So give these albums a chance. 

 Post-Byron.  I only have Wake the Sleeper, one of the more recent albums.  After sacking Byron in 1976, they struggled for 10 years to find a replacement, but finally managed to get the current singer, Bernie Shaw, in 1986, and he’s been with them ever since.  Shaw can sing well, but the current line-up actually sounds far less like Byron-era ‘Heep and more like a Deep Purple tribute band, which is ironic since Purple themselves are still around and sound less like their 70s selves than Heep do.  The other problem with current Heep – and for that matter, current Purple – is that both bands almost never tour the US; as of this writing Heep have a 4 date US tour scheduled for November 2012, whereas Purple is stuck in Europe.  Come on guys….  

Wayne's World

Recently I revisited the pair of movies by Mike Myers and Dana Carvey, based on their Saturday Night Live sketches.  I recall we really enjoyed the first one when it came out, and were “eh, not so much” impressed by the second one.  After some time, and spate of similar films by Myers over the years, I decided to reanalyze them.

 First off, I did like the original SNL sketches, which established the characters, their catch phrases: 1) negating a sentence by simply adding “NOT” at the end, after a dramatic pause; 2) contradicting a “no way” with a “way”; 3) indicating immediate and embarrassing arousal to a female by “scwhing”; 4) humiliating less cool guests (usually older adults, teachers, etc.) by asking them “a [unpleasant word] says what?”; and 5) indicating an improbable outcome is as likely as “monkeys might fly out of my butt.”  I also liked the cameos, like Aerosmith.  Wayne: “No way!” Joe Perry: “Way!”  Or their “top 10 reasons” they were bummed about the fall of communism, which included “Katarina Witt no longer ‘forbidden fruit’”.  Overall, fairly consistent quality, but to translate an SNL sketch to a full movie was not an obvious idea.  

 But they pulled it off.

 Wayne’s World (1992).  Wayne Campbell (Mike Myers) lives in Aurora, Illinois, a suburb of Chicago – he lives with his parents.  His best friend is Garth Algar (Dana Carvey), a shy, nerdy guy who is basically Ed McMahon to his Johnny Carson.  His show comes to the attention of Benjamin (Rob Lowe) who angles to take it over, in cahoots with a sponsor, Noah (Brian Doyle Murray, Bill Murray’s brother).  Myers also befriends Cassandra (Tia Carrere), a babacious bassist with local band Crucial Taunt. 

            Eventually Myers chafes at the requirements of honoring sponsor commitments (similar to Burt Reynolds’ bristling at fast food promotion in “Stroker Ace”) and is even more disturbed by Benjamin’s obvious designs on Cassandra, under the auspices of assisting her musical career.  Along the way Wayne and Garth meet Alice Cooper backstage at a concert in Milwaukee (thank you for the history lesson, Alice). 

            The movie is wrapped up whimsically and arbitrarily (but not completely implausibly) to the heroes’ benefit.  And there was much rejoicing.

            High points?

            A.         “Bohemian Rhapsody” in Garth’s Pacer.

            B.         Ed O’Neill as the grumpy Stan Mikita chef.

            C.         “Stairway” & other guitar in-jokes.

            D.         Alice Cooper cameo

            E.         “Laverne & Shirley” montage in Milwaukee

As I said, now having seen “Love Guru” and three “Austin Powers” films, Myers’ “aren’t I funny?” style has long worn thin.  Here’s it’s certainly in abundance, but back then we hadn’t yet maxxed out on it.  Bottom line: the charm has worn off, but it’s still a classic.

Wayne’s World 2 (1993).  Wayne now has his own place (some sort of loft in a building).  Garth pursues a new “mystery woman” (Kim Basinger).  In a very hokily conjured plot, Wayne has mystic dreams of Jim Morrison telling him to stage a music festival, “Waynestock”, including Aerosmith and many others.  Needless to say, even with the help of a Tommy Chong-like English roadie, Del, this whole project is far beyond Wayne’s non-existent skills as a promoter.  To make matters worse, he has a new competitor for Cassandra’s affections: Bobby (Christopher Walken), a slick record mogul who is wise to Wayne’s petty “a sphincter says what?” jokes. 

Yet again, however, the day is saved by mere plot contrivance (“you didn’t think we’d end the movie like that, did you?”) but here the outcome is far more implausible than the first movie’s.  Is it as good as the first one?  Not a chance.  Does it blow chunks?  Not really.  Worth watching if you have any positive inclination towards the first one.

Beat Classics

Before the hippies of the 60s, there was the Beat Generation, of the 50s, an extremely avante-garde, anti-establishment clique of writers, of whom the most famous were Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S. Burroughs.  They refer to each other in their writings and certainly ran together in the same circles.  Neal Cassady was one of their buddies, but I haven’t read The First Third, his only known novel; Cassady also became one of Ken Kesey’s Merry Pranksters, as the driver of Furthur, the psychedelically painted school bus (as described in Tom Wolfe’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test). 

