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Day 9: “Pee-wee’s Christmas Special,” Pee-wee’s Playhouse (1988)

December 21st, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in 12 days of christmas | christmas | pee-wee herman | sesame street | the muppets - (2 Comments)

On the ninth day of Christmas Philip (that’s, uh…me…) gives to us…

"Pee-wee's Christmas Special," Pee-wee's Playhouse

When I was little, I loved Pee-wee Herman. And looking back, I’m pleased that I don’t have to wonder why.

The show was, and is, a sheer delight. As Pee-wee, Paul Reubens taps into everything great about being a kid. The limitless wonder of daily life, the magic inherent in the world around us, and the sheer addictiveness of simple imagination. The concept that Pee-wee wasn’t a kid, but was an adult, was revolutionary to me; this was a grownup who understood.

It wasn’t dad, or a teacher, or an uncle. They had jobs and responsibilities and things to do…and so no matter how much you might love them, they didn’t understand. There was always going to be a barricade, an age-defined breaking point between youth and adulthood. Pee-wee Herman didn’t bridge that gap so much as he simply existed in isolation. He was a glorious, addictively cheerful exception to reality. He epitomized something we, as children, always wanted to believe, but hadn’t really been able to: the fact that you didn’t have to grow up.

Every Saturday morning I would get out of bed and watch Pee-wee’s Playhouse. It was an escape for me in very much the same way as the Muppets…from a sad and frustrated childhood I could find myself, through the magic of a television screen, transported into another world. A world where things weren’t scary, weren’t upsetting, and weren’t dangerous. A world where people were laughing, and having fun. A world dictated and shaped entirely by the bounds of our own creativity. I wanted that, and I feel as though I’ve spent, in some way, the rest of my life trying to recapture it…that elusive vision from the past, long faded and gone.

I was fortunate growing up to have two great shows — this one, and Muppet Babies — that both preached and demonstrated the value of imagination. I’m not sure how much of that exists anymore, but every Saturday morning I could count on being reminded of how important creativity really was, and I don’t think it’s an overstatement to say that this shaped me, in enormous part, into the individual I am today.

Pee-wee’s Playhouse apparently had only 45 episodes. I almost can’t believe it…I must have seen each one a dozen times, because it feels like I spent a lifetime in the Playhouse. I still remember all the puppets by name. I remember Jambi’s incantation. I remember what to do whenever somebody says the secret word.

I remember vividly one morning when I must have been about eight. My friend had spent the night, and he was a Pee-wee fan too. We woke up and turned on the television and sat on the floor waiting for the show to come on. My bedroom door opened, and it was my mother, asking what we were doing awake at five in the morning. We hadn’t realized it was so early. We hadn’t even thought to look at a clock. We just woke up and immediately turned the television on, so that we wouldn’t miss Pee-wee.

"Pee-wee's Christmas Special," Pee-wee's Playhouse

“Pee-wee’s Christmas Special” doesn’t stand out to me at all. Perhaps that’s because every episode was like Christmas to me. It was all a gift beyond value…a missive from an imaginary world that offered invaluable escape. It really was the best gift of all, and I got to re-experience it weekly. I’d tune in to Pee-wee’s Playhouse and that was all I needed. They say that Christmas comes only once per year, but for me it came weekly.

Looking back on the show now I’m amazed by how quaint it feels. Pee-wee was a throwback I’d never, as a child, have recognized as a throwback. His rebelliousness was that of a 1950s school child. He was bratty, but wore a bowtie and a smartly pressed suit. His hair was immaculate and his smile bright. He was both significantly older than me, and was also my peer. He was someone you could look up to, and yet conspire with. And while I’d have never recognized the Playhouse as an absurd subversion of the tropes of children’s programming, I loved it for what it was. Pee-wee’s mocking was gentle. Adults could laugh at the inane undercutting of the shows they grew up with, and children could be proud to grow up with this one. Pee-wee didn’t exclude.

In “Pee-wee’s Christmas Special,” there’s a deliberate desire to overwhelm. Pee-wee is so overbooked with celebrities that he needs to turn Whoopi Goldberg away, and he hosts a conference call with Oprah Winfrey and Dinah Shore just to get them both out of the way at once. Magic Johnson is crammed into Magic Screen (they’re cousins) to help Pee-wee “connect the Christmas dots,” and when Grace Jones is delivered accidentally to the Playhouse (she was supposed to go to the White House) Pee-wee quickly orders her back in the box.

It’s overstuffed by design, so that even the opening list of celebrity cameos becomes a joke. With Pee-wee’s Playhouse, the simple act of putting a television show together offers a wealth of opportunities for comedy. The main joke is that the show itself exists, and literally everything else is just a continuous heightening of comic fulfillment.

As a kid I’m sure I didn’t care that Cher was on hand to help reveal the secret word, or that Frankie Avalon and Annette Funicello became Pee-wee’s indentured Christmas servants…I was just glad to have Pee-wee holding the show together.

"Pee-wee's Christmas Special," Pee-wee's Playhouse

Of course, in the end, we did have to grow up. The promise of Pee-wee was lost, forever, in 1991. That, I say without any trace of irony, was the moment my generation lost its innocence.

Paul Reubens was arrested for public masturbation, having been caught doing so in an adult theater. My parents, for what it’s worth, didn’t tell me the reason. (Or, rather, they told me that Pee-wee was losing his show because he was caught saying curse words.) But the school yard, as ever, filled in the blanks. Pee-wee was gone.

As much as I didn’t want to grow up, I no longer had a choice. Paul Reubens was an adult male masturbating to pornography — a fact not exceptional in any way — but because he was caught doing it, the Playhouse was closed forever. Sealed off from a nation of children who wanted nothing more than to find it for themselves. They instead found that it was totally erased from existence.

