The amiable host of The Daily Show, Trevor Noah, did an excellent job of explaining the value of nuance after France's ambassador objected to his remarks about a major sports victory by French athletes.
Several years ago, members of the Asian-American theatre community took up arms against the practice of casting Caucasian actors in roles specifically written for Asian characters (yellowface). There were also protests against several productions of Gilbert & Sullivan's popular operetta, The Mikado (1885), which is a very British satire of Victorian society set in the mythical Japanese town of Titipu. During this time, I never heard any of mention of whether Asian-American singers had auditioned for roles in productions of The Mikado, whether such artists had been rejected -- and most important -- whether these artists could sing Sullivan's music well enough to satisfy the show's music director.
The latest brouhaha to erupt involves a song that, in 2019, will celebrate the 75th anniversary of its release. Frank Loesser's lyrics to 1944's "Baby, It's Cold Outside" have come under attack from a generation whose flirting skills are primarily limited to social media. The line "Say, what's in this drink?" is now being accused of triggering fears of date rape.
Thankfully, not everyone agrees with this stance. After radio stations started removing Loesser's song from their holiday playlists, polling showed that the general public strongly disagreed with the decision and wanted to hear the song. To make matters worse, during a season known for its controversial claims about a "War on Christmas," songs like 1934's "Santa Claus Is Coming To Town" and 1952's "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" have now come under the lens of the new Puritanism.
Not surprisingly, many comedians have opted to record video versions of "Baby, It's Cold Outside." Some of these portray women as victims of sexual harassment who are unable to repel a man's unwanted advances or struggling to escape from a horror film. In other parodies, a woman is depicted as more than capable of clobbering a man with a fire iron or, perhaps, as a sloppy, slutty drunk who simply won't take no for an answer. Thankfully, some videos offer unexpected perspectives on the situation.
It's easy enough to find racism, sexism, and homophobia in contemporary culture (as well as in stories from historical eras). But there are plenty of times when a transgressive sense of humor is the perfect tool to explain something previously considered innocent that, by today's standards, might be deemed taboo. When all else fails, the sheer brilliance and inanity of physical comedy can provide a sorely-needed tonic to some of today's most self-righteous critics. Laughter has often been hailed as the best form of medicine and there are times when slapstick can accomplish a whole lot more than someone getting "slapped upside the head."
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To start off its December 1st mini-festival entitled A Day of Silents, the San Francisco Silent Film Festival presented a trio of short films by Laurel and Hardy with John Mirsalis at the piano. With an upcoming biopic entitled Stan & Ollie (starring Steve Coogan and John C. Reilly) due for a theatrical release in the United States on December 28, the timing could not have been better. Although they started off on separate career paths, Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy appeared together in 32 silent shorts, 40 shorts with sound and 23 feature films. As Thomas Gladysz explained in his program essay:“By the time Stan and Ollie were formally teamed in 1927, each was in his late thirties and each seasoned actors. Each had also developed a set of idiosyncratic characteristics that soon led to screen immortality. Stan was elastic, and emotional. He often broke out sobbing at the first sign of trouble and was child-like and clumsy. His signature bit was a top-of-the-head scratch, accentuated by a haircut that was short on the sides and long on top. Ollie was pompous and overbearing and wore thinning hair slicked down on his forehead. He sported a toothbrush mustache to affect a degree of sophistication, but twiddled his tie boyishly when nervous. Ollie was often the victim of Stan’s dim wit. One effective bit in many of their films is Ollie’s stare, a direct appeal to the audience. He never breaks the fourth wall, but his pathetic look into the camera acts as an invitation to share his indignation.”
“Many credit Laurel more than Hardy for the sparkling comedy found in their early films. Though he played not-so-bright on screen, Laurel was in fact the patient brains behind the partnership, working to improve each production. As their comedy was largely visual, Laurel and Hardy were at the height of their creativity in the silent era. With the coming of sound, however, it wasn’t necessary to alter the basic formula of their films. In fact, a number of their talkies were largely a reworking of their silent routines. They kept doing what they did so well and achieved even greater popularity in the 1930s.”
