The Purpose of Sid Vicious (And What Might Have Been)

Simon John Ritchie a/k/a Sid Vicious
(May 10, 1957 – February 2, 1979)

This past Saturday, May 10, would have been the fifty first birthday of the late punk rocker Sid Vicious, had he, of course, made it past 1979. Imagining Vicious, who never saw his twenty-second birthday, as a middle aged man is difficult, if not impossible. Surely, though, he would have devolved into self parody sometime in the mid-to-late 1980s, fallen into relative obscurity in the 1990s, and then been resurrected anew in the 2000s with his contributions to the various oral histories of the early days of punk that have been published of late. Or would he have overdosed a short time later, his assigned fate merely been postponed? More likely, though, he would have spent a substantial number of those years in prison for the October 1978 murder of his girlfriend, Nancy Spungen. (Though his friends insist that he was incapable of murder, a jury of non-punks may have found him guilty based on the evidence.).

He was not a founding member of the Sex Pistols but became its bassist when Glen Matlock left the band in 1977. (Matlock went on to form The Rich Kids, whose records are difficult to find in 2008.). Although an untalented musical hack, Vicious became the "look" of punk and was thus excused for his inability to play his instrument and lack of talent. (It is said that Vicious was chosen for the group solely for his image, which purportedly defined the burgeoning punk "movement" and effectively mimicked the look of Richard Hell, who actually could play).

That Vicious covered "My Way" somewhere along the way is well known (and his version was itself covered by a young Gary Oldman in Alex Cox's 1986 film Sid and Nancy). Sid's version appears on Sid Sings, his only solo album, which was released almost a year after his death. Preceding the studio recording is live crowd noise through which you can hear a number of specific comments and heckles, including that of a young woman who yells to Vicious, "You're a poseur!" The identity of that young woman is most likely lost to history, although she could not be more correct in her assessment. He could not play his instrument, nor could he sing.

The question: Would he be so revered today if we had all saw him age, and had he lived and ultimately escaped his legal difficulties, would he have ultimately learned to play the bass?

The Deaths of Robert Preston and Dean Paul Martin

Did you know that last week marked the twenty-first anniversary of the death of not one but two celebrities of whom I was quite fond in the 1980s? On March 21, 1987, both Robert Preston and Dean Paul Martin died.

Most people my age know Preston from his role as Centauri in 1984's The Last Starfighter. I think I saw that film at least twice at the theatres that year and endlessly thereafter on premium cable. If you haven't heard of that film, you were not an adolescent boy in the 1980s. It is the story of a young man who, by scoring very, very well on a video game (called The Last Starfighter, of course), catches the eye of a extraterrestrial military recruiter, played by Preston. Preston, essentially, plays himself. He is much more famous for his role as Prof. Harold Hill in the stage and film adaptation of The Music Man. Born in 1918, he died of lung cancer in his late 60s. I actually remember hearing the news of his death. So often, when you are young, celebrity deaths are meaningless to you, because you don't know the work of the celebrities who are old enough to be passing away. (I suppose this is why the death of George Reeves so affected the youth of American back in the late 1950s.). But I knew Preston from both films I mentioned above, both of which my family had taped off of television and watched often.

Martin was the son of the famous singer, Dean Martin, and he was only a few years older than I am now when he died. He had a brief musical career, but I knew him for something far different: he was the lead in the 1980s television show, The Misfits of Science. Martin was the affable, slightly goofy ringleader of the self-described Misfits, a group composed of people each with his or her own paranormal power. Think of it as a campy precursor to Tim Kring's Heroes. To modern television viewers, that program is the answer to the trivia question, "What was Courteney Cox's first television show?" They reran the show on the Sci Fi Network sometime in the mid to late 1990s, and I was embarrassed to have ever been fond of it. It featured Max Wright, for goodness sake. But back in the mid-1980s, when it aired, I loved it. I have a vivid memory of leaving school one day and being excited that it was to air that night. Yikes.

