When the Stars Aligned For Comedy

Time is a funny thing. I often felt in my youth that I was growing up in the wrong time, which had a lot to do with the movies I watched and the music I listened to. I grew up listening to the “oldies” radio station with my dad in his old pickup truck, which filled my head with Bo Diddley beats and Chuck Berry doublestops, Buddy Holly jangles and Little Richard’s howls. The Beatles were my Dad’s favorite band, but the oldies station would only play their early songs back then. I still heard the 80s songs that were current at the time, but my concept of good music was from Motown, the British Invasion, and pre-Vegas Elvis. 

Dad was also responsible for introducing me to The Three Stooges, which played on the local network on Sunday mornings which, for my money, was a fine substitute for church. There weren’t many my age who really dug the Stooges all that much, or for that matter anything else in black and white- but Moe, Larry, and Curly opened a door into a monochrome world that I accepted without question. Even if I had no friends to share the laughs with, there was an embarrassment of hilarious riches for me in the films of Abbott and Costello, the Marx Brothers, Our Gang, Buster Keaton, Charlie Chaplin, and Laurel and Hardy. There were stations that had room for the classic comedy material in their programming here and there, and I figured out which days I had to get up early to watch them. Often I’d be laughing into a pillow to muffle the sound, for fear of waking my family.

By extension, this opened my mind to the history of cinema more broadly, in ways that were perhaps alien to my peers. As a result, when I went to the video rental spot or surfed the channels on early cable, I became fluent in the classic Universal Monster flicks, tons of atomic age B-movies, films by Hitchcock, and eventually surrealist works by masters like Bunuel. I was always unapologetically a nerd about this stuff, and as I made my way to adulthood (if indeed I ever grew up, in the stricter sense) I found others who had similar tastes. Now, in an age where everything can be streamed or downloaded or purchased online with a quick two-day delivery, it seems like I might have been born at precisely the right time. The same technology also allows me to wax nostalgic online and record podcasts, finding still other friends and sympathetic audiences for my nerdery. Sirius XM has whole channels that will play music from the 50s and 60s, and my commute home can transport me back in time to the shotgun seat of my Dad’s pickup truck with a twist of the dial or a quick search on spotify. Perhaps best of all, finding any answer to any question, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential, about the artists who made these songs, movies, and other media is readily searchable and discoverable online. Which leads me, circuitously and idiosyncratically, to the subject at hand: how the stars aligned for the biggest stars in early comedy.

In comedy, timing is everything. For a master class in comedic timing, one need only watch Abbott and Costello’s “Who's on First?” routine. The premise is ridiculous, and the punchlines are minimal- it’s the rhythm that really sells it. If you watch this routine, then watch any episode of Seinfeld, you’ll notice a similarity in this punctuated comedic timing between Jerry and George. Likewise, if you were to watch anyone attempt the classic baseball sketch who lacks the necessary skills that Bud and Lou innately had it wouldn’t be funny at all. It would fall completely flat. Through wit or pratfall, through cheap laughs or clever satire, comedy is hard- but if you can’t time the joke correctly, it’s impossible.

William “Bud” Abbott was born on October 2, 1897, and would go on to be considered the greatest straight man of all time. Comedy duos often rely on the tension and interplay between the one who plays it straight and the one who hams it up, and usually the straight man was considered the real talent- and was compensated accordingly. One might think, as I always did, that this was counter intuitive- isn’t the wackier guy really carrying the comedy? But, as it happens, you need both parts for the balance to work properly. Besides, it must be extremely difficult to avoid laughing or smiling in the role of the straight man, and Bud was the best in the biz. One prominent voice in comedy who thought so was none other than Julius “Groucho” Marx, who was born on the same day as Abbott seven years earlier. A pattern emerges- two of the greatest voices in classic comedy, born on the same day! For a comedy nerd such as myself, who also has leanings toward the mystical, the thread was too enticing to avoid tugging on. 

"Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana."

Naturally, I had to see if any Three Stooges birthdays fell on the same day, and while none did, Ted Healy’s birthday was the day before. Healy was the original leader of the trio, and they were billed as “Ted Healy and His Stooges”. The original lineup was just Moe and Shemp, with Larry added later. The boys were unfairly treated (and poorly paid) by Healy, which inspired them to break out on their own and forgo the straight man. Shemp, however, was so afraid of crossing Ted that he left the group. As such, needing a third member, Jerome “Curly” Howard became the beloved third Stooge. Incidentally, Larry Fine’s birthday was October 5. 

Although born in different years, it seems worth further digging when three of the best known comedy teams of all time share such a birthday cluster. The natural next step is to see if other patterns emerge- and wouldn’t you know it, they did! Lou Costello, Shemp Howard, and Chico Marx were all born in March (on the 3rd, the 11th, and the 22nd respectively). While the date range is slightly more spread out, it’s striking that all three comedy groups had this October to March dynamic in them. Thinking in terms of astrology, this would be the interplay between the signs of Libra and Pisces. Technically, this falls apart since Chico was born outside of Pisces, but his brother Zeppo wasn’t- his birthday was February 25. Zeppo was always stuck with smaller roles that were played much more straight than those of Harpo, Chico, and Groucho. After appearing in five of their movies, he left the group, and many Marx Brothers fans agree that despite his apparently minor contributions in the movies, they were never the same without him. Even though he wasn’t as outlandish as his brothers in the films, it is said that he was something of an understudy to Groucho. If, for some reason, Groucho couldn’t make it to a live show, Zeppo would throw on a greasepaint moustache and eyebrows and play the part well enough that no one knew the difference! In an odd twist to an already odd line of inquiry, regular cast member and foil to the antics of the Marxes Margaret Dumont was born in the sign of Libra and died in the sign of Pisces. 

