Part Three

Winding into the home stretch of my cancer treatments.  Eleven more chemo days and eight more radiation treatments, winding up on Wed 10/2, same day as the 20^th anniversary of my sister Melody’s 39^th birthday.  Returning to work on 10/7 and will resume traveling on 10/14 or perhaps later.  Back for scans and the big verdict at the end of October.

Finishing up the Beats series today more out of self-obligation than anything else.  Not many people seem too interested in it.  Taking a look at the third document in the Beat holy trinity canon (with Howl and On the Road): William S. Burroughs’s Naked Lunch.

Burroughs was born into wealth as an heir to the Burroughs Corp, which manufactured adding machines, typewriters, and later computers.  After graduating Harvard in 1936, he drifted to Europe, where he spent most of his time picking up boys in Vienna steam baths.  He returned to the U.S. in 1942 and spent a brief time in the Army before getting a quick civilian discharge.  He shared an apartment with Jack Kerouac and his first wife, and Joan Vollmer, who would become Burroughs’s common law wife.  The couple had a child together and moved to Mexico City in 1949.  Burroughs became a morphine addict during this period.

In Mexico City, Burroughs wrote his first two novels, Queer (not published until 1985) and Junkie (published in 1953.)  He accidentally shot and killed his wife Joan during a drunken game of “William Tell” and spent several months in prison before bribing his way out.  He drifted through South America and eventually made it to Tangier in Morocco to visit his novelist friend Paul Bowles (The Sheltering Sky), eventually settling there for several years and writing Naked Lunch.

The novel Naked Lunch can barely even be called a novel.  It is a series loosely connected vignettes with some recurring characters and locations.  Burroughs has said you can begin reading it at any point in the book.  It depicts a nightmarish world of various drugs and addicts that is by turns horrifying or brilliantly funny.   Attempting a plot synopsis is completely pointless.  The mostly shocking content, consisting of graphic descriptions of intravenous drug use, bizarre homosexual sex, and every kind of darkly scatological reference that Burroughs’s depraved imagination can conjure, is consistently offset and undermined by Burroughs’s ironic and humorous narrative style.  If you have ever heard recordings of Burroughs reading, it’s impossible not to hear him describing these horrific images in his trademark laconic drawl.

Although Naked Lunch took over five years to write, it was still more or less rushed into publication by Olympia Press in 1959.  A more definitive version, assisted greatly in its editing by Allen Ginsberg and to a lesser degree by Jack Kerouac (who came up with the title), was published by Grove Press in 1962.  The book survived an obscenity trial in 1966 and is actually the last work of literature (no photos or illustrations) prosecuted for obscenity in the U.S.

Most people could not imagine a more appropriate filmmaker to adapt Naked Lunch as a film that Canadian writer-director David Cronenberg.  The creator of Scanners, Videodrome, The Fly, and Dead Ringers, his films are known for creating physical manifestations of psychological horrors, with a fear of infection and transformation also a strong element.

Naked Lunch does not even attempt to be a direct adaptation of the book.  Rather, Cronenberg uses it as a jumping off point to create a bizarre narrative about a bug exterminator named “Bill Lee,” (Burroughs’s frequent pseudonym), played in perfectly Burroughs-like deadpan style by Peter Weller.  Judy Davis plays two incarnations of Lee/Burroughs’s wife Joan and gets to be shot and killed not once, but twice!  The film succeeds in using Lee’s addictions to the bodily fluids of various size bugs as a humorous stand-in for morphine or heroin.  The homosexual elements of Naked Lunch and other Burroughs works are generally soft-pedaled in this film adaptation.

Neither the novel nor the film adaptation of Naked Lunch is for all tastes.  If bizarre homosexual encounters or absorption of giant insects are not among your favorite things, you might wish to steer clear.  But if you have a strong enough stomach and enjoy wickedly brilliant writing, give Naked Lunch another try.

Part Two

In a previous blog post I wrote about re-reading the Beat classic On the Road, and still being moved by its energy and desolate beauty.  The impetus for a return to this seminal American novel came from the release of a new film adaptation, which I found to be a valiant effort that ultimately missed the mark, leaving open the question of whether it is possible to adapt On the Road as a feature-length film.

There have been innumerable attempts to capture The Beat Generation on film over the past fifty years.  In addition to numerous documentaries of varying quality, these include a number of feature films that range from fair to campy to awful.  Some earnest efforts include Next Stop Greenwich Village (1976), Heart Beat (1980), Naked Lunch (1991), Howl (2010), and On the Road (2012).  Others, like The Beat Generation (1959) and Bucket of Blood (1959) provide some campy fun, while MGM’s semi-big budget 1960 production of Kerouac’s essentially un-filmable The Subterraneans ranks among the worst films ever released on this planet.