There was no more. The dream was over.

I don’t begrudge Reubens his choices. I don’t think he’s a bad person. He committed the crime of pleasuring himself in an adult theater — a crime I have a hard time of seeing in any way as criminal — and, all at once, it was over. I carry the scar of that forcibly lost world today, but it’s not a scar inflicted by Reubens…it’s a scar inflicted by the witch hunters that barred him from television and decimated his career. It’s a scar inflicted by the very watchdog groups that claim to be helping children, and keeping them safe. I think it’s a similar thing that children today are experiencing with Kevin Clash. Congratulations, kids. You’re all grown up.

The world is a cruel and dangerous place. That’s the unintentional lesson Pee-wee’s Playhouse taught children my age. Imagination can keep it at bay for only so long. Whatever time you spend at the top only pulls you closer to your fall back to the bottom.

I miss being a kid. I miss the things I’ll never see through that youthful filter again — Christmas certainly among them. I miss the world and how it looked before the curtain fell away and I saw the ugly, grinding mess of gears that kept everything operational.

I never wanted to grow up. Nobody did. But everybody had to. Pee-wee and Santa Claus appear together in this special, making the world a happier place for children everywhere, but their days were numbered. Children were getting older. Reality was intruding. Dreams were fading and promises were being broken. We’d have to grow up after all, and, what’s more, we had to do it quickly. There’s no time to get your coat, and there’s no sense looking back. We all fled together.

And the fact that we weren’t alone failed to make it any easier.

Tomorrow: The healing power of music.

Steve Zissou Saturdays #3: A Very Special Opportunity for All of Us

November 3rd, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in a christmas carol | bill murray | david bowie | fantastic mr. fox | film | james joyce | loony tunes | moonrise kingdom | music | pee-wee herman | rushmore | steve zissou saturdays | the darjeeling limited | the life aquatic | the royal tenenbaums | wes anderson - (0 Comments)

We are now introduced — though not immediately — to the other driving narrative here in The Life Aquatic. Up to this point, the film has been suggesting that our story will be one of revenge, with Steve seeking out and destroying the monster that ate his friend. And just in case we’ve forgotten this, Captain Zissou gets a big, dramatic moment in which he declares his intent to his crew…just before we see those intentions derailed by the arrival of probably-his-son, Ned.

This is a Wes Anderson film, however, so when a lost and confused son meets at last with his distant father, we know that that’s going to take narrative precedence over anything we might have seen already. Sure enough, it’s the relationship between Steve and Ned that drives the film, pulls us forward, and provides the characters with their real journey.

The scene opens with a small after-after-party aboard the Belafonte. As we’ve discussed previously, this is at last a chance for Steve to exercise some all-important control over his night, as he is in charge of the guest list and even has his staff shuttling guests to and from the ship in dinghies. It’s an isolated party for an isolated man, and he’s using the water as a buffer between himself and the world he does not care to understand. They say that no man is an island, but Steve Zissou seems to aim to be the first.

The after-after-party seems to run smoothly enough, and it gives us a lovely glimpse into the baseline operational structure of Team Zissou: Pelé performs music from the sidelines as Renzo the soundman records him, youthful Ogata and Anne-Marie socialize with guests, interns man the bar and serve appetizers, and Steve shuts himself — yet another level of isolation — in the cabin, away from anything that might be going on outside, even when it’s a party in his honor.

We’ll be discussing the individual members of Team Zissou more in the next section, but it’s enough to point out now that the serious electrical faults of the Belafonte are currently being repaired by Steve’s camera man and an intern whose name he doesn’t know.

Pelé’s song here serves as a sort of Rosetta Stone for the rest of his music in the film. By opening the scene on a long establishing shot of the Belafonte, Anderson gives us very little to focus on apart from what we’re hearing, which happens to be the instantly (and universally) recognizable intro to “Ziggy Stardust.”

The song itself isn’t particularly appropriate to the event or even the film itself — apart from some thematic science-fiction resonance that we may discuss later on — but it’s important that we hear this one first, simply because it’s recognizable. It’s a rare thing indeed to find an “obscure” Bowie song in Pelé’s repertoire, but the acoustic arrangements and Portuguese lyrics will render many of them unrecognizable (or at least less-easily recognizable) to anything other than the biggest fans of that androgynous icon.

So we get “Ziggy Stardust,” a song well known by anyone who’s ever turned on the radio, with one of the most distinctive opening riffs in rock history. The audience is now in the mind for Bowie, and it will make it that much easier to pick up on the vague, later echoes of “Rebel Rebel” or “Rock N Roll Suicide.”

Steve’s isolation is interrupted by Oseary, who delivers the ominous news that Larry Amin will have to consider the profitability of Steve’s next film before he decides to bankroll it. It says a lot that a benign and rational consideration of such a thing could be seen as ominous to Team Zissou, and Oseary confirms that it’s been nine years since Steve’s last “hit documentary.” One gets the feeling that by the lowered standards and ambitions of Zissou and his crew that “hit” is a relative term indeed, and might as well be replaced with the word “profitable.”

Here we also see a bit more of life aboard the ship. Klaus’s nephew Werner is the only one at all still enraptured by the magic of what these explorer / documentarians do, and he toys excitedly with some unseen creature that’s kept in an aquarium. Everybody else simply waits for the night to be over, whiling away the evening so that they can return to their almost perversely mundane “adventures.”

Klaus and Wolodarsky play backgammon, and Eleanor, quite tellingly, engages herself in a game of solitaire. Nobody offers to show the child around the ship, and it’s his responsibility to occupy himself blandly, as the adults are doing. If the actual film Steve premiered tonight didn’t sap any excitement that Werner might have had at meeting Steve, seeing his team hiding from their own prior glories and shruggingly postponing an electrical catastrophe certainly will.