Expanding the scope of birthdays to a full month or full astrological birth sign, we can go ahead and include Curly Howard, since he was born on October 22nd, the tail end of Libra. This means that the Libra-Pisces convergence between Healy and Shemp, which was the origin of the Three Stooges, once broken, gave way to a Libra-heavy team as Curly stepped in. When Curly’s health left him unable to continue making films, Shemp returned, restoring the balance. Shemp and Curly were about equally funny, but in very different ways. Perhaps a comparison of the two might unlock a secret about this cosmic comedy dynamic, and unveil the reason behind this alchemy that produces the finest farce. Or perhaps, like explaining a joke, it will simply render it a formula bereft of life and laughter. 

The truth is, I know much more about classic comedy than I do astrology. I’m loath to admit that I have never really had much interest in horoscopes and zodiac signs, which may mean I’m a bad occultist. I find it all very tedious, and not least for the reason that it’s all so complicated and involves a lot of math.

(Fortuitously enough, as I was putting this post together the local clowns here in Worcester put together a Clown Zodiac, which is very helpful and appropriate. How's THAT for timing? Go follow Mother Goose (@motherlucygoose) on Instagram to find your clown sign!)

I know enough about astrology to know that the sign you’re born under is only a part of your overall chart, and that the place of birth, the year, and the time of day all inform the broader picture of your personality and fate. That being the case, only the broadest conclusions could be pulled from what is admittedly an incredibly niche and weird focus of study. I have doubts in the extreme that anyone would be interested enough in doing a deeper dive into the astrological profiles of the comedy giants mentioned in this article, but if that person exists, I’d like to meet them! Beyond these caveats, it seems to me that a lot of astrology is somewhat open to interpretation. So I will do my best, with limited ability, to work with what I have… *

The zodiac has 12 signs, and the two signs in question here represent the 7th and 12. The earlier signs in the zodiac, ending with Virgo, are highly individualized and focus strictly on the personality while the last six illustrate the individual in relation to others. Libra is symbolized by scales, representing justice. Libras prefer to work in teams or partnerships, which seems significant for our purposes, and make great leaders and diplomats. We see this in Groucho, Abbott, and Ted Healy as they were all leaders in their own way. Likewise, Larry Fine was the glue that held the Stooges together, a bridge between the ornery Moe and the third Stooge, and remained in the act until the end. Curly was the team player who acted as a bridge for Shemp’s absence and eventual return. Meanwhile, Pisces is represented by two fish, and as a sign is much more creative and emotional in nature. Thinking in terms of emotion, one might consider that the funniest on-screen moments from Shemp or Lou Costello result from them becoming angry or fearful. According to astrology dot com, both signs share similarities and seek balance in their own ways. It seems like perhaps they do in ways that are complimentary, at least fleetingly, but often don’t last. We can consider that Bud and Lou eventually parted ways, and that Zeppo left his brothers a trio, and that Shemp only returned well after the danger of crossing Healy was moot. Perhaps there’s a kind of tension creatively that makes the timing work so well, that informs the routines and increases the laughter- or perhaps the answer isn’t to be found in the stars.

I often think of the comedy in these old films as being timeless, even if the jokes are dated and a bit corny. There's a cosmic thread of primordial funny running through in spite of the black and white set pieces and archaic lingo. Paradoxically, the timing is timeless. Groucho said that humor is logic gone mad, and here we are. He also said he wanted to live forever or die trying, and in a way he has. The influence of the planets may have something to do with the chemistry, which is, after all, just another name for alchemy. As discussed above, Bud and Lou were dynamic as a duo, balancing each other perfectly. It gets more complicated with the four Marx Brothers or the Three Stooges, but examining this chemistry is worthwhile there as well. Abbott and Costello were a pair of buddies, the Stooges were like the Three Musketeers, while the Marx Brothers had an altogether different formula.

Groucho, as the Libra Jester portrayed authority figures as a way of challenging the entire concept of authority. Chico was always paired with his silent partner Harpo. (Hey, I had to get a dumb joke in on that one. It's worth noting that Harpo's mime routine was picked up as an avatar for the "Greek God of Silence" Harpocrates by Discordians...) There's probably no better example of Groucho's parody of leadership than his role as Rufus T. Firefly, the leader of Freedonia in "Duck Soup". The wacky political satire received mixed reviews at its 1933 release, but saw a renaissance of recognition as a classic by the counterculture of the 60s and 70s. The Jester figure of Firefly is never far from my mind when real-life political buffoonery presents itself. Just a few days before writing this, I had occasion to paraphrase the character in regard to our current president... "He may look like an idiot, and talk like an idiot, but don't let that fool you-- he really is an idiot." This, of course, was a line at Chico's expense. Though Chico and Harpo were paired together and often in opposition to Groucho, some of the best and most quotable scenes in the films are those with Groucho and Chico. Whether it's Groucho trying to gain access to a speakeasy with Chico in his way, or the signing of a contract in "A Night at the Opera", the wisecracking Groucho finds that no quick turn of wit can compete fully with Chico's blissful lack of understanding. Humor IS logic gone mad, and there ain't no sanity clause after all.

The Three Stooges have a lot less of this dynamic in isolation to study. Moe was often the one directing the action, and Curly or Shemp (and later, Joe Besser or Curly Joe DeRita) was on the receiving end of the most slapstick moments. Larry is often left out of the discussion, as he is less often the main subject of our attention. He was great though, as as the Libra of the group was the fulcrum in the balancing act without which the whole thing falls apart. For our purposes here, we can analyze Larry with Shemp at the beginning of The Brideless Groom. Shemp and Larry both have an advantage in comedy simply for being funny looking. Shemp could be funny with just his hair- going from the slicked back look to hair covering his face was always laugh-worthy. Known as "The ugliest man in Hollywood", prior to joining back up with the boys for the short films, he was doing ok for himself with other comedy acts. He appeared alongside W. C. Fields, Fatty Arbuckle, and Abbott and Costello. Scenes of his were cut from Abbott and Costello's movies because they were too funny, and stealing the thunder of Bud and Lou. We see him at his best in The Brideless Groom, in which he's forced to marry as a condition of receiving an inheritance. The singing lesson at the beginning has Larry and Shemp both reacting in their own ways to terrible singing, and it's hilarious. I will contend that Shemp was just as funny as Curly again, and sadly we only get to see them together onscreen once- Curly appears as a sleeping passenger on a train in the 1947 short "Hold That Lion!"

