Well American Idol is not two shows deep into its season (I really don’t know how long it’s been on). Like millions of Americans, I’ve been guilty of watching it. I’m not proud to admit it, but I watched every minute the past two nights. I guess I technically didn’t watch every minute since I get embarrassed for the people so easily that I end up watching much of it with my hands covering my face in shame.
Yes it is mostly mindless entertainment, but sometimes I like that just to relax. We never watch the show past the first few episodes (those episodes where the talent is at a minimum and the idiocy is at the maximum). I guess we are just fascinated by the extent some people will go to make fools of themselves.
It seems this year that Simon, my favorite judge, has toned down his sarcasm. He seems to be more humane and understanding. Well, he appears that way to those who are nice and seem to truly try their best, despite their obvious lack of talent. He seems to bear his claws when the delusion person gets up there and adamantly believes they have incredible talent, when it is obvious it is all they can do to carry a note or string a coherent sentence together. He also despises those jackasses who get up there and treat it all as a joke. The one that comes to mind is the poor bastard who came in wearing a black cape. He shed that to reveal a very flabby body covered by an imitation Princess Leah (think The Return of the Jedi) metal bikini. Instantly, Simon was irritated. Randy and Paula cringed. I held my hands over my face. It was not good. Even after they made fun of him for how ridiculous he looked. Even after he promised to get his copious amounts of body hair waxed off - the snippets they showed of that were far more interesting than anything else the guy had to offer. When he returned and launched into his song - “Dont’cha” by the Pussycat Dolls, Simon only let him get about two words into the song - and about one horrible gesture of hips and flabby ass - before he tossed him out.
It seems ironic that I’m glued to the TV just as we are reading Fahrenheit 451, which is all about the dangers of a dumbed down society. Maybe I do lose as many brain cells as drinking, but at least I don’t have a headache in the morning. Plus, I can always justify it by using it as an example in class discussions for our novel.
*****
I few months ago I discovered several old time radio shows for free via podcasts from itunes. I’m addicted. My personal favorite right now is called The Price of Fear. It features Vincent Price narrating a series of horror stories. He doesn’t simply read them though. The shows include characters’ voice and sound effects. And the framing device is that Vincent Price, as himself, relates all of these uncanny experiences that have happened to him throughout his life. Of course, each experience is a classic horror story.
It doesn’t get any better than that.
Awhile ago I was listening to one on my ipod while I was cleaning out the basement. It involved Price on a trip to Spain where he was about to begin shooting a film. He stopped for a meal at a small cafe where he overheard a husband and wife arguing. They were newly married - in fact, they are on their honeymoon - and the wife was insanely jealous. Somehow the couple begins chatting with Price. Then Price relates how when he was visiting this town some years ago, he encountered an incredible castle, which sits on a mountain overlooking the town. It was used during the Spanish Inquisition to torture poor peasants.
Inevitably, they make plans to visit the castle the following day. However, a film director blunders into the cafe and instantly recognizes Price. Immediately Price mentions how much he can’t stand the director, who is overly obnoxious and a know it all.
Of course, the director gloms on to the couple and Price.
Flash forward to the next day. Price and the couple arrive at the bus stop. They are hoping the director won’t show, but, of course, at the last second he arrives and they head out for the castle. On the ride the director is blathering on about how he thinks it would be the perfect place to shoot one of his upcoming movies.
The bus drops them all off at the castle wall. Far below them on a ledge they note a mother cat licking one of her kittens. As a joke, the director picks up a rock - despite everyone’s warning for him not to - and chucks it at the cat - just to spook it.
Of course, he hits the kitten right in the head and kills it. Everyone is horrified. The cat glares at the director. Price observes how he had never seen such hate and loathing in anything before.
So the tour continues. Finally, they reach dungeon where they see the rack, a device to stretch victims, swords, a chair with nails sticking out of it. The director, trying to show off his knowledge, spots an iron maiden. The guide is reluctant to talk about it. But the director finally persuades him to fess up.
Apparently some of the ruling class of the castle were even put inside as heretics.
Instantly, the director gets an idea for a film. He will tell the true story behind the terrible fate of the royal family. To get a taste of how horrifying it would be, the director commands the guide to open the iron maiden. Of course, he climbs in - despite the warnings from everyone.
Next the director asks the guide to close it - not all the way, of course - just slowly so he can get the effect of the spikes closing in on him. Just then, out of nowhere, the cat leaps at the guide, clawing his eyes and cheeks. The man shrieks, letting go of the chain that held the lid of the iron maiden open and catching the director trapped inside.
The cat has its revenge.
Pretty cool, eh? I tell you by the time that story finished, I was looking all around me for our cats. You never know what they’re capable of. What extent would Einstein go to if I didn’t feed him regularly. I was spooked.
The next episode dealt with two Americans collecting insect specimens in South American. They happen to spot a giant spider, the size of a large dog. I won’t go into the story, but I was plenty creeped out as I swept the floor. I was reader to use the broom as a weapon if need be.
What I love about these episodes, is that they are incredibly vivid in my mind. I might have been cleaning downstairs, but for awhile I was totally transported to that castle in Spain and the deep jungles of South America.
I think I really missed out on something by being part of the TV generation. I used to love stories Mom would tell me of Granny gathering the kids around the radio in the evenings and listening to The Green Hornet and Dimension X. Jim, my mom’s brother, recounted to me once how he remembered how he listened with Granny to Orson Wells reading Dracula. How exquisite that must have been. I don’t think it is any small coincidence either that he went on to write his Doctoral thesis on Stoker’s novel.
My father too recalled how he used to listen to The Lone Ranger on the radio.
Kristie loves to call out “Who knows what lies in the hearts of men. The Shadow Knows!” Her father, also raised on radio, would repeat that when he was home with the kids.
It is also what Stephen King credits, specifically in his nonfiction book “Danse Macabre,” with kicking his imagination into overdrive. Like me, King loved the horror programs like Dimension X and The Outer Limits.
There is just something magical about listening to a story and seeing the story unfold in your mind rather than having a director visually manipulate the story for you. Trust me, though, I watched more than my share of TV as a kid, but given my over active imagination, it wasn’t long before I was bored with the director’s version of the story and I was off outside acting out my own version of the plot with my original twists and turns and resolution.
But I suppose I shouldn’t harp on TV too much. I’m sure when radio first began broadcasting there were old curmudgeons across the country who lamented “This radio thing is going to be the ruination of our youth. All they’re going to do is sit around and listen to that thing instead of being outside and doing something.” It sounds all too familiar, having heard it from my mother herself. I’m sure Casey and KoKo would say the same thing about me whenever I see them playing their video games.
The more it changes . . . right?
Oh by the way, I’ve got Price featuring “Is There Anybody There” set for the ride home.
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