 I won’t comment on Howl, Ginsberg’s most famous work (or his poetry), but I will address the ones I have read:

 The Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs (not to be confused with Edgar Rice Burroughs, the author of Tarzan and John Carter).  This was a remarkably tortured and nonsensical collage of word salad and psychedelic imagery, so strange and twisted – and completely and deliberately devoid of any discernable plot – that the entire effect is that of a bad acid trip or a nightmare.  Oh, and the author’s homosexuality was rampant, front-center, incapable of being surgically removed from the story as it accounts for 60% of the action.  WSB, although married (he killed his wife by misadventure, a William Tell “shoot the apple off her head with a gun” mishap) was clearly, 100% flaming.  Women come off as alien beings not even the same species as men, as misogynistically portrayed as the cartoon animated vagina in “Pink Floyd the Wall”.  The only concept which competes with gay sex in this story is heroin addiction and the spectacular lows to which a junkie will descend to get his fix – including gay sex.  To the extent any moral can be discerned in this whole wacked out story, it is: if you get hooked on heroin, you WILL blow someone.

            David Cronenburg, a horror movie guy, managed to make this into a movie – no mean feat given the afore-mentioned absence of a plot – and didn’t do too badly.  The gay element was still there, but toned down considerably (though still recognizable).  Peter Weller plays the WSB character, Ian Holm and Roy Scheider are in here too, plus an array of talking typewriters who turn into loathsome, talking insects.  Very weird, but hardly any weirder than the book. 

 On the Road, by Jack Kerouac.  Sal Paradiso (this novel’s obvious alter-ego of Kerouac) starts off in Paterson, NJ, and works his way cross-country several times; his West Coast destination is usually San Francisco, by way of Denver.  Written and taking place before the highway system was installed (or the NJ Turnpike), the story necessarily involves an array of rarely-named routes which complicates the task of any modern-day intrepid souls daring to repeat SP’s feat.  Sometimes he hitchhikes, sometimes he takes the bus, and sometimes he drives; his driving buddy is Dean Moriarty (a fictionalized but accurate version of Neal Cassady).  Allen Ginsberg also appears (as Carlo Marx) as does William S. Burroughs (Old Bull Lee).  Dean is close to the focal character:  he dallies with a pair of women, Camille and Marylou, never quite sure which one he’ll settle down with – if either.    I have to admit it must be the ultimate road trip book, though I’m not that impressed with it – like The Great Gatsby, it’s one of these highly overrated “classics” which guys like to refer to in order to pump up their own cred and mystique.  That, and a favorite of high school English teachers, many of whom struck me as enthralled with Kerouac in a vicarious manner, the same way rock journalists worship Keith Richards.  Unlike Naked Lunch, OTR does NOT go into any of the alleged homosexual relationship between Kerouac and Cassady.  Although I consider it overrated, it was certainly enjoyable to read – particularly on the bus to or from New York City.

            They’ve FINALLY made this into a movie, VERY recently – it was panned at Cannes.  Walter Salles, the Brazilian film maker (“Central Station”, “Motorcycle Diaries”, and “Paris, Je T’aime” are his more famous works), directed: The cast includes Sam Riley as Sal, Garrett Hedlund (from “Tron Legacy”) as Dean, Kristen Stewart (aka “Bella”) as Marylou, Kirsten Dunst (Maryjane no more, it seems) as Camille, and Viggo ‘Aragorn” Mortensen as Old Bull Lee.  I can’t seem to find a US release date, “but I’ll see it when it comes out,” even if it winds up being one of those limited artsy release theaters.  

Dreams & Nightmares

Like everyone else, I have dreams – by which I mean, the weird movies in my mind when I sleep.  Some are more interesting and fun than others (though far too few wet dreams for my liking – no more than 3 in my whole life), but very few are truly terrifying: nightmares.  As an adult, I rarely have nightmares, even when under stress or difficult times.  Most of my dreams are dull and forgettable, with a few truly memorable ones which I sometimes write down if they are really good. [It’s too bad we’ve yet to figure out how to RECORD dreams.]

 When I was a kid, however, the nightmares were more frequent and terrifying.  I suppose our imaginations are 10x more powerful, and our reason and intellect are a fraction of what they are now, so our fears take a more prominent role in our daily and nightly lives.

 My particular “concern” was ghosts and the supernatural.  A TV that continues broadcasting even when the plug is pulled; mysterious footsteps upstairs in the house when everyone is downstairs.   Faceless strangers, robots, etc. – and the paranoia that EVERYONE is secretly a robot assassin.  Ruthless but mortal killers with axes and chainsaws were never scary to me.  To this date I find Jason or Freddy Krueger more annoying than fearsome.