It makes one wonder if there's a hidden Leo influence in the mix...

Perhaps there’s something about being born in the months when autumn lays the trees bare and something about having a birthday when those same trees are about to come back to life again- the death and rebirth cycle- that lends itself to great, timeless comedy. There may be other examples of this phenomena, if indeed the word applies, outside of comedy. There may be others still within the comedic but in a later era which have escaped me. This dynamic seems to exist in the aforementioned Our Gang films, as George McFarlane (Spanky) also shares a birthday with Groucho and Bud, while his co-star Billie Thomas (Buckwheat) was a Pisces. Perhaps I’m seeing patterns where they don’t exist, but I consider comedy to be a mystical and sacred thing. I can’t help but wonder…

It’s not as though I haven’t noticed other examples. Take the month of June, for instance, along with the great oldies music I grew up with- Paul McCartney, Brian Wilson, and Ray Davies all have birthdays within a few days of one another. McCartney and Wilson were even born in the same year! It’s amazing to think that some of the most well-remembered songwriters for three of the biggest bands in the 60s- The Beatles, the Beach Boys, and the Kinks- would have this in common. One might be interested to know that Elvis Presley and David Bowie also shared a birthday.

 

Here’s another one: horror legends Vincent Price and Christopher Lee shared the same birthday, while Peter Cushing’s birthday was the day before. It seems such an odd coincidence, and maybe that’s because it’s not. Or maybe, coincidence is entirely common and we all seek meaning where there is none. 

There are times, however, when one wants to chase these phantom flights of fancy if only for a laugh, a hit of nostalgia, or a passing moment of wonder at the machinery of the universe and the myriad ways it produces joy. Whatever time it is for you, I hope it was well spent as I indulged in this investigation.

*This piece has been on the back burner for literally years. I have had more than enough time to learn astrology but have failed to do so. Readers might be surprised how often something I’m writing has wallowed in the wings for years before finally being fleshed out…

A World-Weary Wizard Wills Himself to Write

 

It has been a while since I've written anything for this site. I have still been writing, though not as much as I would like. I have also released a podcast every week for almost a year, covering a variety of topics with guests I feel blessed to chat with. Over the summer was my very first public lecture, traveling to Gettysburg to speak at the Paranormal Research Symposium. I think I've done OK for myself, considering all that is happening in the world, but still when I meet someone and tell them I'm a writer in response to the unavoidable question "What do you do?", I immediately feel sheepish for not doing more of it. I wonder if I deserve the title, if I'm kidding myself, or whether any of it matters. Therein lies the rub...

There has been an overwhelming sense that nothing in particular matters- that is to say, that the mundane reality of everyday life is just so much inertia towards an inevitable endpoint while mad and evil monsters trample the landscape. In plain terms, shit's fucked these days, and it becomes increasingly difficult to care about the minutia of my day job and worse, that my creative endeavors are little more than momentary diversions for myself and brief distractions for those inclined to read or listen to me.

Writing, for me, is a sacred craft. It's art and it's magic. Weaving words together to convey a sentiment, to drive home a point, to wax poetic or to crack a joke, language affords us bridges from mind to mind and heart to heart. Those who have a gift with words, one supposes, have an obligation to use them. One wonders how best to do that for the benefit of all in a world with such divisions and contrasts. The world is insane, as Mr. Natural said; and I deeply resent being the one to point that out. I am content to stay in my lane, writing about Elvis and UFOs and Clowns and the Loch Ness Monster. These subjects make me happy, and I find all of the weirdest stuff so fascinating. If the metrics on my site or podcast are to be believed, plenty of others do as well and I am ever grateful for the opportunity to share this material. It would seem I'm at a disadvantage, thinking magically as I tend to do, in conveying to others just how nuts everything has gotten more broadly; and yet here I am, feeling like the only sane person in a galaxy of madness. I've been told that I have a gift for words, but if I have to confront the realities of the political world only the four letter variety come to mind. I've often thought that we're living in a story Kafka dreamed up, then discarded as too unbelievable to commit to page.

I have become less active online, and on the rare occasion I get drawn into an argument it really just feels like going through the motions. One wonders again how useful it is to even bother with opinions on social media, or to do much of anything at all. This is, of course, useful to the oppressors of the world. Hopelessness and fear work in their favor, but even as I resist these things I find myself just so exhausted from having to proceed as though everything is normal. It's hard to get into a mindset to read a book for enjoyment or research some odd topic when the inner voices just want to scream "WHAT THE FUCK" all day. In the wake of a rage-baiting online influencer's death, it has become apparent that none of us has the luxury to be quiet now and loud later. Many are already being silenced, and many more will be.

At the time of this writing, a late night show host has been suspended for one of the most milquetoast, mild, and barely insulting jokes toward a sitting president I have ever heard. The beatification process for the new martyr of MAGA is well underway, and critics are treated as heretics fit only for the stake. Some are seeing this as the canary in the coal mine as far as an authoritarian takeover of the U.S. goes, which to my mind ignores the many blacklunged, sick, dying, or dead miners who have piled up in the mine leading up to this moment. I'd argue that entire shafts have collapsed and there has probably been cannibalism, and worse, over-extended metaphor. The point is, authoritarianism is here, and it ain't going away any time soon.

The time may come when we all will be silenced, unless we pledge an oath to the orange Ubu Roi. I'm almost certain it will come, and soon.

While I still can, in the plainest terms possible, I must defer to my wizardly ways and exorcise the demons of WTF-ness clouding my mind by getting a few things off my chest. I won't say "Let's be clear", like so damned many Democrats say now. One should always be clear. What I mean is using plain words, avoiding the mire of bad faith discourse online trolls thrive on. Bad faith actors will endlessly twist words, demand definitions, supplant their own, and move away from any meaningful discussion. Most of the time the whole point is to invoke anger, confusion, and cruelty. So in plain words, we're up against bad people. Bad people are utilizing crazy ideas, stupidity, and malice in order to advance authoritarianism- and they are astonishingly adept at it.