Martin, who was in the National Guard, died in a plane crash. He was married to the very beautiful Oliva Hussey, who you will know as the lovely young girl who played Juliet in the 1968 cinematic version of Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet. You probably watched a tape of this in your high school English class and were disappointed (maybe) when the teacher had to fast forward through the brief nude scenes.

From what I have read, Dean Martin never recovered from his son's tragic death. I don't remember hearing of his untimely passing until a number of years later, during the early days of the Internet when I did a pre-Google search engine search on the fateful television series.

Resquiat in Pace.

Living with the Dead #1, #2, and #3 (Dark Horse Comics)

"Hold on . . . you're surrounded by about a zillion blood-sucking, brain-eating, friggin' walking-dead zombies and you don't like to be around guns?" - Betty Davis, to Whip and Straw, fellow survivors in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, in Living with the Dead #2 (Dark Horse Comics, Issue Date: November 2007).

Published by Dark Horse Comics, the series is written by Mike Richardson, with art by Ben Stenbeck, letters by Clem Robins, cover art by Richard Corben, cover color by Dave Stewart, design by Kristal Hennes, and edited by Scott Allie, the three issue Living with the Dead limited series is yet another attempt by an indie comic publisher to milk the zombie genre. So often has this well been revisited that its novelty not only wanes, but congeals. In perpetrating this narrative, writer Richardson tells the tale of Whip and Straw, two lunkheads whose prospects in life were no doubt elevated by the end of the world. In their post-apocalyptic metropolis, they visit the local mall and take to their city rooftop to perform as Bucktoof, the last remaining band in the city. (Interestingly, Whip and Straw's names are not provided at all in the first issue of the series, a careless omission indeed in the grand scheme of things.).

In a city infested with zombies, Whip and Straw have learned to assimilate. When venturing out into the city by day, they wear makeshift hockey masks and act as if they too are undead. This tactic fools the teeming masses of walked dead, and the creators of the series have attempted to capitalize on this plot point by including a "zombie survival kit" with each of the three issues of the series. The kit, which is a paper hockey mask one can cut from the centerfold of the comic, is accompanied by a legal disclaimer on its use:

Warning: Dark Horse Comics takes no responsibility, and makes no guarantee that this mask will save you from an attack of the living dead. Furthermore, wearing a mask does not guarantee safe passage through zombie-infested areas. Please refer to the actions a to the actions taken by the characters in this book, and practice moaning the words "Brain and "Flesh" in public areas. Dark Horse Comics takes no responsibility for the looks you will receive for utilizing your Living Dead Disguise.

How clever.

The issue that is to come between these two best friends is not unfamiliar. In establishing this conflict, Richardson recycles a plot not from comics but from sitcoms: Whip and Straw begin to stab each other in the back over issues large and small upon the appearance of Betty Davis, a woman they both come to admire. She is a tattooed hipster and the last remaining female in the city, leading to the tagline of the series: "Two boys, a girl, and seven billion living dead!" Davis is feisty and a bit self absorbed, but she captivates the two male would-be heroes, who rescue her from the mall in which they find her and then attempt to woo her. The two risk their friendship - and each other's lives - just to be in the same room with her. Ultimately, though, upon finally realizing they she is a threat to their cozy existence, they toss her from the rooftop into a pack of zombies, thereby resolving the issue of the day.


The aforementioned comparison to a sitcom is apt not just with respect to the tone of the series, but also its scope. This is not an epic tale of survival, as is The Walking Dead, the fine series by the famed Robert Kirkman. Of course, this series does not aspire to be a such, but its tired premise and overly familiar romantic sub plot are derivative of prior narratives which themselves were derivative of what came before them, as well. The question: To invest the time, energy, and effort required of a three issue comic series these days, why refrain from an attempt at something fearless and inventive? Dark Horse Comics provides no answer to that question.