Of all attempts to capture the essence of The Beat Generation on film, only one film hits the mark: Pull My Daisy, a 28-minute film loosely based on an unproduced play by Jack Kerouac, co-directed by Robert Frank and Alfred Leslie and released in 1959.  That this film succeeds while all other attempts failed can be attributed to an amazing assemblage of talent that came together for the creation of this film, almost all at the peak of their creative powers.  Some of the artists involved:

Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Gregory Corso had all recently published the signature works that would define their careers and Beat literature itself: Kerouac’s On the Road (1957), Ginsberg’s Howl (1956), and Corso’s Gasoline and Bomb (1958).

Co-director Robert Frank published in 1958 what would become one of the most significant collections of photography in U.S. publishing history: The Americans, with an introduction by Kerouac that ranks among his most memorable pieces. Frank’s lengthy and prolific career as a photographer and filmmaker includes the infamous 1972 documentary Cocksucker Blues, which a lawsuit by the Rolling Stones has limited to rare screenings since its completion.  Frank’s photos are on display in the cover of the Stones’ album Exile on Main Street.

Larry Rivers (“Milo”), was an American artist, musician, and filmmaker, and is considered by many art scholars to be the "Godfather" of American pop art.  He was a fixture at the Chelsea Hotel in the sixties as one of the ringleaders of the various people associated with Andy Warhol's Factory.

The film’s music composer David Amram has composed more than 100 orchestral and chamber music works, written scores for Broadway theater and film, including the films Splendor in The Grass and The Manchurian Candidate, and two operas.  He has collaborated with Leonard Bernstein, Dizzy Gillespie, Langston Hughes, Dustin Hoffman, Willie Nelson, Thelonious Monk, Odetta, Elia Kazan, Arthur Miller, Charles Mingus, Lionel Hampton, Johnny Depp and Tito Puente. 

Delphine Seyrig, cast as Milo’s wife and billed only as “Beltiane,” went on to become a leading star in some of the greatest French film classics of all time: Last Year at Marienbad, Muriel, Stolen Kisses, The Milky Way, Donkey Skin, and The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie.

Co-director Alfred Leslie enjoyed a lengthy career as a major American painter, filmmaker, and photographer, and poet Peter Orlovsky, who also appears in the film, was Allen Ginsberg’s partner for over forty years.

Pull My Daisy enjoyed a reputation as a purely improvisational work for many years, but co-director Leslie assured in a 1968 interview that the film was indeed scripted, rehearsed, and edited, which actually appears obvious when you watch the film.  The linchpin of the film is Kerouac’s reading of the narration he wrote for the film.  After a couple of failed attempts, Kerouac was brought into a recording studio, given some earphones to listen to unrelated jazz music, and he ripped off a perfect narration in one session.

Pull My Daisy is not available anywhere in the U.S., but I was able to obtain a copy from Steidl, the German publisher of photography books which also owns the rights to The Americans.  It is a joyous film to watch, virtually an eyewitness view of the birth of an important period in American art, music, and literature.  All elements are represented by their leading practitioners in this living document.  But the film is no documentary; it makes sweet music throughout its viewing, though – like jazz music – not without some improvisational side trips and bumps in the road.  It provides a brief but intimate and intoxicating glimpse into the scene that was the Beats.

Next Post:

NAKED LUNCH, David Cronenberg’s 1991 film adaptation of William S. Burroughs’ seminal 1959 novel.

Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg

Peter Orlovsky, Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg

Part One

Thanks to all of you have been reading and commenting on my first blog, “My Big Fat Greek Cancer.”  It’s been an interesting process creating it, and very rewarding to receive all your feedback and comments.

I’m all set up now for the next stage of my brain treatment, which will start with another meeting with my chief oncologist on Monday, then the actual concurrent chemo and radiation treatments will begin on Tuesday; every day for 6 weeks.  Hope it works!

I’m glad I tried this blogging thing.  I enjoy writing it and many seem to enjoy reading it.  I’m going to take a break from cancer and try my hand writing about other stuff that interests me.  Perhaps some of it may interest you as well.