We're in the age of the Trickster. Hunter S. Thompson said "when the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." It becomes strangely prophetic in ways that I doubt he ever imagined, even in the deepest throes of the worst bad trip. The Trickster era is tricky, and terrifying, and darkly funny all at once. After all, I love crazy ideas. I cultivate plenty of them myself, and consider myself a connoisseur of weird beliefs down through the ages. It's easy to see, however, how many of these ideas lead to evil ends. "Conspiracy theory" has always been a term used as a shorthand for "crazy ideas", but these days has lost all meaning- especially as the worst and stupidest and most harmful ones have become mainstream. When the going gets this kind of weird, it turns out us weirdos are perhaps the most flummoxed. There are a multitude of old tropes being brought to the fore, dumbed down and delivered to the masses as news or as "independent research".  A straight decade of this has left the average person lost, cast adrift in waters of uncertainty. In a world of limitless information and infinite distraction, no one can be sure what to believe. And there are always monsters confidently telling those people what those beliefs should be.

I love stupidity too. Stupidity is great. As a longtime member in good standing of the Amalgamated Association of Morons I'm endlessly amused by it, but I don't want it in seats of power. I feel as though fear of being perceived as elitist, or some kind of bully, has made folks afraid of calling stupidity out when it is baldly showcased. The head of the current regime is as stupid as it gets, and no one will convince me otherwise. He's surrounded by sycophantic, unqualified rubes who are either just as stupid or who just don't mind appearing to be. It's all so mind-bendingly stupid that one wonders whether we can ever recover, or if perhaps its better to get a frontal lobotomy and be done with it once and for all.

If crazy and stupid weren't bad enough, this regime channels it all into pure malice, while moralizing to us about their alleged concerns. Ghouls gleefully joking about feeding immigrants to alligators as they resurrect the concentration camp here in the States will cynically talk about Christian belief and family values; they will consider the corpse and rubble strewn area that used to be Gaza nothing more than a promising piece of real estate while they demand you shed tears for a man who made it his mission to dehumanize not just the people of that region, but all Muslims everywhere. To them, everything is transactional, and one's humanity isn't guaranteed- it must be qualified, must meet criteria, must bow down to the inflated orange pussbag. Inalienable rights are a foreign concept to these smug goons, and even when they're winning, they're miserable. They act as though they're being persecuted even as they wield all the power, using their position to demonize the most vulnerable among us. They are bad people, and they are instituting a new and innovative form of authoritarian terror that has familiar hallmarks- and for the record, authoritarianism is bad. This is all very bad, and it's exhausting watching people behave as though it's not.

So much of this feels like it doesn't need to be said. I had high hopes, and still do in some ways, that most people recognize this. I can't blame people for diverting their gaze or being willfully ignorant, as in some ways I'm guilty of this myself. Human beings are odd creatures, and all of us are complicated with our own particular blindspots, biases, bigotries, and complex emotional sets. All of us are human, all of us are of a kind. We're kin, all of us, and Christ even said as much, regardless of what these fascists cosplaying as Christians tell you. Some will argue that it is human nature to fight, but I disagree. The average person does not want to bomb their neighbor out of existence. The atrocities and horrors that occur every day on our planet all blend together into a cacophony too large and disturbing to confront, and it seems many will avoid it until it's on their doorstep. A return to the old status quo, even if possible, only forestalls the inevitable. Fence post sitters will minimize every stripping away of rights, equivocate each indignity, and make excuses for every last violation of everything good in the human race. They will say "both sides have some good ideas", or throw whataboutisms out to confuse the issue. They will say that I'm overreacting. These people are the welcome mat that authoritarianism wipes its boot on, before using it to step on the throat of Liberty. 

So much for using plain language. Let's take that again- the trump regime is bad and stupid and crazy, and they are well on their way in turning the U.S. into an authoritarian dictatorship. That is bad, and you should feel bad if you support it.

No one is coming to save us and the checks and balances built in to our government have been systematically dismantled. No one can say with a straight face that the tinyhanded imbecile in charge has done anything to protect, preserve, or defend the Constitution. We, the People, are on our own. But we are on our own together. I refuse to give in, to give way to despair and hopelessness. I also will not romanticize the past or seek to return to systems that created our reality show sandwich of a nightmare hellworld. After it all burns down, we will have to rebuild, and the best time to start is now. What that looks like will be different for every compassionate person with half a brain and a functional heart. The basic principle is kindness and community. Love thy neighbor, help them out- it'll drive these "Christian" right whack jobs crazy. Think of the homeless, the transfolk in your area, the immigrants, everyone in the crosshairs of this maladjusted monstrosity of an administration, and dream up ways to help. Reality doesn't just happen. We make it happen. We made this current mess happen, and we'll have to clean it up. Assuming history books still exist for future generations, consider which side you'll be recorded as having been on.

I'm on team human. You can't join the team if you're OK with trump.

Now, maybe I can get back to exploring the workings of the cosmos...

Flim Flam, Fables, and the Phenomenon

 

The study and pursuit of something so nebulous as UFO phenomena, especially when you are open enough to include tangential phenomena as part of what is often now referred to simply as "The Phenomenon", can feel like a maddening and foolish endeavor. One can investigate UFOs in any number of ways, or some combination of various ways. UFOs have been looked as a sociological phenomenon, and from a psychological perspective. They have been studied in varying types of scientific methodologies, from the astronomical to the statistical. They can be fodder for B-movies and tabloid headlines, or they can be viewed through mystical and occult perspectives. All of these combine in a view of UFOs as modern folklore and myth-making, where the stories themselves are the important part and proof of their veracity or physical reality is secondary. After all, physical evidence is in short supply; it could be that the paradigms we have for determining "reality" of something so strange as UFOs is ill-equipped to contend with how malleable reality really is, that the physical realm isn't the only one, and that the truth tends to be found in unexpected places beyond the grasp of measurable data. 