The Oscars

Last night's relatively uninteresting Oscar telecast, hosted by the usually amusing but apparently inhibited Jon Stewart, offered little in the form of meaningful entertainment. Stewart, the erstwhile host of Comedy Central's "The Daily Show," proved that he is far more easily irreverent in the confines of his distant New York studio than in a room full of mega-celebrities and potential guests for his show. Sly and acerbic comedians, apparently, have but one path when hosting the program: neuter themselves when hosting the Oscars - and resort to hackneyed jokes about the show's length and Jack Nicholson's notable presence. (Did he really introduce tired old Harrison Ford as "either a international movie star or a car dealership"? Are we certain that this show employed the services of the long gone writers?

Certainly, though, there were several moments of interest which confirmed that, occasionally, sparks of originality do not go unrewarded. The victory of No Country for Old Men in the Best Picture category, and the accompanying wins of Joel and Ethan Coen for Best Director(s) and Javier Bardem for Best Supporting Actor, may have been enough to cleanse the lingering sense of disappointment and disdain from the recent Best Picture win of Crash two years ago. Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, in winning for Best Song for "Falling Slowly" from their wonderful gem of a film "Once," illustrated that a tune need not originate from an animated film to win.

Why the the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences insists each year on allowing its president to make a presentation is still perplexing. With the erosion of viewers from the telecast and the perennial complaints of the program's length, no reason - other than vanity - remains to justify the presence of the Academy president, who no viewer knows or recognizes.

Viewers with a sense of the macabre look forward to the montage of actors, crew, and other various showmen who passed away during the year preceding the telecast. Typically, one can gauge the audience's fondness - or even familiarity - with the deceased by the level of applause accompanying the late performer's appearance in the montage. This year's level of applause was oddly subdued, and only the very recently deceased Suzanne Pleshette, Heath Ledger, and famed Swedish director Ingmar Bergman received noticeable levels of applause. Italian director Michelangelo Antonioni, sadly, received little in the form of clapping. One cannot help but feel a pang of regret, or even sorrow, for those who lived just a bit too long and received little, if any, applause because no one else from their era remained in the audience to applaud them.

Competing Civil War Epics of 2003

In 2003, the ghosts of the Civil War haunted the multiplexes, although they have mostly spared cinema-goers since then. That year saw the release of two Civil War epics, the first being the ridiculously pompous Gods & Generals, the other being the far better melodrama Cold Mountain, released on Christmas day. Both films were based on popular novels, G&G by Jeff Shaara and CM by Charles Frazier. A comparison of the two films arose when the trio of film critics then working for the New York Times, A. O. Scott, Elvis Mitchell and Stephen Holden, gathered together for a frank discussion of the worst movies of the past year. The transcription of their discussion reveals this exchange between Scott and Holden:

HOLDEN But the worst movie, undoubtedly — and all the critics agree with me — was "Gods and Generals." And to sit through four hours of it! It was absolutely ludicrous in every way.

SCOTT And oddly, audiences didn't go for it.

HOLDEN They promoted it quite well——

SCOTT And it was still a bomb.

HOLDEN A total, total bomb. But if "Gods and Generals" tried to get the Civil War too literally — much, much, much too literally — "Cold Mountain" erred in the other direction, trying to make it into "Reds" or "Dr. Zhivago" or something like that. It didn't feel authentic. That's one of many things that bothered me about "Cold Mountain," which is also a disappointment in my book, but a noble one.

Their cold assessment of Cold Mountain was hasty, but the critics could not be more correct in their dismissal of Gods & Generals. In the eyes of G&G director Ronald F. Maxwell, the Civil War was simply an event centering around the proud bluster and vainglorious speechifying of great men, all of whom were mere victims of historical happenstance. This was a film about rhetoricians who paused to bloviate as their troops, just props to them, were obliterated. As every gentrified gentleman is a honorable prisoner of fate, no one is a perpetrator of an evil institution, no one is a profiteer, no one is overly ambitious or reckless. Indeed, no one in the film -- on either side of the fight -- appears to be be motivated by malice or ill will. In an effort not to offend any who might harbor a nostalgia for the losing side, the film presented no one - certainly not a general - as a villain.