Speaking of which, the potential of a ship-wide electrical failure when they could be anywhere at sea, under any circumstances, says a lot about the danger this crew is in, operating under a disinterested captain like Steve. The blackouts are played as a sort of rolling punctuation to important moments in the film we’re watching, but they’re also a harbinger of danger to come. See too Steve resuscitating a nearly-drowned Ned. What’s played for laughs up front can result in real and irreversible loss down the line.

Steve pushes Oseary to push Amin, and when he does not get what he wants he declares again his intentions to avenge Esteban, and storms out of the cabin. This is where he meets Ned.

Firstly, and interestingly, Ned addresses Steve as “Captain Zissou.” There’s no much we can say about this now, but it’s worth keeping in mind that to everybody else, including his own crew, he’s just “Steve.” This is a term of respect Steve has likely not heard for a long time.

Ned introduces himself, and Steve is immediately — and visibly — thrown off guard. He recognizes the name of Ned’s mother, and freezes. How much Steve actually knew about Ned prior to this moment is a subject of much contradiction over the course of the film, and even, in fact, in this very exchange. Steve’s “I’ve heard of you” suggests a belief on his part that Ned may actually be his son, but his “She never contacted me” seems to leave him — at least in terms of his own conscience — clear of responsibility. It’s his selfish, yet personally justifiable, way of having maintained a distance for this boy’s entire life. The responsibility for contact was Catherine’s, not Steve’s, and since there was no contact, Ned wasn’t Steve’s problem.

But his “I’ve heard of you” tells a different kind of story. One of unconscious drift, perhaps. One of a man who drinks and smokes and pops pills to force things out of his mind, but can never quite forget them. He doesn’t recognize Ned when he first meets him not because he’s never thought about him (as evidenced by the fact that he kept young Ned’s letter), but because the reality does not overlap with whatever phantom child Steve might have imagined to himself. It’s safe to say that whatever Steve pictured, it wasn’t a 30-year-old co-pilot.

Reality intrudes. Esteban was eaten. Steve’s films no longer make money. Reality intrudes.

Owen Wilson’s accent here rings somewhat false, and yet his earnest gentleness keeps it from veering into Foghorn Leghorn territory. It’s no more real than the sea creatures we’ve discussed…exaggerations and caricatures of the world we know. We need them to be exaggerated so that we — no matter who we are — can stand apart from them. The sea creatures can’t be familiar to any oceanographers in the audience, and Ned can’t be familiar to any native Kentuckians. This is a world Anderson created, and we are all observers. We are all at a distance. We’re not allowed to get too close.

Ned’s mother’s death is a sustainment of an echo that runs through many of Anderson’s films: Max Fischer’s mother, Royal Tenenbaum’s mother, Ari and Uzi Tenenbaum’s mother, the Whitman patriarch, Sam Shakusky’s parents…even the comparatively light Fantastic Mr. Fox toys with the idea of losing a parent. In the case of Max, he also lost his mother to cancer, and cancer is what Royal pretends to be killing him. Another character in that film, Henry Sherman, lost his own wife to cancer. Cancer, being both an unforeseeable intrusion of reality and something that kills quietly from within, fits perfectly into Anderson’s narrative wheelhouse.

Leaving nothing to chance at this point in his life — and this evening — Steve outright asks Ned, “You’re supposed to be my son, right?” He’s ensuring that they’re on the same page, and Ned’s answer is that he isn’t sure…but he did want to meet Steve. Just in case.

It’s a brilliant dance of emotional distancing. Ned is meeting both his father and his hero for the first time, and Steve is uniquely equipped to disappoint in both capacities. Neither takes the initiative to close the gap — though we do have to give Ned credit for coming all this way “just in case,” which is something Klaus calls him on later — and Steve’s just-out-of-frame handshake is a masterstroke of social desperation. Steve is meeting his son for the first time, and like Gabriel Conroy offering money to the maid he’s offended, knows not what to do but knows he must do something.

Steve excuses himself and we see the first of two long, emotionally-charged strolls he takes in the film to the accompaniment of a David Bowie song. This is Bowie’s original version of “Life on Mars?” here, though Pelé will also sing it later.

Taking both performances of “Life on Mars?” in tandem, and considering their contexts, they reveal a subtle and somewhat crude joke. Both times we hear “Life on Mars?” it is during a conversation between two characters about whether or not Steve could have fathered Ned. The first time it’s between Steve and Ned themselves, and the next time it’s between Eleanor and Jane. When Bowie asks about life on Mars, he’s wondering about the possibility of finding living organisms in a lifeless sphere. When Steve’s paternity is in question, they wonder about the possibility of finding sperm in his lifeless testicles. It’s a crude grounding of scientific wonder, but it’s hardly devoid of magic or majesty.

Steve returns and apologizes for his behavior — frame that moment, because it isn’t likely to happen again — and is approached by a much happier, and presumably drunker, Oseary. He has good news for Steve, as he spoke with Si Pearlman (whose surname is another passive reference to the undersea world), the editor of Oceanographic Explorer magazine.

Later we will see — in one of this film’s rare static insert shots — that Captain Hennessey has already been featured on the cover of this magazine, and this is Steve’s chance to regain, however briefly, the same level of exposure. A moment ago, in the cabin, Steve would have had something to say to this. Now, having encountered Ned, he ignores it — along with Oseary’s request to be nice to the magazine’s reporter — in order to introduce “probably [his] son.” Oseary, through untold years of experience working with Steve, has probably taken to handling all of his unexpected and inexplicable meetings with a bright, and hollow, “How delightful!” as he does here.