 Walk-through.  Naturally when you’re a kid, you’re scared of the dark.  Your overactive imagination sees the darkness as a tabla rasa, a blank slate upon which to project all sorts of imaginary terrors which evaporate in any meaningful amount of light, even a nightlight.  For some reason parents consistently seem to forget this.  Also, I had this belief – I don’t know why – that if I ran through the house I would have nightmares, so if I was to walk to my parents’ bedroom for solace, I’d have to do so VERY slowly.  And this meant walking past the stairway leading down to the ground floor, a huge void of darkness: yet another blank slate for fertile imagination to fill with all sorts of weird and terrifying images. 

            To make matters worse, our stairway to the basement creaked.  Not such an issue when you’re walking down, but when you’re walking up, and the lights are off beneath and behind you, it really gives you the strong impression that the newly restored darkness has instantly summoned forth its legion of demons who are now walking up the stairs immediately behind you.  RUN UP! NOW! 

 Exams.  In college, I would frequently wake up in my room in Paris, after a dream that I was back in College Park oversleeping through, or failing, exams.  That was a frequent “nightmare”, though more accurately described as stressful than terrifying.  Plus as soon as I realized I was in Paris, I also knew I had successfully navigated the end of semester exams and had not flown overseas completely forgetting an entire exam.

 People who know me well will laugh at this: I’ve had a few “nightmares” about my car (1992 Pontiac Firebird Formula, black on black): either it catches fire and is completely ruined (without me inside), a massive accident which totals it (again, I’m unharmed), or Tim the body shop guy has “painted” it dull black primer and pronounces it “done”.  WHAT??  Yeah, nowadays that’s what generally passes for a nightmare for me.

 A few more recent, legitimate “nightmares”:  I caused my brother to fall off scaffolding, landing on his head, which disintegrated, killing him instantly.  THAT one caused me to wake up immediately.  Or I was magically deformed into a misshapen monkey in an old-fashioned suit (“YOU HAVE CHOSEN YOUR FORM!”), emerging onto a busy street circa 1910, in grainy black & white – as if REAL LIFE back then was in fact the same black & white as we see in the movies of that era; that in itself was disturbing enough.

 Delirium.  This is even worse than nightmares, as nightmares end when you wake up.  But a high fever combined with delirium is the worst.  Nightmares which don’t turn off when you wake up or open your eyes!  Plus you’re sick and hot and sweaty, and you don’t know what’s going on.  I saw entire cities of faceless robots or ghosts.  Truly horrifying, and there is NO escape until the fever breaks and finally passes.  It would be disturbing enough for an adult, but for a child it’s indescribable. 

 My Dad.  We like to believe that the dearly departed communicate with us through dreams, but I’ve yet to see any evidence of that.  Since my father died in December 2004, I’ve had two dreams about him. 

            In July 2010, I dreamed that he told me I would joining him in a month – which kind of freaked me out, even though he was referring to a cloudy place with harps and pearly gates.  That month passed by with no summons.  I’m still here, so that must have been a false alarm. 

            Another dream illustrates the idea that these posthumous appearances are more likely due to our imagination and not true messages from the afterlife: someone was horribly injured (arm or leg cut off), and my father took him in a car to find a hospital.  After about 30 minutes of fruitless searching around town (looked like South Central L.A. to me) my dad simply GAVE UP and dumped the poor guy by the side of the road and told him, “you’re on your own.  Good luck.”  1000% out of character for my dad.  He either would have found the local E.R. immediately or called 911 and got the ambulance to come.  He would NOT have simply dumped the guy off like that.  I’m not the hero my dad was, but even I can dial 911.

 Ex’s.  I have to admit I have had a few dreams including former GFs.  Not very often (not often enough?) and they are remarkably tame considering the nature of the relationships.  Even odds for the woman to act in character in the dream or an outcome which bears any resemblance – better or worse – than the actual situation.  What’s even weirder, is in the rare occasion that a dream does involve intimacy, probably 80% of the time the partner is a woman I don’t recognize: not personally and not Angelina Jolie or Scarlett Johannson. 

 Prophecy.  None of my dreams have come true: but they have been so odd and inconsistent that I don’t think that’s likely anyway.  We talk about “Dreams” as if we go to bed and dream of the things we really want in life, in a coherent fashion, and then wake up thinking, “I really wish my elementary school would turn into an aquarium stocked with fish looking like Ewan McGregor speaking Yiddish backwards.  Why don’t my dreams come true??”  Our real dreams are too weird and fantastic to become reality.  The easiest way to make your “dreams come true” is simply to be continually dosed on LSD.  Somehow I don’t think that’s practical, or even desirable.  Get real.

