Much That Is Hidden

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I suppose for a life lived so full (and by his own account, so hard), 71 years was a ripe old age for George Carlin. He was one of the great subversive comics that took Lenny Bruce's mantle and ran with it. Peppered with a good dose of Mort Sahl's dry exposition, Carlin was as funny as Richard Pryor and as biting as Bill Hicks, but with a touch that didn't usually leave you squirming like those last two (unless of course you were an out-and-out establishment flunkie). While Bruce was the godfather of post-war legally provocative routines, Carlin brought forth the "dirty" words concept with a more concise delivery that could often make even those who blushed also giggle a bit.

Carlin started way earlier than when I first came upon him, by which time his almost conservative schtick had given way to hilarious counter-cultural insights. I hadn't even entered my teenage party dog phase when I was cracking up with our next-door neighbor's older kids who were playing albums like Class Clown and FM & AM. I remember watching him on TV along with my parents. His broadcast TV stuff is pretty tame, and though my mom ridiculed his long hair (and he ridicules her right back) both she and my dad got a kick out of Carlin. It was a good thing they were clueless to the blue side of his comedy. Here's some classic George from the Flip Wilson show in 1972:



By the end of his career he was a tad whacked on things like 9-11 conspiracy and his "act" was often so powerfully anti-establishment as to be almost humorless (akin to Hicks' cutting and over the edge stuff). Still for me there wasn't much squirming, because even where Carlin cut through some of my own hypocrisy and ignorance I couldn't help but say, "Damn if he ain't calling that straight." By the end he wasn't so much offering up social musings as he was putting forth a battle cry to WAKE UP AMERICA! You were once a generally decent example of good society (warts and all) but are now quickly deteriorating because of your rank-and-file's complacency and ignorance in the face of the machinations of the rich and powerful!

Carlin's death is a big loss for us anti-establishment sympathizers because his kind are few and far between. Even in the face of some of his heaviest bullshit-calling, George could make you laugh your ass off. There is now one less face, familiar to millions, steadfastly working to try and tell it like it is. Thankfully there will always be his past body of work.

Observe the genius, gone but not forgotten:



Via con el sol, Jorge. Thanks for preaching to those of us in the cheap seats.
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Labels: comedy, heroes

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The event of the season has arrived! March Movie Madness 2008 is upon us! This year it's a fethtival of 64 comedy classics, with yours truly again providing the hard-hitting commentary that freaks need to know the score. Get your Big Lebowski (not an endorsement, though it could be) over to Film Freaks Film Club and see what all the hoopla is aboot.

To set the mood, a clip from my dark horse candidate:


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Labels: comedy, film, friends, fun, madness, movies

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I have sported facial hair of one style or another for close to half my years. The predominant sculpting has been a Van Dyke. There is debate about the difference between a Van Dyke and a goatee, and aside from the standard definition, most of us FH afficiandos would concur that the former is a fuller variation of the diminutive latter, a sort of combo ‘stache-chin beard à la:





There seems to be some debate about whether or not the mustache is connected to the beard in the Van Dyke, but to me that is just wasteful discourse in the light of more important matters at hand. On the other jaw a goatee, as noted, is just the whiskers on the chinny chin-chin, again displayed by real and fictional dudes alike, such as:





Again, time-wasting hair-splitters would whine endlessly about the distinction between a goatee and a soul patch, a debate for which I have little tolerance. I mean really, who is going to save your soul patch when we all know goatees go to hell? And with puns like that I probably deserve to be down there holding the door for you when you arrive.

In the midst of the usual Googling that accompanies any good blog post one can be confident to yield a result that will freak one out. This time it’s HERE. It seems some people are into collecting beards, and I now realize that I’ve been a bit careless on those early morning bike rides through the woods during turkey season.

In “A Brief History of the Goatee” John Sulak dug up some interesting factoids:

• The first goatee may have been worn by Satan. The devil's image is based on Pan, the ancient Greek half-man, half-goat deity. When early Christians began abolishing pagan religions and their gods, they needed someone to play the heavy. They chose Pan, a lover of music, dancing and sex. His flute was replaced by a pitchfork and he was transformed from the god of woods and pastures to the ruler of hell.

• During the last days of the French Empire in the mid-19th century, the “imperial” was worn by Napoleon III. Wax or pomade was used to bring chin whiskers to a sharp point.

• In America, imperials became popular with officers on both sides of the Civil War. The look remained in vogue after the war, thanks in part to Buffalo Bill Cody, who toured the country with his Wild West Show.

• In late 19th-century Paris, poets, painters, intellectuals and dropouts — collectively known as bohemians — lived together in poverty and rebellion. For them, the goatee was a symbol of their free-spirited nature.

• By the 1940s, America had its own bohemians, but trendy haircuts weren't their thing. After World War II, the stereotypical “beatnik” look — goatee and black beret — was copied from jazz musicians of the time.