It’s the first of two back-to-back introductory embarrassments for Ned.

The next is a very brief scene when his backstory is explained to Eleanor by Steve, while Eleanor has no idea that he’s standing right beside her. It’s a brilliantly comic moment and it makes glorious use of Anderson’s signature blocking, as the entire joke is there in the frame but isn’t revealed until Steve’s final line. Eleanor also has a fantastic internal moment when she juggles disgust for Steve’s behavior here with a polite greeting to Ned.

As with Oseary, we get the feeling Eleanor has been through something similar many times before, and is used to being forced into conflicting emotions by her husband. In public, she must handle them both. In private, her options expand a bit, and we’ll see the result of that before the Belafonte officially sets sail.

In the background Pelé performs “Oh! You Pretty Things” which is barely audible and arguably unrecognizable without the complete soundtrack version. He also played a song during Steve and Ned’s meeting that I still can’t make out, which suggests that Anderson chartered a little too much material from Seu Jorge, and then was unable to find a natural home for every track. Rather than leave much of it on the cutting room floor (though some tracks certainly were), we hear Pelé tunes in strange places like this, wedged between grander moments, and relegated to an almost inaudible background. It’s sloppy soundtracking, but a natural extension of the stylistic musical collision we discussed in the first post of this series.*

We end with a short exchange between Ned and Steve standing above the action on the Belafonte. I’m not sure what this part of the ship is called, but it’s the same part that a ghostly figure of Ned is standing upon at the end of the film…which we’ll likely discuss more then, of course. (In the meantime please let me know what this is called, so I don’t have to sound so danged stupid all the time.)

Steve offers marijuana to Ned, who refuses, and lights a pipe instead. Similar, and yet different. We’ll see more of this distanced similarity between the two as the film progresses.

Ned reveals that he’s been a member of the Zissou Society since he was 11, and Steve feigns surprise. As we’ll see later, Steve already knows this (confirmed by the letter of Ned’s that he kept), and Ned already knows that he knows (confirmed by Catherine Plimpton before she died). Here they are feeling each other out…each gauging what the other knows, what the other will admit to knowing, and how far the other might go to conceal what he knows.

The fact that Ned was once a young fan of Steve’s (from his glory days, as according to Oseary Steve’s films became unprofitable around the time Ned was 21, meaning Ned had a full decade of enjoying Team Zissou output in its prime) sets him up as a reassuring whisper from Steve’s past…a past that grows more distant by the day. We’ll talk about this more when we meet Jane, who functions as an unwelcome reflection of Steve’s present. (Both of which, and more, feed into last time‘s discussion of The Life Aquatic as A Christmas Carol. More on that to come, surely.)

Ned reveals also that he’s currently a pilot (well, co-pilot) for Air Kentucky, which gives Steve another — and always welcome — chance to posture when he dismissed Kentucky as “landlocked.”

It’s the chance for Steve to play a part…a caricature of oceanographic explorers that you might encounter on Saturday mornings, perhaps one paying a visit to Pee-Wee’s Playhouse.

It’s not real…it’s an act. It’s a purposeful embodiment of what people expect to see and hear, so that they won’t feel inclined to dig any deeper. This will resurface again in his first interview with Jane. Favorite color, blue. Favorite food, sardines. Kentucky, landlocked.

But Jane digs deeper. And in her presence, so does Ned.

Steve talks Eleanor into letting Ned come along because it will be a very special opportunity for all of them. What he doesn’t know is that the opportunity is deep inside himself, and not deep within the sea that surrounds them.

Next: Let Steve tell you about his boat.

—–
* Oh, and on the subject of music, the version of “Life on Mars?” that plays here has an extended piano introduction, and it’s genuinely an improvement on an already gorgeous song. Does anybody know where this comes from? Was the intro recorded and appended by somebody working on the film, or does it come from Bowie’s own rarities or outtakes somewhere? In case you can’t tell I’m asking because I WANT IT.

10 Songs That Share Their Names With Robot Masters

June 13th, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in david bowie | futurama | listomania | mega man | music | nintendo | pee-wee herman | the flaming lips | video games - (5 Comments)

I’ve been playing a lot of Mega Man lately, which is what tends to happen when I’m still alive and breathing. I’ve also been listening to a lot of music, for much the same reason. So I got to thinking…what if I could combine the two? I’d be rich! Then I found out that a lot of other people already beat me to it. Let’s take a look at 10 songs that politely share their names with bosses from the Mega Man series. We’ll also try evaluate just how well they’d slot themselves into the series as replacement stage music.

1) “Fire Man” – Burning Spear
Fire Man, Mega Man


Applicability to the Robot Master: I’d say it’s about 70% applicable. Of course, since 70% of the lyrics are “fire down below,” that’s pretty much a gimme. It also mentions people running around, which is a suitable image for Fire Man’s dropping of those little flaming bastards eveywhere. Burning Spear gets caught up in an homage to “I’m a Little Teapot,” which muddies the waters a bit though.

As Replacement Stage Music: The infective reggae groove is a bit laid back for the industrial hazards of Fire Man’s stage, but it certainly brings to mind feelings of scorching heat, and that’s really all we can ask.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Yes. Come on.

Overall: A good fit for the stage and for the boss. Probably what Fire Man kicks back and listens to when he has a mellow afternoon off.

2) “Ice Man” – Filthy McNasty
Ice Man, Mega Man



Applicability to the Robot Master: Around 60%. The song is sung from an ice delivery man’s perspective, and it’s full of double entendres about the women to whom he delivers his load. (There’s one right there.) Such relentless punning is a suitable fit for the Mega Man series, which is based on some thematic rock-scissor-paper wordplay.