For no reasons of any significance or importance, I have recently found myself re-visiting an area of interest which had a strong effect on a young Steve Bliss, and which contributed to shaping a world view I still possess, for better or worse.  It is a body of literature, poetry, art, music, and performance with origins in the post-WWII USA, loosely associated under the popular label of "Beat."  It is the stuff of cartoonish images of sandals, goatees, and bongo drums, but its influence was significant, lengthy, and far-reaching.  This will not be a scholarly treatise, as I am no scholar.  Just some reflections on what I enjoyed in some of these works, what mark I think they made on me, plus comments about some media treatments of some of them.

I just returned the DVD of the new movie On the Road to Netflix.  It was directed by Walter Salles (Central Station, Motorcycle Diaries), written by his regular collaborator Walter Rivera, and released in 2012.  It did not perform well commercially; in fact, the only release it received here in ABQ was a short week at The Guild Cinema, where most of the "arthouse" cinema plays.

As some of you know, I spend a great deal of my time "on the road."  In fact, just about every other week I am traveling somewhere as a Loss Control Rep for Overland Solutions Inc.  Frequently I am in a rented vehicle traveling in New Mexico or Colorado or west Texas, but more and more I am boarding an airplane and heading to places as far northwest as Idaho and Montana but usually not further east than Minnesota, tho I did spend a week working in NYC in the past year.  I find myself driving along both the Canadian and Mexican borders on frequent occasions.  Anyway, that’s another blog altogether, so let me try to get back on topic.

Like many people, I first read On the Road when I was in high school, over 40 years ago.  I understand that the book has become a staple of HS reading assignments, but this was not the case in the early 70's, especially at the all-male training academy for future Nazi Youth that I attended – Lane Tech HS in Chicago.  But I was at that school during a transitional period in the late 60's, with kids' hair growing out and the social order changing.  Believe me when I tell you that the troglodytes running that place did not handle that well.

I probably got my paperback copy of the book from my brother Russ.  Though there is a sizable gap (seven years) in our ages, I was still able to soak up influence from him.  Reading his copies of MAD magazine cover to cover was probably chief among these.  There were others, though I'd venture to claim that much influence about music flowed in the opposite direction.

Kerouac gathered the material for On the Road during his travels back and forth across the U.S. and Mexico between 1947 and 1950.  Popular legend accepts that he wrote the book on a large single typewriter scroll during a three-day amphetamine-fueled binge in April 1951.  Then it still took until 1957 for the book to see its published light of day.  Reception of the book was mixed between effusive praise and contemptuous scorn, but it is now generally considered a classic of American literature.

I decided to re-read On the Road after I leaned of the new film adaptation in production.  As I read it (and listened to it – more about that later), I was pleased to find that none of the excitement I felt in my initial reading had diminished.  Though of course its treatment of drugs and sex contributed much to making the book such a hit upon publication, I always found it a joyous tale of youth, adventure, innocence, liberation, and the flip side of the phenomenal promise of post-WWII America.  No, it doesn't end well, and probably more people find the characters unattractive than are charmed by them.  Empathy with its characters is not really the book’s strong suit, which will always create difficulty for the reader.  It is almost less like reading a book than it is like listening to music, the rhythm of which picks you up and carries you along for the ride.  But it is an exhilarating though ultimately heartbreaking ride.

All of these elements perhaps just make On the Road an impossible book to film.  I applaud Salles for his earnest effort, however.  Many moments come close to achieving the energy level of the book, but a lot of it also just seems gratuitous.  Any adaptation of On the Road will hinge upon the performance of the actor portraying Dean Moriarty.  Garrett Hedlund works hard to flesh out the character of the sexually rapacious Dean, simultaneously hustler and innocent, demon and saint.  This is a daunting assignment for any actor, and it’s hard to think of anyone who could pull it off.  Maybe a young DeNiro?

The rest of the cast contributes little.  The pasty Brit chosen to play Kerouac is a surprising misfire, bringing none of Kerouac’s brooding, darkly handsome and tortured soul to the role.  Assignments for the rest of the cast, including Kristen Stewart, Amy Adams, Kirsten Dunst, and Mad Men’s Elizabeth Moss, are mostly as sexual accessories, though Viggo Mortenson turns in a few brief but memorable moments as the amazing William S. Burroughs – who will be the subject of a future blog post in this series.

I’m still glad I watched On the Road.  It has many beautiful moments, but ultimately it comes off as a faithful recitation of the book’s major scenes, like one of the old Classics Illustrated comic books we read as kids.  But I’m glad the book caused me to re-read the book, which I found still held the same beauty and power that it did for me upon my first encounter with it over forty years ago.

NEXT POST:
Pull My Daisy, a 1959 film directed by Robert Frank and Alfred Leslie