In America the goatee disappeared for twentysome years from the late 1960s through the punk, disco and new wave ages. “Only a person who was completely cut off from popular culture would grow such a beard,” Mr. Sulak wrote in 1996, about the time that goatees were experiencing a resurgence.

And so we come around the circle back to me. I’ve worn a Van Dyke for at least 10 years now, and for the past several weeks I’ve been pausing before various mirrors and thinking that I’m not a Major League baseball player, I’m not into Civil War re-enactment and I just sold my pickup, so perhaps it’s time for a change.

When facial hair reconstruction is undertaken, no man can resist the frolic of the incremental removal. In my last adjustment from full beard to Van Dyke I sported some killer mutton chops for about three weeks. With a bit of pomade to slick back medium-long hair, I took great delight in my menacing look. This time around, thinking as a blogger I say, “Why should Jefe have all the fun?” So with that in mind I figure on starting a new trend (see Rich Cohen‘s interesting and hilarious experiment at VF.com), and thereby submit to you without further ado:


I figure a few days will be good to drive the wife batshit. Just kidding - she got the best of me by not even noticing it at first, and now it’s already been reduced to a chin style that can best be described as “The C. Everett Koop.” Of course I’m weirding out a bit on the bare lip sensation, testing it out on spouse lips, baby cheeks and doggie ears. This style will likely be reduced to a “Soul Strip,” that is, a removal of the bow and stern of the aforementioned watercraft. You know I’ll keep you posted.
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Labels: comedy, frolic, fun, me, Nothing about Yoko

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"Wait! Where are you going? I was going to make Espresso!"

I continue posting with an unfortunate nexus, that being the death of Peter Boyle, one of my favorite actors - the connection being that John Lennon was best man at Peter’s wedding. “We were both seekers after a truth, looking for a quick way to enlightenment,” Peter once said of Lennon.

Peter, 71, died Tuesday evening at New York Presbyterian Hospital.

His most famous film role is arguably that of the monster in Mel Brooks’ 1974 Young Frankenstein, with it’s classic scene of Peter and Gene Wilder decked out in tails, tapping (and bellowing) out their wacky version of Irving Berlin’s Puttin’ On The Ritz.

The story of how he met his wife Loraine Alterman is somewhat famous. As a reporter for Rolling Stone, she was visiting on the set of Young Frankenstein and Boyle, still in monster makeup, asked her for a date.

His last role, that of the churlish and vinegary Frank Barone in the sitcom Everybody Loves Raymond, a role he played for 10 years, is also widely known.

“He's just obnoxious in a nice way, just for laughs,” Peter once said of Frank, through whom he inserted the signature phrase “Holy Crap!” at the most comically opportune times.

When Peter tried out for the role, however, he was kept waiting for his audition - and he was not happy. “He came in all hot and angry,” recalled the show's creator, Phil Rosenthal, “and I hired him because I was afraid of him. But I knew right away that he had a comic presence.”

Co-star Doris Roberts, who played his wife Marie on Raymond said Peter was not at all like the character he played on television. “He was a brilliant actor, a gentleman, incredibly intelligent, wonderfully well read and a loving friend.”

The son of a local TV personality in Philadelphia, Peter was educated in Roman Catholic schools and spent three years in a monastery before abandoning his religious studies. He later described the experience as similar to living in the Middle Ages. He left to become an actor when he “felt the normal pull of the world and the flesh.”

He traveled to New York to study with famed actress/teacher Uta Hagen, supporting himself for five years with various jobs, including postal worker, waiter, maitre d' and office temp. Finally, he was cast in a road company version of The Odd Couple. When the play reached Chicago he quit to study with that city's famed improvisational troupe Second City. Upon returning to New York, he began to land roles in TV commercials, off-Broadway plays and finally films.

His early roles had him typecast in tough, irascible roles, but he began to escape that image as Robert Redford's campaign manager in The Candidate and left it behind entirely after Young Frankenstein. He won an Emmy in 1996 for his guest-starring role as a morose clairvoyant in an episode of The X Files, in which he uttered the hilarious line, “Sometimes it seems like everyone is having sex but me.” He also received Emmy nominations Everybody Loves Raymond and for the 1977 TV film Tail Gunner Joe, in which he played Sen. Joseph McCarthy. In Martin Scorcese’s 1976 film Taxi Driver he played philosopher cabbie Wizard, who counseled Robert DeNiro’s violent Travis Bickle with the sage advice, “You get a job. You become the job.” He did dozens of other films, including the two classic comedies Johnny Dangerously and Yellowbeard.

In 1990 Peter had a stroke and couldn't talk for six months. In 1999, he had a heart attack on the Raymond set. He soon regained his health, however, and returned to the series.

Despite his work in Everybody Loves Raymond and other Hollywood productions, Peter made New York City his home. He and his wife had two daughters, Lucy and Amy.

Thanks to the Associated Press and Internet Movie Database for contributing nearly all of this post. I love you guys.

Labels: arts, comedy, film, Holy Crap, remembrance, TV