As Replacement Stage Music: It’s certainly repetitive enough to fit on the original Mega Man soundtrack.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: It’s longer, so, therefore, no.

Overall: Both Ice Man and Filthy McNasty would have a blast laughing their asses off over the fact that there are multiple meanings to the word “pussy.” For everyone else, this song is pretty annoying.

3) “Top Man” – Blur
Top Man, Mega Man 3



Applicability to the Robot Master: The lyrics really don’t apply to Top Man at all. Imagine that! He doesn’t reside in a desert, he doesn’t ride a magic carpet, and he doesn’t puke on the pavement. He may or may not like his women clean and shaven, though…his agent has yet to return my call about that.

As Replacement Stage Music: It’s got a fun and bouncy beat that would actually mesh quite well with Top Man’s bizarre ferns-in-glass-casing stage, but it’d certainly give the experience a far less urgent feel.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: No. Top Man’s original music is among the best in a series that’s almost uniformly great. Sorry, Blur…ya can’t stop the Top.

Overall: Not really applicable to Top Man, so there’s little to enjoy about the coincidental title. “He’s a little boy racer” is about the only line that could even conceivably apply to him, and even then it’s not particularly evocative of the NES game. Blur should be ashamed of themselves.

4) “Needle Man” – Skrewdriver
Needle Man, Mega Man 3



Applicability to the Robot Master: At first I’d have said a solid 0%, but after listening to the song I realize that this is providing valuable background information for the notoriously spastic Needle Man: he’s a junkie! No wonder he’s such a beast…the poor guy’s been tweaking in a dark room for weeks on end before Mega Man shows up. Needle Man probably thinks he’s fighting Nazis or something. It also explains his incredible strength and speed. Drugs kill, kids…but in the meantime they sure can make life Hell for the people you slap around.

As Replacement Stage Music: It’d work. Needle Man’s current theme is pretty weak as it is, with a strange kind of meandering salsa that never gets anywhere. This would give the stage some much needed energy.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Without question.

Overall: We now know that the Needle Cannon Mega Man gets is firing dirty syringes…just to further complicate the “war for peace” morality of the series.

5) “Starman” – David Bowie
Star Man, Mega Man 5



Applicability to the Robot Master: I’d say 50%. It’s perfect thematically and the chorus is dead on, but the rest of the lyrics speak of an interglactic rock star, and I’m not sure Star Man harbors the same moonage daydreams. Regardless, “There’s a Starman waiting in the sky” might as well be a warning from Dr. Light, and the floaty, expansive nature of the music fits the low gravity stage and boss fight quite well.

As Replacement Stage Music: It’s pretty perfect. Bowie knows better than any musician alive — barring, maybe, the members of The Flaming Lips — how best to paint majestic starfields with just some guitars or synths. It’d mesh quite well with the gameplay of that stage as is.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Yes. Some people say that Star Man has the best music in Mega Man 5. Don’t trust those people; they are obviously liars or insane. (Charge Man bitches.) Whatever anyone might think, though, The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars is a superior album to this Mega Man soundtrack. THERE I SAID IT.

Overall: Let all the children boogie.

6) “Plant Man” – Gary Young
Plant Man, Mega Man 6



Applicability to the Robot Master: 100%. There is only one lyric in this song, which repeatedly states that Plant Man knows if / where / that the plants will grow. Uh…no argument there, Gary.

As Replacement Stage Music: The song is atrocious, but…sure, why not. If we’re playing Mega Man 6 we deserve the punishment.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Yes. It has notes and a melody, and is therefore superior to every track in this game.

Overall: A perfect fit. Speaking of “perfect fit,” Gary Young’s astroturf tuxedo in this video is the same one that Plant Man wore to his junior prom. When he went to his senior prom he didn’t have to wear anything…because he was somebody’s corsage! Fucking lol!

7) “Cloud Man” – Grieves
Cloud Man, Mega Man 7



Applicability to the Robot Master: A whopping 80% or so. It’s not only a song with weather conditions as a major theme, it has a deliberate and contemplative detachment that suits Cloud Man’s isolation and permanent scowl perfectly. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out that Cloud Man is a bit depressed. Why wouldn’t he be? He’s weak to fucking soap bubbles.

As Replacement Stage Music: I’d say it’s appropriate. The downtrodden, sluggish pace of the song absolutely mirrors the dark and rainy sections of Cloud Man’s stage, and…well…it’s just a pretty great song period. It’d stand in interesting contrast with the sunnier, brighter visual approach to Mega Man 7.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Debatable. Overall I’d say it definitely nudges it out, but Cloud Man’s theme is already pretty great, and this kind of overt moodiness would probably feel out of place among the game’s other tracks, however refreshing the change in atmosphere (see what I did there?) might be.

Overall: This music’s sad and you should feel sad.

8) “Astro Man” – Jimi Hendrix
Astro Man, Mega Man 8 and Mega Man & Bass



Applicability to the Robot Master: I have no idea. 0%, 100%, or anything in between. I have no idea what this song is about, but I’m pretty sure Astro Man, whoever he is in this song, is calling Superman a faggot.

As Replacement Stage Music: Not at all. Jimi’s guitar is as fiery as ever, but Astro Man’s space- and technology-themed stages (he has two) would probably benefit more from some straight, swirling techno than screaming six-string theatricality.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Yes. His current stage themes sound like rejects from a Jane Fonda workout video.

Overall: Astro Man sucks.

9) “Magic Man” – Heart
Magic Man, Mega Man & Bass



Applicability to the Robot Master: Apart from the “he’s a Magic Man” assurance, I’d say nothing. Though, arguably, “try to understand” could be Capcom imploring us to accept the fact that they were so dry on ideas that they had to resort to a Magic Man at all. Otherwise, it’s doubtful that the Wilson sisters would be irresistibly seduced by this robot master, who, to put it politely, looks like Pee-Wee Herman and Steve Urkel got together and had a gay baby.