Even when we consider the folkloric, mythic narratives of high strangeness, we are forced to contend with the old chestnut of reliability of the witness. I have tackled this subject before here on this blog, but for our purposes now I want to explore how witness testimony tends to be handled. A lot of the classic UFO stories were heralded by researchers because of the supposed reliability of the witness to the event; for instance, the Lonnie Zamora encounter- as a policeman he was thought to be trustworthy and a "trained observer". Many other incidents reported by law enforcement are held up as more reliable, and the same treatment gets applied to those serving in the armed forces or to those in academia. We gravitate towards authority when facing the unknown, even if the unknown by definition has no attendant authority figure. It seems that some amount of UFO enthusiasts have turned away from this mindset, and are more likely to consider cases like that of Joe Simonton and his flying saucer flapjacks. Of course, old Joe did have some physical evidence in the form of the pancake, which was tested and found to be composed of mundane, earthly elements- which would seem to discredit his story. It would seem that way, perhaps, but the story still persists, even though Simonton was not a "trained observer". 

Using too many specific examples may bog down the point being made here, but as a general rule most well-known UFO encounter stories, and personalities attached to them, become controversial in one way or another. Retellings of events, attempts at debunking (up to and including character assassination), profiteering, and sensationalism all play a part in weakening the credibility of a story. Sometimes the tales buckle under the weight of a little bit of scrutiny, only to be bolstered by further scrutiny of the sources scrutinizing them. Ultimately, they may fall down completely, or stand tall as a tale of mystery. If my way of writing about this seems absurdly repetitive, that's intentional- the idiosyncratic use of language here illustrates well the distortions caused by the feedback loop in looking closely at the highly strange. The caution here would be not to throw out the proverbial babies with the tubs of proverbial bath water. When scrutiny reveals inconsistencies, it may simply mean that the story is too weird to be related any other way.

UFOlogists have classically hated a hoaxer. Anyone caught in a lie (as a witness, at least) is subject to being written off entirely by some amount of what can loosely be called "the field" of UFOlogy. The major investigation groups abhorred "repeaters" back in the day; it was thought that the odds were against even a singular sighting, and that anyone with multiple such stories was likely to be a liar or mentally ill. If such a person also dabbled in magic, or lived in a haunted house, or once saw Bigfoot, the credibility meter would drop much further. Sometimes you would have what sounded like a "normal" UFO sighting, and the attendant other phenomena would be omitted from the report for fear that it would undermine the legitimacy of the primary story. In the service of presenting a palatable truth, only a half-truth was presented- and lies of omission are still lies, which then undermines the investigator... resulting in more proverbial babies being lost in the flood of discarded bath water.

We all know that lying is wrong, even though all of us do it all of the time in small ways. Even back in the days of Aesop tales were told about the dangers of lies, and the boy who cried "wolf" served as a cautionary tale. On the other hand, as noted by Aristotle, the liar can tell the truth without having to worry about being taken at his word. Maybe the UFOs, whatever they may actually be, understand this aspect of narrative and choose to visit liars simply because no one will believe them. We can extrapolate from this that they might be more likely to appear in front of someone who is under the influence of drugs, or to a comedian who no-one would take seriously. To mix fables here, perhaps the wolf is really a UFO in wolf's clothing, and no matter how much the shepherd boy cries it won't prove a thing about the reality of wolves or UFOs.

In the interest of reinforcing this unconventional idea, by way of truth-finding via unlikely source material in our own peculiar idiosyncratic fashion, let us look at the Phenomenon as Flim Flam and Fable through two obscure sources from the 1960s. 

A 1960 Mexican movie, La Nave de los Monstruos (Ship of Monsters) becomes an unlikely candidate for illustrating the nature of the Phenomenon. It stars a popular actor, comedian, and singer / songwriter of Mexico during that era named Eulalio González, often called "Piporro". He is a singing cowboy who tells all manner of fish tales to his friends, all of whom rightly dismiss his stories. It's only natural that when a pair of buxom space ladies from Venus land the titular ship of monsters in search of a male earth specimen, they find Piporro's character Lauriano.

It would be easy to dismiss the movie as B-movie balderdash, even if, like your humble writer you are a fan of the genre. La nave de monstruos has in spades everything one could want from a B-movie; monsters, a cheesy robot, pin-up beauties, and even a vampire and some musical numbers. It also does not take itself too seriously, and its the very playfulness of the movie that makes it so profoundly appropriate in relation to the Phenomenon. When no one believes Lauriano about his experiences at the end of the movie, he is able to laugh about it and go on living his best singing cowboy life. And although the assemblage of elements in the story are absurd, they all have corollaries in the annals of UFO testimony. The creature on the poster, for instance, bears a passing resemblance to the humanoids reported in the Pascagoula abduction event, which occurred over a decade after the movie's release. The Venusian woman aren't very different from the alleged flying saucer occupants contactees like Truman Bethurum or Orfeo Angelucci wrote about. The movie also has a scene in which a cow is reduced to a skeleton in an instant, at a time well before cattle mutilation became associated with UFOs. 

The purpose for the Venusian mission is to find specimens to help repopulate Venus, hence the monsters which range from a cyclopean named Uk to a Martian prince, vaguely in the form of a grey alien, named Tagual. This fits in with the famous Antonio Villas-Boas case, in which he is forced to copulate with an alien, and also later narratives about genetic and reproductive motives behind abductions that became popular in the 1980s. It's worth mentioning as well that Villas-Boas was often characterized as a farmer, less reliable and respectable than one might prefer in a witness, but this is not true. He went on to lead a normal life, and became a successful lawyer. 

Ultimately, the movie is a fun romp and well worthy of a viewing. It may interest those who are interested in UFO lore, as it were, to look at it as an allegory for the Phenomenon more broadly.