 Childhood.  Looking back, despite having had nightmares so often as a kid, the happy truth is that those nightmares were the sole source of fear and anxiety in my childhood.  So many kids around the world have real lives which we would think of as nightmares: child soldiers in Africa; child prostitutes in Bangkok; blind beggars in India; Jerry Springer offspring in the US (e.g. poor kid in “Breaking Bad” – Jesse went to get his money back from “Spoog” and his wife, she ended up killing Spoog with an ATM machine because he called her a skank); and so on.  I survived my nightmares, but these children can scarcely escape the horrible realities of their lives, except by the most heroic of efforts or interventions.  I’m glad my nightmares were no more than that.

America's Got....Too Many of These Shows

Lately I’ve been catching a bit more of “America’s Got Talent”, mainly because Howard Stern is now a judge, along with Howie Mandel and Sharon Osbourne.  A few months ago I was a captive audience for “X Factor”, and under similar conditions watched “Q’Viva” (Jennifer Lopez & Marc Anthony’s Latin-themed talent show) and to a lesser extent, the current season of “American Idol”.  Here’s my impressions of these.

 By now we know the format:  various contestants vie for a super prize of fame and stardom (maybe even a clever Pepsi Super Bowl commercial), chosen by a combination of celebrity judges and audience text-in voting.  The judges offer “advice”, “praise”, and in Simon Cowell’s case, deliciously malicious criticism. 

 “Idol” and “X Factor” attempt to select America’s next pop idol.  All the contestants are stuffed into a narrow range of musical styles, with the women almost invariably attempting to mimic Whitney Houston.  There are no rock bands or rock vocalists: no one attempting to become the next Ian Gillan, Bruce Dickinson, Rob Halford, or even Freddie Mercury, although I noticed there was a “Queen” night on “Dancing With the Stars”.  I was never in danger of seeking the CDs of Scott McCreary, Clay Aiken (now on “Celebrity Apprentice” or some similar show), or Taylor Hicks – at least, not on my own behalf. 

 One of Idol’s current judges, Steven Tyler, is better known as the singer for the rock band Aerosmith.  He signed onto Idol when the band was on “hiatus”, though that break seemed to be as much caused by his eccentric personality as anything to do with the other members of the band; Axl Rose, however, still remains the most dysfunctional rock singer to date, as Tyler hasn’t insisted that Aerosmith is his and his alone and will be rejoining the band’s standard, classic lineup (Joe Perry, Brad Whitford, etc.).  Although I doubt this was his express intention, his publicity from Idol has probably made an impressive impact on Aerosmith’s ability to sell its new album and back catalog and sell tickets for an upcoming tour.  Maybe not.

 “America’s Got Talent” is actually a bit more interesting, as it seeks talent of all kinds, not merely pop singers.  This leads me to recall that old 70s show...The Gong Show.  Remember that one?  Maybe some of the AGT contestants are a bit “out there”, but that’s definitely the entertainment value.  And now we have a Simon Cowell for the show, although Stern has his own style of attempting the same type of role:  “someone has to tell you, ‘you suck’, but do it well enough that you can enjoy the contempt, even take it home and frame it.”   The tanning woman in NJ has shown us, as if we had any doubt (“Let’s Make a Deal”?) how people will allow themselves to be completely humiliated in front of the entire country simply for their “15 minutes” of fame.

 Probably the TOP “oddball talent” has to be “Le Petomane”, an eccentric Frenchman, Joseph Pujols, who performed from 1892 to just before WWI.  This man had remarkable control over his anal sphincter – he was able to “fart” (with air, though, not intestinal gases) into various wind instruments, or simply by himself, to the tune of music.  

 Q’Viva focuses, of course, on “Latin” talent – from Mexico, Brazil, all over Latin America.  I suppose “Dancing With the Stars” also falls into this “live reality” contest business, even if the contestants are actual celebrities. 

 What I really didn’t like about X Factor was the “gimmick” deal.   “Dexter” was homeless.  Leroy Bell claimed to be 59 but looked 39.  Stacy “lost her father” (so did I...where’s my $5 million recording contract?).  Tiger needed to win to avoid foreclosure (can you imagine his banker glued to the TV every night rooting for him?).  Please.  And I knew, as soon as Simon flew down to Florida to apologize to Melanie Amaro in her own home, in front of her family, on camera, and return her to the fold, that SHE would be the winner.  No way they pull that stunt and let her lose at any point.   So this business of audience choosing is actually quite bogus:  how hard is it to imagine smug and arrogant Simon, asked in confidence if the show is rigged, to smirk and laugh, “did you really think I’d leave $5 million up to the whim of an audience of idiots texting in their choices? Get real.” 

 By all means, enjoy these shows.  From time to time, I do myself - if only to laugh.