As Replacement Stage Music: Not really. It houses a great jam, but it wouldn’t at all fit Magic Man’s carnival approach to stage design. The passionate defense of the “Magic Man” in the song though would suit the game nicely, as it’s often derided along with Mega Man 8 as being well worth skipping.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: No question. Magic Man’s stage theme sounds like it’s lifted from an SNES Barney adventure.

Overall: Magic Man wishes someone would sing about him like this. Until then, he sits alone doing card tricks. And masturbating.

10) “Tornado Man” – Las Aspiradoras
Tornado Man, Mega Man 9



Applicability to the Robot Master: I have no fucking idea. It’s pretty clearly not in English so I can’t understand it…but damn do I love it.

As Replacement Stage Music: Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Absolutely perfect for the rainy, thundery, thousand-mile-high gauntlet of Tornado Man’s stage. Tornado Man’s level is a brutally addictive experience, much like this thrashing, gorgeously filthy nonsense.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: Nah, Tornado Man’s theme, like everybody’s theme in this glorious game, is utterly brilliant.

Overall: Would be a great fit…but Tornado Man’s already well served by his current tune.

11) BONUS: “Sword Man” – His Majesty Baker Jr.
Sword Man, Mega Man 8



Applicability to the Robot Master: I have no idea because I couldn’t find it on youtube. But look at that album cover. Yes, there’s a song called “Sword Man” on this album. This one. By a guy who calls himself His Majesty Baker Jr. with some pretty confusing capitalization.

As Replacement Stage Music: I mean, what is he doing? What is this? No part of this cover makes sense to me. It’s a man with a big smile wearing a green pinstripe suit, a leprechaun hat, and leaning against a pile of money that’s far too large to be legal tender.

Better Than Current Stage Music?: And he’s doing this against a backdrop of more money, with the figure $30,000 indicated above. That’s a lot of money, in a way, but in another way, if you’re going to invent sums to make yourself seem rich wouldn’t you reach much higher than that? It doesn’t register as being particularly large…or small…it’s just somebody’s annual salary, and it’s nobody who could afford to be caught wearing a suit like that in public.

Overall: I don’t understand what I’m looking at. What is this? He has gold rings on every finger of his right hand. And how many points does his God damned handkerchief have? I hate this. I’m going to bed.

Liveblogging The Master of Disguise

June 2nd, 2012 | Posted by Philip J Reed in andy kauffman | film | liveblog | mr. show | north by northwest | pee-wee herman | phil hartman | saturday night live | utter shit - (5 Comments)

It’s hard, and probably impossible, to express just what a disappointment Dana Carvey’s career has been. After all, an entire generation — my entire generation — of Americans came of age watching him on Saturday Night Live, bringing an infectious and masterful comic flair to a cast that included such instant heavyweights as Phil Hartman, Adam Sandler, Jon Lovitz, Mike Meyers, Chris Farley and Chris Rock, among others. He managed to stand out among a cast of standouts…but once he left the show, there was no going back. It was over. Dana Carvey — as an entertainer — might as well have ceased to exist.

Anyway, I’ve never seen The Master of Disguise. I’ve heard it’s shit. I think that’s probably true. I did see Clean Slate, which is the other movie that sunk Carvey from the public consciousness forever, and that was most certainly a pile of trash.

Long story short my girlfriend’s on vacation, my dog is asleep, and Netflix just recommended this to me because it doesn’t like me very much, so let’s watch this mother.

12:25 – Already Netflix is taunting me.

It says almost ready because I still have a few crumbs of dignity I need to lose.

…and, ready.

12:27 - Wow, this is a Happy Madison production? I guess it didn’t ruin everyone’s career then.

12:28 - It’s almost funny to see Dana Carvey get first billing. That’s be inconceivable today. Oh, and James Brolin is in this. Because he was hoping he’d die on set and his family would get a lot of insurance money.

12:30 – This theme song sucks. It’s just some…actually, wait. This sounds like Belinda Carlisle. Don’t you dare fucking taint my Go-Gos, Master of Disguise..

12:31 - A screen of text appeared, and then a narrator decided to read it to us. Guess what, filmmakers…if you do one, you don’t need to do the other. A caption (mercifully not read aloud) informs us that we’re in Palermo, Italy. I’m glad it told me, because I definitely would have thought we were on a barren soundstage with a scenery budget of $40.

12:32 - A woman flees from a bunch of criminals or something, and the narrator tells us it’s really a man, ruining the joke that comes immediately afterward where it’s REVEALED THAT IT’S A MAN. Again, movie, you don’t need to do both. Oh good, and now we’re in “America present day.” I guess punctuation costs extra.

12:33 - Dana Carvey is wearing a shaving cream beard and holding a hockey stick. Great. Now it shows us some clips of his younger years, including a scene in which he slaps the doctor for slapping him as a baby, which I’m sure is hilarious to somebody somewhere, probably to a chap of around six. Now the flashback is over and he kisses his dad(?) and leaves shaving cream on him. His dad makes a face at the camera so we know we should be laughing. Don’t remind us of that fact, film.

12:34 - “Walking on Sunshine” is on the soundtrack, because of course it is.

12:35 - Dana Carvey’s name is Pistachio in this movie. He has a terrible Italian accent for some reason. Oh Christ, now he’s impersonating both Shrek and the Donkey. This movie came out after Shrek? What better way to chart the difference in career trajectory between Wayne and Garth? I mean, I hate Shrek, but at least people went to see it.