The facts, as presented in the film, also seemed a bit questionable. In much of G&G, the battlefields are portrayed as eerily silent -- the wounded do not cry out in pain for their mothers or sweethearts. There was no cacophony on the battlefields, which were littered with the mortally wounded. The few African American characters who appear were depicted mostly as sympathetic to the Confederacy or its partisans, which is curious indeed. While, of course, conversational stylings of the 1860s were likely far different than those of our postmodern 2000s, surely even then individuals spoke to each other, rather than speechifying at each other.

Spoke Joshua Lawrence Chamblerlain, played by Jeff Daniels, during the course of the film:

All these thousands of men. Many of the not much more than boys. Each one of them some mothers' son, some sisters' brother, some daughters father. Each one of them a whole person loved and cherished in some home far away. Many of them will never return. An army is power.Its entire purpose is to coherse others. This power can not be used carelessly or recklessly. This power can do great harm. We have seen more suffering than any man should ever see, and if there is going to be an end to it, it must be an end that justifies the cost. Now, somewhere out there is the Confederate army. They claim they are fighting for their independence, for their freedom. Now, I can not question their integrity. I believe they are wrong but I can not question it. But I do question a system that defends its own freedom while it denies it to an entire race of men. I will admit it Tom war is a scruge, but so is slavery. It is the systematic cohersion of one group of man over another. It has been around since the book of Genesis it exists in every corner of the world, but that is no excuse for us to tolerate it here when we find it right infront of our very eyes in our own country. As God as my witness there is no one I hold in my heart dearer than you. But if your life, or mine,is part of the price to end this curse and free the negro, then let God's work be done.

Yikes.

G&G lasts for an almost unendurable 231 minutes, a length that suggests an editor's outright timidity at the thought of confronting produce Ted Turner. Maxwell is also the perpetrator of the 1993 sequel/prequel Gettysburg, which came first in film but actually occurs after the events depicted in G&G. Interestingly, that means that in G&G the actors are ten years older in scenes that take place but a year before the events of the 1993 film. Maxwell's IMDB entry reveals that he had not directed a single film between 1993's Gettysburg and 2003's G&G.

It showed.

Off Duty XIII

Sigh. An absolutely ridiculous amount of business travel this past week kept me from my duties as your resident Chronological Snob, and the past weekend was reserved for recuperation from same. Thus, after a week of radio silence, I must resort to an "Off Duty" post today. Never fear, though, as my stockpile of posts needing only a bit of tinkering to finalize remains intact. Regular posting will resume anon.

The Week That Was (2/4 - 2/8)

"Thank god the 'Zero Effect' week is over," - Anonymous, commenting on Monday's Chronological Snobbery post entitled "Dan Cortese as Burger King Spokesman (1992)," following a week's worth of posts on the tenth anniversary of the 1998 film, Zero Effect, (2/4/08). Tell me about it. Last week's series of posts on the tenth anniversary of that film was wearisome, although I thought it turned out rather well in the end (and it even merited a link on USA Today's Pop Candy blog). Fear not; it's ten years until the twentieth anniversary.

"I confess that, yes, a culturally jingoistic part of me pitied these folks for caring so much about Super Bowl hoopla instead of enthusing over the sorts of things that keep me riled up and entertained. Meandering through crowds, slurping syrupy margaritas and hogwash beer, cheering music so proletarian and awful that listening physically made me blush (including a Tom Petty cover band performing on a stage in the midway outside the stadium), greedily snatching up promotional trinkets, and devouring all the entertainments presented to them like famine refugees at a banquet . . . why was this fun? Hadn't they ever read a book so thought-provoking they could hardly stand not to tell someone about it or stared at a sculpture so beautiful it made them cry or . . . cared about what I care about? Didn't they know how much richer life could be than this? I wanted to lead them all off to see a Tarkovsky film, like some bleedingly self-righteous Pied Piper of Culture. I felt very adolescent for feeling this way, since I knew better," T.S.T., "(Another) Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again: The Super Bowl Edition," Digest, (2/04/08). Who thought that winning free tickets to the Super Bowl would be such a moral and ethical dilemma?