Similarly, we see this kind of narrative play out in an episode of Twilight Zone called "Hocus Pocus and Frisby". It's certainly one of the sillier episodes of the Zone, and doesn't often rate on most lists of episodes that defined the series. However, the silliness of it mirrors the absurdity of UFO stories, replete with an unreliable narrator and an incredulous audience for his recounting of events. Rod Serling introduces Frisby in his inimitable way thusly:

He has all the drive of a broken camshaft and the aggressive vinegar of a corpse. As you've no doubt gathered, his big stock in trade is the tall tale. Now, what he doesn't know is that the visitors out front are a very special breed, destined to change his life beyond anything even his fertile imagination could manufacture.

Frisby is a shopkeeper, regaling his customers with whoppers so big Abe Simpson would blush at the telling. He is played by Andy Devine, known for his work in westerns and his whistling, wavering voice. The townsfolk balk at Frisby's grandiose lies of valor and genius, but he is unperturbed and keeps telling them. No one believes him, but, as we come to learn, they love hearing his stories even if they are visibly unconvinced.

As he is closing up for the day, a pair of well dressed men in a black car pull up outside looking for fuel. Frisby can't resist his impulses, and tells them all about his inventions in automotive history and his ingenious innovations in science. The two men are impressed, and say they will see him again very soon. The Men in Black phenomenon has a very obvious resonance here. The men act strangely, seem unfamiliar with very mundane things, and cryptically tell Frisby they will see him again soon. 

It turns out that these MiB are aliens, who have landed their craft somewhere nearby. They act unfamiliar with mundane things because they are visitors from another planet, and such mundane things are exotic to them. Also alien to their perspective is the concept of dishonesty. They take Frisby at his word, and decide he is an exemplary specimen to collect and bring back to their home planet. They selected him purely because of his lies, and when he tells the truth- that he is full of hot air and just enjoys spinning a yarn, it has no effect against their decision. He manages to escape by playing his harmonica badly. For some reason the sound of the musical instrument is incredibly painful to the aliens and messes up their technology. Naturally, the teller of insane tales finds himself in an insane situation, escaping because of an unbelievable weakness these extraterrestrial visitors have.

He arrives back at his shop to find his friends have set up a surprise 63rd birthday party for him, and they present him with a trophy for The World's Greatest Liar. Of course they don't believe their old pal, and never will- but they love the stories and celebrate him specifically for his tremendous yarns. Tell us another one, Frisby, we all want to hear it... Going from one group who wants him because they believe his lies to be true, back to the safety of those who feel a sense of truth to the certainty of his lies, we have an approximation of the way the lore in UFO history goes. 

Perhaps we also have an idea about the inherent mechanisms in the behaviors and motivations of these crafts and their reported occupants. At the very least, I am led to believe we have a rough guide on the best way to proceed- with a laugh, a song and dance, or a tall tale with good cheer and friendship. After all, that's really what it's all about.

In a Gotham State of Mind

 

"How Gotham city conquered was

And how the folk turn'd apes- because."

-Linkum Fidelius, as portrayed by Washington Irving

"This town needs an enema!"

-The Joker, as portrayed by Jack Nicholson

When the world feels too large, it can be tempting to shrink it down. The onslaught of dispatches from its every corner can be overwhelming, and the enormity of the chaos unbearable. It's tempting to retreat into a city, especially a fictional one. Whether in a comic book, or a movie or TV series, these fictional landscapes have a familiarity that comforts us while simultaneously operating by different rules, being both home and a land far, far away at the same time. These places can be visited, regardless of their material reality. Cities like Gotham have their own spirit, being almost a character themselves in the tales set within them. These locales can act as a twisted funhouse mirror of our own hometowns, and while we might enjoy spending time watching a Caped Crusader win the day there, we are glad to be safe from the Rogue's Gallery on our respective couches. They stay in Gotham, in the fictional world, where they are Batman's problem. 

I had heard once, from a local historian, that my hometown of Worcester, Massachusetts, helped inspire the city of Gotham in the comics. I have never been able to verify this in any way, but it hasn't stopped me imagining a Bat Signal over downtown. Most would associate the DC Comics setting with New York City, as it is sometimes referred to as "Gotham". The name was first applied to New York by Washington Irving, under a pseudonym in his a satirical periodical called Salmagundi. It was his way of making fun of the city and its citizens, in reference to an English town of that same name. Dating back to the 1500s, stories were spun about the town and its eccentric residents culminating in The Merry Tales of the Mad Men of Gotham. There are several variations on the title; as madness is merely a matter of perspective, the folk of Gotham are also called "Wise Men". Accounts of their foolish activities include trying to drown an eel or send rent checks via hare to their landlords. They tried to build a hedge around a cuckoo, whose presence signified springtime, with the idea that keeping the bird captive would ensure endless warmth. When the bird escaped by flight from its roofless confines, they resolved to just build higher walls on their next attempt.

The motivation behind these apparent acts of lunacy is a strategic one. The tales were borne out of the same time period and location as those of Robin Hood, when everyone in England was taxed into poverty to subsidize wars elsewhere. A road had been planned, going through Gotham, for the King's use. At the time, the townsfolk would be responsible for the maintenance and financial burden of such a road, and feigned madness to make their home a less attractive choice. Madness was considered contagious at the time, and the wisdom of being "mad men" granted them some amount of sovereignty. It is interesting to consider how the social and political challenges of the era informed the tales of a resident vigilante and hero to the people, as well as an assortment of apparently deviant people within the greater Nottingham area. We can see also the corollary to the Gotham of the comics, its hero and its villains.