12:36 - Pistachio’s last name is Disguisey, because life really isn’t worth living. He sees a hot girl and wants to masturbate to her, but his dad shows up. And also he’s in public. Even if he weren’t, though, come on. His dad showed up.

12:37 - Hey, Jay Johnston is in this! From Mr. Show! That’s really depressing! He trips Pistachio who drops spaghetti on some fucking people who just sit there woodenly because they’re unpaid extras and don’t get any lines and therefore don’t need to act.

12:39 - Someone says “meatballs” to Pistachio and it makes him wig out. That makes sense, since Pistachio is a waiter at an Italian restaurant and is an Italian child from an Italian family and therefore has never heard that word before.

12:41 - Whose idea was it to give Dana Carvey a film in which he speaks in this stupid accent the whole time? This is as bad a decision as that Heartbeeps movie where Andy Kauffman plays a robot.

12:42 - Pistachio just quoted “Papa Don’t Preach” to his dad, out of context, for no reason, and that’s a joke.

12:43 - Now he sees Jay Johnston and the girl from earlier making out in an alley. Pistachio wants to masturbate again, but now it will be sad masturbation. That’s what we call character development.

12:44 - Some gangsters or mob members or whatever are attacking Pistachio’s dad. I don’t give a shit. Pistachio doesn’t see it happen but he’s still able to report every detail to the police over the phone, who hang up on him causing him to drop the phone, because that’s how that works.

12:45 - This seems like it’s supposed to be an Airplane!-style sendup of something…but there’s no movie to send up, so Pistachio just makes funny faces.

12:46 - He tells his grandfather about what happened to his dad, and his grandfather says, “Did you hear something that sounded like this?” and then punched him in the face a few times. Pistachio enthusiastically replies, “Yes! Just like that!” That was actually funny. Then Pistachio has to add, “But without the pain on my face…” which kills it. Just leave the laugh line alone, Pistachio!

12:47 - Pistachio is groping a fat Spanish woman’s face because it’s actually his grandfather in disguise and Jesus Christ this kind of thing is going to happen a lot in this movie, isn’t it?

12:48 - Flashback to George Washington chopping down the Cherry Tree, just as I was hoping, only the tree gets up AND LEAVES GET IT.

12:49 - Abe Lincoln is now dancing to that “I Like to Move It Move It” song.

12:50 - I can’t tell how old Pistachio is meant to be. Dana Carvey seems like he’s playing a three year old, so I can’t tell if the joke is that he’s a grown man who acts childish, or a little kid who looks like a grown man. If I have to wonder about it, I guess, it’s probably not worth the effort.

12:51 - Pistachio and his grandfather go into the attic and find a brass sphere that can open washing machines and light candles. Then Pee-Wee’s breakfast machine starts up, revealing…revealing…I couldn’t hear it. I don’t know. His father’s wardrobe or something. Now Pistachio can be the master of disguise. Or participate in a montage wherein he does silly things with costume accessories. The song playing in the background seems to be called “Master of Disguise” and was probably recorded just for this scene by a group of young people who killed themselves later that afternoon.

12:55 - Pistachio’s dad is strapped to a chair. His wife will be burned to death unless he agrees to become a Master of Disguise for the mob. The mobster farts and pretends it didn’t happen. I wish I could do the same.

12:57 - We rejoin Pistachio demonstrating Ashton Kutcher-like levels of racial sensitivity by dressing as an Indian Man and talking like Apu having a stroke.

12:59 - He charms a snake by playing the recorder, which emanates elevator jazz when he puts his lips to it. Now the snake is eating cheese out of his hand and kissing his face. Would you like to watch this movie? Somehow I don’t think Dana Carvey would like to watch it either.

1:00 - Grandpappy Disguisey is showing Pistachio how to fight by using a wooden dummy. The expression in the dummy’s face is my favorite thing in the movie so far.

1:01 - It’s funny when old people say “Who’s your daddy?” so granddad says it over and over again while he slaps the dummy. Hee hee.

1:02 - Pistachio’s dad dresses like a black guy and the mobster farts.

1:03 - The robot slaps Pistachio a bunch of times and says “I”m your daddy.” Then Pistachio and his grandfather see a woman who turns out to be a man so they put ice cream in their mouths and make their eyes bug out. Then they are at a street cafe talking about disguises. This movie feels like a bunch of 6 second scenes stitched together, and not like a movie with a continuous flow at all. Oh, and now there’s another montage, wherein Pistachio chooses a sidekick — why would people apply for that position anyway? — while “Whip It” plays. I honestly think they just lifted this entire soundtrack from some other movie. Or, like, 40 other movies.

1:04 - A little kid falls of his bike and his mom shows up and she’s hot so Pistachio gets a boner.

1:06 - Really sick of Pistachio’s “accent.” He’s describing how he’d like to have a woman who has a big butt like his mother.

1:07 - Training over, I guess. Grandpa’s leaving, which means Pistachio will have to incorrectly wear costumes and make silly faces for inappropriate reasons all by himself.

1:08 - They are dancing.

1:10 - The woman is his sidekick so they dig through a dumpster and Pistachio wears hilarious goggles. They find a mobster’s cigar butt, which the girl recognizes but Pistachio does not.

1:11 - Now he is dressed as a turtle man and the movie is halfway over. He keeps saying “turtle.” Why wouldn’t he. Isn’t a master of disguise supposed to be inconspicuous? Otherwise why dress up? Why not just show up as Pistachio? Nobody knows who the fuck he is at this place. Why is he making an ass out of himself? Why is he making an ass out of me for watching this?

1:15 - Oh fuck you.