J.D. Salinger and Two Films of 2002

Hipster Hollywood screenwriters have always slavishly worshipped Catcher in the Rye, and five years ago, the cinema saw two products of such idolatry: Igby Goes Down and The Good Girl. Both feature frustrated youths tortured by the quotidian demands of contemporary society. In Igby, Kieran Culkin plays Jason "Igby Slocumb, a put-upon adolescent who always has some clever, post-modern retort to the latest episode of adult hypocrisy. In The Good Girl, Jake Gyllenhaal is "Holden" Worther, a character with his own Salinger obsession, although his character is a bit less self aware. Isn't it gilding the lily to name the protagonist of your Salinger-themed screenplay "Holden"? (The Good Girl also features actress Zooey Deschanel, named for one of the title characters in Salinger's "Franny and Zooey.").

Said the 2002 New York Times review of Igby:

What is it with "The Catcher in the Rye" these days? Is it just a coincidence that in a matter of months, the J. D. Salinger classic has rung two cinematic bells? (Three if you count "The Good Girl," in which Jennifer Aniston's character has an affair with a clinically depressed self-styled Holden Caulfield.) Nor should we forget the plaintively whimsical films of Wes Anderson, which flaunt a Salingeresque sense of their own rarefied sensibility.

But this trend is not new. Even as far back as 1989's Field of Dreams has a connection through is source material according to the Internet Movie Database:

In the novel, the reclusive author whom Kinsella sought out was J.D. Salinger, whose novel "Catcher In The Rye" included a character named Richard Kinsella. The producers of the film adaptation were forced to create a fictional reclusive author (James Earl Jones' character, Terrence Mann), because of the threat of legal action by Salinger, who was reportedly incensed when the novel was published in 1982.

Click here for some photographs of Salinger's town, including one of his driveway.

So what is it that screenwriters, then, now, and everywhen heap worship upon Salinger? Is it because in high school, they, as the unappreciated and socially awkward writers, found solace in his works when their social oppressors were wooing cheerleaders and drinking cheap beer, activities they publicly held in disdain but secretly longed to join? Is it because Salinger captured the inarticulate social revulsion of adolescents and the maturation of those feelings of discomfort into more pronounced forms of adult awkwardness? Or is it because Salinger was cool and trendy in a way that John Grisham or other pop rubbish simply is not?

Perhaps the question is not why screenwriters or bloggers or journalists so adore Salinger. Might the inquiry best focus on why one would seek to translate that admiration into a theme or motif present in one's own work? By naming your protagonist after your own favorite protagonist, do you get to wink ever so slyly at yourself in the mirror and marvel at your own cleverness? Or are there other unforeseen rewards awaiting you, the writer of such things?

Off Duty XII

With the sudden influx of quotidian toil at my office, I can relate to Harry Lime, depicted above and played by Orson Welles in the 1949 film, The Third Man (which, Wikipedia notes, was released on the second day of 1950 in the United States). If you've not seen it, you have been deprived of a fine cinematic experience. The film also starred Joseph Cotten, who had appeared with Welles eight years before in Welles' magnus opus, Citizen Kane. Rounding out the cast was the lovely Italian actress, Alida Valli, who had appeared in the early 1940s Italian films, Noi Vivi and Addio, Kira, both based upon "We The Living," the first novel of Ayn Rand.