After the Mad or Wise Men, but prior to Batman, Chester Gould's Dick Tracy comics introduced outlandish outlaws and established the concept of a "Rogue's Gallery" working against the hero. Often the particular villains were distinguished and identified with some physical abnormality, like Pruneface with his dramatic wrinkles and Flat Top, who- you guessed it- had a flat top to his head. The memorable gangsters Dick Tracy fought undoubtedly influenced Bob Kane and Bill Finger as they developed their own Rogue's Gallery; Batman's antagonists upped the ante and became full-fledged supervillains, with flamboyant personalities and fantastical means of accomplishing their grandiose goals. Additionally, this creative admixture of influences probably had some element of true crime included, as well as depictions of organized crime in cinema. The drama was balanced with absurdity, though; villains like the Joker, the Riddler, and the Penguin were so weird and quirky that no one could reasonably worry we'd see anything like them in real life. The nonsensical elements kept the monsters trapped within the panels and pages of a comic book.

The feedback loop between what we think of as reality and our fiction, though, is more complicated in its effects and manifestations. In writing about the Joker in the past, I had referred to Richard Widmark's role as Tommy Udo in Kiss of Death as being tied to both the character of the Joker and that of the Riddler. It seems Widmark was at least in part inspired by the Joker character, and the unhinged Udo inspired Frank Gorshin in his portrayal of the Riddler in the 1960s Batman TV show. Meanwhile, in real life, a young mobster was similarly inspired in both his dress and sadistic tendencies after seeing the film noir classic. "Crazy Joe" Gallo is said to have started mimicking Udo early in his career as a mobster in New York, ultimately culminating in his demise violently at age 43. In the TV series Gotham, the infamous murder scene in which Udo, laughing maniacally, pushes a woman in a wheelchair down a flight of stairs is recreated with the Riddler as the murderer. More recently, the Riddler is depicted in The Batman (2022) as having shades of both the Zodiac Killer and the Unabomber to him. 

Meanwhile, since the writing of the aforementioned Joker post, the character has bizarrely been served up in the form of Arthur Fleck in Joker (2019) and Joker: Folie a Deux (2024). Having nothing to do with the Joker we know from the comics, TV shows, and movies, Fleck lives in a liminal Gotham between the one we know and 1970s NYC. The first movie seemed derivative of The King of Comedy (1982), even to the point of having a late night TV personality character, played by Robert De Niro. The second one, a jukebox musical with Lady Gaga as Harley Quinn, was trounced at the box office by Terrifier 3. The prevalence of clowns in an election year is worth noting, and Art the Clown and Fleck aren't the only examples- a documentary called From Darkness to Light was shown at festivals, examining Jerry Lewis's long lost movie The Day the Clown Cried- which involves a clown named Helmut, played by Lewis (who incidentally also starred in the aforementioned The King of Comedy) at a concentration camp. 

The proximity to evil, and politics with the clown energy is a running theme, and exemplified well by the fact that then-candidate Donald trump was facing trial not far from where the court scenes of Joker: Folie a Deux were being filmed. In one event, throngs of protesters, really just actors for the movie scene , nearly came into conflict with real life ones. Law enforcement was reasonably concerned such a protest might manifest in support of the felon who would later secure the election, and the confluence behind fake-Joker Fleck's mob and the hordes who blindly support trump is almost too obvious a point to belabor. An egregore of toxic cult mentality and discord existed in both the liminal Fleck Gotham and the New York of the present day simultaneously. By the end of the election cycle, the Insane Clown Posse were endorsing Harris for President.

Incidentally, if you want to hear me discuss the Joker sequel I do so here on John and Alexx Hate Stuff

Folie a Deux ends with (spoiler alert) what we presume to be the "real" Joker murdering Fleck, and carving a Glasgow smile into his face a la the Heath Ledger Joker from The Dark Knight. This reenforces the idea that the Joker exists as a mind virus more than as a singular personage. One might note Ledger's method acting in the movie was reportedly difficult for him to shake, leading some to speculate that it led to his death from prescription medication. Jared Leto, in his minor Joker role for the movie Suicide Squad, annoyed his fellow cast members by playing terrible pranks in the interest of "method". In 2012, during a showing of The Dark Knight Rises at a Colorado movie theater, a mentally ill gunman -reportedly inspired by the Joker- committed mass murder.  This "mind virus Joker" is explored in the series Gotham as well, which keeps you guessing about who the real Joker will turn out to be. In addition, it shows how this ephemeral Clown Prince inspired other killers. 

Gotham did perhaps the best job of amplifying the multifaceted villains of the eponymous city of any interpretation other than the comics themselves. The show managed to give audiences a little bit of all the different permutations of familiar characters, relying on every wacky trope from evil twins to literally raising killed-off characters from the dead. Far from the expected formula of origin stories leading to the hero or villain in action, we see the interactions and the effects they have on each person metamorphose over time. As the series progresses, we see Edward Nigma go through every variation on the Riddler, from the campy Gorshin-esque one to the Udo-esque killer. The series balances well the stakes of a drama with the absurd concatenations of comic book logic. It leaves up walls and dams of unreality between the micro world of Gotham City and the macro world in which we live, while more recent attempts detonate them- not unlike the Riddler in The Batman, flooding the streets with uncertainty and incredibly strange new challenges. 

The series also explored the Penguin more than virtually any other character. We see him as a young lackey to mobster Fish Mooney (invented for the show) working his way up through an increasingly bizarre series of misadventures, double crosses and incarnations. The trademark umbrella of the character is present, and part of his evolution into super villainy. Penguin, aka Oswald Cobblepot, traces his origins back to one of Dick Tracy's rogues- a character called Broadway Bates. The character was also partially inspired by a literal penguin in a Kool cigarette advertisement, which makes sense if you consider the traditional cigarette in a long-stemmed holder he is often portrayed having. The series touches on one told several ways in the character's long history- that of him running for mayor, which again adds to the political correlations. Versions of this were done in the 1960s series and in Batman Returns, where Danny DeVito's monstrous, sewer-dwelling version of the character is propped up through internecine city corruption and campaigning. Considering Gotham to be a small world mirror, the correlations to our world are again fairly obvious.