The three shorts shown during A Day of Silents were 1928's The Finishing Touch and 1929's Liberty and Big Business. Over the years, as I've watched the great comics of the silent era (Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, Harold Lloyd), I've noticed a curious pattern. On first viewing, one is trying to take in so much of what is happening onscreen that the sight gags produce belly laughs and, in some cases, tears from laughing so hard while trying to catch one's breath.
However, the more I watch these incredible artists (who did their own stunts), the more I am in awe of the intricate planning and clever set-up for each bit of physical comedy as well as the sheer ingenuity and daring of their achievements. While I never stop learning as I watch them, I never stop laughing, either. Laurel and Hardy were among a select crowd of early 20th century geniuses at their craft. Watching them in action is both a pleasure and a never-ending privilege.
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Published in 1965, film critic Pauline Kael's first book was entitled "I Lost It At The Movies." The subtext of John Fisher's new one-man show, A History of World War II: the D-Day Invasion to the Fall of Berlin (currently playing at The Marsh), offers a peek into how Fisher "found it" at the movies.As the Artistic Director of Theatre Rhinoceros (the world's oldest LGBT theatre company), Fisher has been a fixture in the Bay area's theatre community. A prolific playwright, he has also directed and appeared in many productions. A man who heartily embraces wretched excess, he has also displayed a penchant for shameless mugging.
From 1998's Combat, 1999's Partisans, and 2003's Amnesia to 2007's Special Forces, 2011's Fighting Mac, 2015's Shakespeare Goes To War, and 2014's The Battle of Midway! Live! Onstage!, many of Fisher's plays have focused on stories about gay soldiers trying to survive in the theatre of war. His latest creation was developed at Theatre Rhinoceros and first performed at the 2017 United Solo Festival in New York City (where he received the award for Best Actor).
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| John Fisher (Photo by: Paul Tena) |
Co-directed by Fisher and Jerry Metzker, A History of World War II: the D-Day Invasion to the Fall of Berlin reveals a great deal of John's personal backstory, explaining how a precocious, hyperactive adolescent hungry for attention started to get a clue about his sexual orientation while falling in love with war movies.
Having grown up in a suburban WASP family, Fisher spent many afternoons watching horror films on television with his mother (her favorite genre). Upon watching Where Eagles Dare one night with his older brother, John realized that he could elevate his social status from "family spazz" to a young man with "cool" interests by watching more war movies. He soon became obsessed. A fervent researcher, his new monologue is peppered with references to the best books about World War II as well as the most handsome actors who appeared in movies about the second World War.
At certain points, Fisher reverts to a gushing adolescent fanboy, slithering across the stage floor as he re-enacts favorite battle scenes while assigning key sound effects (cannons, machine guns, etc.) to various sections of the audience. Sprinkled throughout the evening are self-conscious moments of childlike insecurity masked by physical shtick he obviously learned from watching actors like Paul Lynde, Jerry Lewis, The Three Stooges, and Laurel and Hardy.
As he delves further into what attracted him to war movies, Fisher zeroes in on a key piece of budding self-awareness. Although, at a young age, he couldn't articulate exactly why he got so excited while watching war movies, he was obviously attracted to the sight of men in uniform. The taboo part of his story is that, because one side always had better uniforms and more handsome actors than the other, he invariably found himself attracted to Nazi officers who were better dressed than their Allied counterparts.
As one watches Fisher perform, the amount of energy he expends onstage is daunting. With the kind of stamina that could match the Energizer Bunny, he is driven by his passion for the history of World War II, an encyclopedic knowledge acquired through years of research, and a seemingly endless supply of adrenaline. This show is guaranteed to appeal to history and movie buffs.
Performances of A History of World War II: the D-Day Invasion to the Fall of Berlin continue through February 2 at The Marsh (click here for tickets).
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