Oh, shit, they're playing our song.......

October 15^th – I’m not sure how it gets to that point but there are certain songs that become massively popular, sort of stratospheric in popularity, then transcend their original character and become almost a self-parody, totally passé, derided by the very people who made it so famous in the first place. It’s almost as if the child has grown too quickly and its tantrums and constant demands have overstepped the bounds of propriety to the point where it’s now shunned by all when, in actual fact, it’s not the fault of the song. It’s the media hype that surrounded it, caused it to be every second song played on the radio, in stores on their musak-playback, in lifts and in every other talent show and karaoke bar; Slade’s Merry Christmas is one-such. Once upon a time a jolly little sing-along ditty that would be the high-point of any and every get-together I don’t know of a person nowadays who, on hearing it every fuckin’ November doesn’t groan outwardly and have the word;

Humbug

rattling round their head (usually the first of November, although, this year I did here the dulcet tones of some Tamla Christmas song being played on October 3rd).

This happens with performers too but it’s usually because that particular performer has transgressed in some way and has swiftly moved from media darling to grade-one wanker in a series of well documented and highly public faux pas’…usually much easier than you think too. Such a recent one is Justin Bieber, who’s managed to alienate just about everyone but his mum, and three ants living on his patio but only because they were deaf…and his mum probably thinks he’s a little shit by now too.

Gene Wilder is one of my favourite favourites in the comedic-acting world. I’m a big film buff, love watching them, reading about the background of the people involved, the development of the screenplay, the stories and production difficulties, the re-writes and scene deletions… the whole ball of wax; love it. I’ve mentioned it before; I’m the guy sat mid-stalls as the end credits roll, sticking it out until the Dolby logo comes up as everyone else scuttles out as soon as the last word is spoken. I know, I know, Get out more, Peter! I know, but humour me; it’s just one of my endearing qualities. (As an aside, I went to see Woody Allen’s new movie last night, Blue Jasmine when it first came out. Excellent. Big Woody Allen fan, I am. I directed one of his short stories, ages ago, in a play festival, two-hander, made second place against some really stiff opposition… Death Knocks it was called; funny…anyway, enough; Gene Wilder.

Most folk will associate Mr. Wilder with Blazing Saddles, the Mel Brooks western parody and, yes, he’s very funny in that, plays the washed-up gunslinger to a ‘T’, and I still think he was superior to Mr. Depp as Willy Wonka in the original. I think Mr. Depp overplayed the character, typical of Tim Burton really, to over-egg the pud; the childhood trauma Willy Wonka went through, as envisioned by the Burton/Depp retelling, was totally out of context, superfluous to the already well-established plot. Back-story is all well and good in a screenplay, but I felt, IMHO, that they’d missed the point. Willy Wonka didn’t have a mistrust of children because he had been tortured by his father, that’s too easy, too convenient a reasoning bordering on the lazy. Far more subtle but well described through expressions and vocal delivery was the character through-line of Mr. Wilder’s. It wasn’t mistrust, it was sadness. Sadness because he was aware of the greed and avarice that was becoming an all too important part of childhood. That children were now no longer children, missing out that decisive part of character building so important in the making of an adult, and that they were in danger of becoming just early clones of their parents…and that, yes, the parents were to blame… sorry, off on one…again.

Want to see Mr. Wilder at his best? Young Frankenstein. That’s the one. Superb comedy superbly played with probably one of the finest slapstick scenes in any movie ever; the blind man serving soup to the monster. A tour de force by Gene Hackman as the blind man. The other movie that for me shows Mr. Wilder’s comedic talent off to its finest is, Woman in Red, which has, by coincidence, another blind man scene in it; very funny; super. That film has the delectable Kelly LeBrock as the leading lady in it and has some iconic footage that has been much parodied over the years and which itself was taken from another iconic photo; the one of Marilyn Monroe having her white pleated skirt lifted high by a blast of air from the underground piping on the streets of New York. This is the event the character Gene Wilder plays first sees the lady in red and is smitten…the film’s near-title and signature tune also being lifted from a single that achieved number one status in the charts of 25 countries, made number two in the States, has sold in excess of 8 million copies, has had six ASCAP awards given to it and is acknowledged as being in the top 20 songs most played…on the planet; Lady in Red.

Played at almost every wedding for years, theme song to a million proposals, backing track to every affair in the Western world and with lyrics that are as well known as our national anthem, it suffered from its own popularity and, over a decade became the bench mark for schmaltzy, syrupy, mawkish, sloppy love songs…that and Eric Clapton’s Wonderful Tonight.

The song’s creator, Chris De Burgh, born this day in 1948, also suffered from the fall-out of his monster hit and was the butt of many a mimic in all branches of the media…and I’d like to say that I think it’s a poor way to portray a very gifted and articulate song-smith who may not have the finest singing voice in the world but who knows how to formulate a tune. Say Goodbye to it All off’f the Into the Light album (from which Lady in Red also comes from) has to be one of his best, certainly a great favourite of mine. A fine tale and a vocal line that will have you singing the harmonies to after just one hearing. His weaving of the Normandy landings and its aftermath, using the beachheads of Juno, Omaha and Gold as a backdrop to his a love story of loss and rediscovery is a standalone short-story in its own right; good stuff.

I know there are parts of his personal life that don’t read well (stones and glass-houses come to mind) and his stage shows have lost a little in the timescale (his antics with the audience as Lady in Red is performed having been commented on by many) but it is us who have created this particular monster; best thing I can think of is to give it some hot soup, sit it in the corner and give a lot more time to it’s less well known but far better cousins; Spirit of Man or The Ballroom of Romance for instance.