 The Penguin of The Batman, though, who got his own spin-off miniseries for HBO, is a different animal altogether. Colin Farrell's physical transformation for the role, from good looking actor to scarred and portly tough guy, deviates strongly from the rotund and goofy Penguin we're accustomed to. His Penguin seems like he would be more at home in an episode of The Sopranos than in Gotham. It's worth noting that Joachim Phoenix lost a lot of weight for Joker, undergoing perhaps a more extreme transformation. Whether either form of physical alteration was necessary is up for debate, but its interesting that the choices were made. Instead of finding actors who looked the part, the actors molded themselves into a strange new version of familiar characters. One might see it as a weird version of the well-loved "origin story" or "Joker moment" these villains are known for. It can also be seen as a strange way of humanizing them, bringing them ever-closer to our world which is bereft of Batmobiles and Bat Signals, and anything else with a "bat" prefix. Batman is even noticeably absent from The Penguin, and is in fact never even spoken about. The titular character's name is "Oz Cobb", getting away from the Golden Age goofiness of the traditional, longer alternate identity. He is kind of a middleman in Gotham's underworld, and his business is largely the drug trade. Gone are the poison tipped umbrellas that turn into helicopters somehow; no large rubber ducks or actual penguins equipped with rocket launchers are to be found. Entertaining though the series is, in the way that "binge-worthy" dramas are designed these days, it's eerily bereft of whimsy and most importantly, heroes. In the end, Oz / Penguin gets everything he wants through one important lesson- empathy is weakness, and having people you care about is a liability. Sound familiar?

What are we to take away from this melding of realities? Why is the fictional Gotham getting harder-edged, more dangerous, as the real world gets so cartoonishly stupid and hellish? Where are our heroes? If we shine a signal into the sky, who will come to our aid?

The Mad Men of Gotham were wise in knowing that madness isn't actually contagious, but using the fact that this was widely believed played the part. Madness is only contagious if you agree that it is, and allow yourself to contract it. The characters that fall prey to the Joker's mind virus were already inclined toward murder, and were just looking for an excuse- similarly the mobs aligned with trump, Musk, and their ilk long had hate in their hearts and are overjoyed to have permission to express it fully. The appointees being forced on us in this administration are like the super villains of the comics, more than the ones of the current media- they are singularly minded, obsessed with their own pet issues to rant about. The difference is, we've enabled and normalized these weird hills that these ghouls are willing to die on. Most of them are very, very dumb- or just crazy, and sadistic. Their only strength is having a ton of financial backing and an imperviousness to consequences because they refuse to play by the rules. You can't outsmart crazy and dumb, and, as Alfred Pennyworth said in The Dark Knight, some men just want to watch the world burn.

Such burning may be inevitable. It seems likely that it will get much worse before it gets better, but I for one am confident that the Rogue's Gallery hasn't won completely. Perhaps the burning will be purifying, all-encompassing; maybe we'll rise from the ashes and rebuild. I'll be watching the Worcester skyline for any signals, but I'm not holding my breath.

   

A Very Contactee Christmas

 

Children the world over spend Christmas Eve dreaming of gifts delivered by air, of a man landing from on high spreading joy and mirth. Some even scan the skies, hoping to catch a glimpse of a flying sleigh or reindeer traversing the clouds. Gift giving involving aerial beings is not a foreign concept for the holiday season, but flying saucer occupants receiving gifts from earthlings is alien to our expectations.

Such was the case, however, one Christmas Day in 1955. At the home of contactee Buck Nelson, a special guest was among the celebrants- Buck’s flying saucer friend Bucky the Spaceman. Bucky had taken Buck on a round-trip space journey a few months prior, to Mars, the Moon, and Venus, the story of which can be found in Buck’s appropriately titled book “My Trip to Mars, the Moon and Venus”. Buck was even allowed to drive the saucer at one point. He learned much about our brothers from space, and their pets- notably, a 385 lb dog called Bo had accompanied Bucky and the landing party. It was also revealed that Bucky was actually an expatriate earthling, who was in fact related to Buck- and this Christmas, he came to visit his terrestrial cousin and then his parents before heading back to Venus.

A friend of Buck's, Fanny Lowery, had anticipated Bucky’s return. In the hope that he'd visit for the holidays, Fannie had mailed a special gift to Buck's ranch, to be delivered to Bucky.  At 1:30 a.m., we're told, on Christmas Day of 1955, Bucky arrived and was presented with an envelope which contained Mrs. Lowery’s gift: an advertisement for Prestone antifreeze.

“Bucky laughed like an eight-year-old kid when he saw the picture on his card.” Reports Buck Nelson, “...it had a picture of 8 or 9 monkeys doing all sorts of wrong things to a car… beneath the picture, it said, “Don't Let Anyone Monkey Around Your Car.” Written between the lines of advertising was the question “Does anyone monkey around Saucers like this?””

According to Bucky, this funny little card was “The first gift which had ever been knowingly sent by mail to a person from another planet from a person on earth.” Quite the distinction!

Bucky then proceeded to record a Christmas Message to the World on tape. He began by thanking Fanny for the gift, and answering her question. “Yes, it has happened to our ships, torn apart for souvenirs.”

His Christmas Message continued with a wish for peace on earth, as only a Space Brother could deliver it- he implored humanity to give up atomic weapons, and forecast certain doom for civilization if the warning went unheeded. He then hung around and mingled with Buck's other guests throughout the day, one of whom tried to sell him insurance. Later he pontificated aloud about canned pork and beans, before finally departing to visit his folks.

This charming vignette is an example of the wonderful ephemera to be found in the history of UFOlogy; these silly little moments in the stories of contactees, these slices of life are almost too mundane, too human, while are the same time too fantastic and absurd for their context to be forgotten about. So this Christmas season, know that somewhere in a museum on Venus there is probably a glass case where sits that historic “first gift” which Bucky treasured so much. As you put out cookies and milk for Santa, think about clipping an ad for a Spaceman; and for goodness sake, give up those nukes!

*** This article was originally published in 2022 on a website that no longer exists