Directed by Goffredo Alessandrini, "Noi Vivi" (later combined with its sequel into a single film decades later) was a bold anti-totalitarian work considering who was running Italy at the time. The film generally avoids the haughty certainty of its source material and its author, who most thinking people abandon after a literary fling during the first semester of their freshman year of college. Although Rand was fiercely anti-communist, a champion of individualism seems less credible when she runs her school of thought as an absolutist. Rand - like the totaliarians she held in such great disdain - refused to tolerate any dissent in her philosophical movement, Objectivism. Further, Rand's novels are vexing in that her characters are not human beings to whom the reader can relate so much as amalgams of Rand's various philosophical tenets. As such, these Objectivist archetypes do not feel, emote, or change, as they have already reached the Randian ideal and thus they are already perfect in their creator's eyes. The other characters, as polar opposites of Rand's darlings, are weak stereotypes of collectivists or traitors to the capitalist utopia for which Rand longed. But with Valli as the protagonist/Rand surrogate, such faults can be overlooked when translated to celluloid.

Dan Cortese as Burger King Spokesman (1992)

"BK TeeVee, I love this place!"

Time was, Dan Cortese of MTV Sports became the official spokesperson for Burger King's television advertisements. In so doing, Cortese, attempting hipness in the most goofy of ways, interacted with everyday customers and employees, all the while exclaiming, "I love this place!" If you watched television in the early 1990s, you could not escape this ad campaign.

Forgotten fact: Burger King offered popcorn to patrons waiting for their food.

Surprisingly, these commercials, once so ubiquitous, have little presence on the Internets. Nevertheless, Chronological Snobbery has cobbled together a few that do exist online to create this entry dedicated to a once annoying, now nostalgic consumer culture campaign.

"They give you popcorn, just to chill with."

"If you loved the movie, you'll love the cup!"

"What's up with that?"

"It's table service!"

Believe it or not, Burger King's advertising strategy in this campaign was a significant enough change of pace to warrant coverage in the paper of record, The New York Times. In late 1992, the NYT's Adam Bryant reported:

In Burger King's current marketing campaign, an MTV host, Dan Cortese, declares, "I love this place," as he mugs his way through a series of rapid-cut ads pitching the fast-food chain's new table service.

Now that Burger King has been running its "BK TeeVee" campaign for a couple of months, it seems fair to ask whether others are embracing Burger King and its table service as eagerly as Mr. Cortese, who in the ads elicits enthusiastic reviews from the customers and crew members he interviews in Burger King outlets.

...

Other than saying Burger King's dinner-time business has jumped and the dinner-basket promotion has exceeded expectations, [Burger King's marketing czar Sidney J. Feltenstein] is not sharing proof of how well the ads are playing in the hearts and stomachs of fast-food fans.

If nothing else, Mr. Feltenstein can pat himself on the back for working Burger King onto the radar screens of the late-night hosts David Letterman, who has chided the ads as annoying, and Jay Leno, who took a camera crew to a Burger King for a "Tonight Show" segment.

...

Some franchisees and industry watchers have criticized the BK TeeVee campaign as too focused on the younger set, thereby missing the slightly older crowd for whom table service might hold some appeal. But Mr. Feltenstein shrugs off the notion, saying Burger King is drawing customers of all ages. "Some people have perceived a weakness in this campaign that it is so focused" on MTV-age viewers, he added. "But one of the strengths is that it appeals to broader demographics."¹

(See also here² and here³ for additional NYT reporting on Burger King's early 1990s advertising).

In 1993, Cortese told Entertainment Weekly: "Burger King, that's not how I act in real life. Sometimes , people call out, 'Dan, Dan, the Whopper Man!' I go, 'Yeah, right, thank you.'''

So what is the former Burger King pitchman up to these days? Cortese was recently cast as the host of the new reality show, "My Dad is Better Than Your Dad." (Link courtesy of TV Tattle, which also linked one of the commercials above).

1. Adam Bryant, "The Media Business; Advertising; Official Tries to Reverse Burger King's Marketing Record," New York Times, December 17, 1992.
2. Stuart Elliott, "The Media Business; Advertising; Once Again, Burger King Shops for an Agency," The New York Times, October 21, 1993.
3. Stuart Elliott, "The Media Business: Advertising; D.M.B&B. Promotes to Executives to Shore Up Basics," The New York Times, November 6, 1992.