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Friday, January 10, 2003
Last night Chuck Barris appeared on Letterman, a visit occasioned by the release of a film - "Confessions of a Dangerous Mind" - based on a strange, fanciful book he wrote 20 years ago. I've had the book for years, since I'm fascinated by Barris and the cover blurbs were written by Cassavetes, Falk, Rowlands and Gazzara: the thinking spud's "rat pack." At the time, the book (billed as "an unauthorized autobiography") was mocked or ignored, but now it's been reissued since George Clooney has put it on the big screen. More'n likely, the shiny fandroids on shows like "Entertainment Tonight" cluck gaily over memories of the Dating Game and share "insider dish" (a tv dinner for shut-ins) about Barris and the film's cast.
This can be taken as a lowbrow version of the very late appreciation Charles Ives experienced once his music found champions and audiences. Barris seems to be enjoying his, thank heaven. Ives was too far along to care very much, but it's hard to imagine that he didn't feel some sense of vindication (not validation; he never wanted or needed that). The only parallel is this extra-innings notice; these are the very different stories of very different men. For me, though, it's notable because my interest in Barris began the same time as my obsession with Ives: 16 years old.
When the Gong Show started airing, I loved it so much that I'd cut high school 2 periods early each day in order to catch it at home. A guidance counselor cautioned that this would doom my academic career. "But you will never receive a high school diploma!" "But I'll have seen the Gong Show." True on both counts, and while the Gong Show began to seriously suck before very long, it was probably the better choice. The program was fun for a while, and "fun for a while" is the best thing I can say about most of life. Around that same time, by the way, Pete and I regaled ourselves with another weird game show entitled "Money Maze." It was abominable: contestants scampered like rats through a huge maze looking for money (hence the name, see). Your host and star of "Money Maze" was Nick Clooney, George's pappy. The fabric of existence weaves itself whole.
So, Mazel Tov to Barris and his current burst of fame.
This can be taken as a lowbrow version of the very late appreciation Charles Ives experienced once his music found champions and audiences. Barris seems to be enjoying his, thank heaven. Ives was too far along to care very much, but it's hard to imagine that he didn't feel some sense of vindication (not validation; he never wanted or needed that). The only parallel is this extra-innings notice; these are the very different stories of very different men. For me, though, it's notable because my interest in Barris began the same time as my obsession with Ives: 16 years old.
When the Gong Show started airing, I loved it so much that I'd cut high school 2 periods early each day in order to catch it at home. A guidance counselor cautioned that this would doom my academic career. "But you will never receive a high school diploma!" "But I'll have seen the Gong Show." True on both counts, and while the Gong Show began to seriously suck before very long, it was probably the better choice. The program was fun for a while, and "fun for a while" is the best thing I can say about most of life. Around that same time, by the way, Pete and I regaled ourselves with another weird game show entitled "Money Maze." It was abominable: contestants scampered like rats through a huge maze looking for money (hence the name, see). Your host and star of "Money Maze" was Nick Clooney, George's pappy. The fabric of existence weaves itself whole.
So, Mazel Tov to Barris and his current burst of fame.
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