1:16 - Pistachio bites some guy’s nose off, then spits it right back onto his face. Now he’s spinning around on the floor like Curly from The Three Stooges. Then he finds out the girl has a boyfriend and he is disappointed, because everything was going so well up until she said that.

1:18 - Jesse Ventura is in this movie. He steals the Liberty Bell, as if you couldn’t guess.

1:19 - The mobster re-farts.

1:20 - Pistachio is nice to the little kid but the girl’s boyfriend is not. “Eye of the Tiger” plays for no reason. Pistachio is dancing again. I’d wonder if this film even has a script, but even the worst improv is better than this shit.

1:21 - The dog is riding a skateboard.

1:22 - Pistachio wrestles the dummy because it went berserk. The robot pulls Pistachio’s pants off.

1:23 - The robot again pulls Pistachio’s pants off.

1:24 - Now Pistachio is dressed as Wilma Flintstone. He calls somebody an idiot, which is not an appropriate thing for an older woman to do, so everybody makes a face.

1:25 - He’s acting obtrusive and awful again. Why is he bothering with disguises? He could just go in his normal clothes and not act like a dick.

1:26 - A cover version of “Walking on Sunshine.” It was definitely worth hearing again.

1:28 - Now he is dressed as Tony Montana and he says “Say hello to my little friend” because that is a line from that movie.

1:29 - The girl is sneaking around in the mobster’s house. She finds some pictures and stuffs them in her purse. Then she says, “I’m going to take these,” in case we didn’t know why she was putting them in her purse. In the film’s defense, yeah, it could have been for any number of reasons!

1:30 - That “Come On Shake Your Body Baby Do the Conga” song by Gloria Estefan is playing now, so Pistachio dances for the hundredth fucking time.

1:31 - They are chasing Pistachio and throwing him out. I don’t think anyone involved in making this film had any idea of what disguises are for.

1:31 - Now he’s doing Jaws. The whole fucking “shark in the water” monologue. It’s like this movie so ashamed of itself that it keeps reminding you of better movies to distract you from the fact that you’re watching Master of Disguise.

1:34 - Now Pistachio disguises himself as a pile of cow crap and someone else sings “Master of Disguise.”

1:35 - He’s dressed as Peter Pan crossed with Ed Grimley or some shit. I think they’re just cycling through a bunch of disguises in a row so they can put them all on the VHS box cover.

1:36 - Now he’s some Scotland Yard investigator or something and this fucking sucks. Not one of these disguises has been funny, and the movie seems to think this should be the funniest damned thing I’ve ever seen.

1:38 - Just a half hour left. The hot girl from earlier in the movie is here and Pistachio spills water on the guy she’s with, who turns out to be the new hot girl’s boyfriend. Pistachio gets all sorts of boners and they fight.

1:39 - “Can’t Touch This.” Of fucking course “Can’t Touch This.”

1:40 - Jessica Simpson is in this. I thought it might be Ashley. I don’t give a shit that I was wrong. I guess they wanted everyone in the theater to go nuts about all the surprise cameos. There was just one little flaw: nobody was in the theater.

1:41 - The mobster farts.

1:43 - The woman kisses Pistachio. Some serious emotional content in this scene. Those emotions are boredom, indifference, and irritation.

1:45 - This happens.

1:46 - The mobster shows off the lunar lander he stole and it seriously fucking looks like this movie had a prop budget of less than I make in a week. It’s construction paper and tinsel! Kevin Nealon is in this movie as well, so far the only other Saturday Night Live alum I noticed, just to remind everyone of why we hadn’t seen him anywhere for 10 years.

1:48 - Pistachio comes out of a pie.

1:49 - He fights the mobsters and the whole thing is broadcast live on eBay. Yes, really.

1:50 - The third separate rendition of “Master of Disguise.” They paid for this song and fucked if they weren’t going to get their money’s worth.

1:51 - Grandpa shows up to witness Pistachio’s victory. Really; that’s what he says out loud. The mobster farts. Farts. Farts. Farts. Four. Motherfucking. Times.

1:53 - Pistachio and the mobster fight on top of the lunar lander, which Pistachio grabs onto as he falls off and the mobster steps on his fingers because somebody saw North by Northwest.

1:54 - The mobster was actually Pistachio’s dad so everybody hugs.

1:55 - The Disguisey family walks side by side, and the narrator says that Pistachio married the girl and everything worked out great. Well, gee, if we weren’t going to see any of this pan out, why not just tell us all that shit upfront, narrator? Save us the hassle of watching.

1:56 - The movie is over but the filmmakers needed to squeeze in Carvey’s famous Bush impression. This time it’s W. The mobster falls underwater and farts.

1:57 - The end credits feature the fourth fucking rendition of “Master of Disguise.” We see each of the main cast members and some of the minor ones dance, because we haven’t seen enough of that already. Also Pistachio says “Say hello to my little friend” again, in case we forgot that he said that earlier.

1:59 - A million bloopers. He does the “you like-a the juice?” thing from Saturday Night Live, just so we know the precise distance he’s fallen.

2:00 - There sure are a lot of fucking outtakes. Including impressions of Groucho Marx, Bob Ross, some ancient Greek guy…oh, and now more dancing. Of course more dancing.

2:01 - A scene is ruined because everybody starts laughing at Carvey’s antics. Maybe that’s the problem…they put everyone who found him funny in the movie, so there was nobody left to go see it.

2:02 - A deleted scene has to do with Pistachio being hypnotized by the big butted women the mobster trots out, which explains — but by no means justifies — the ass obsession in this movie. Then that ends and we see more credits and outtakes. I swear to fuck a fifth of this movie is gag reel.

2:03 - W. dances, and the turtle man. Gee, it’s like coming home to old friends.

2:04 - It turns out a midget was in the dummy, so he and Pistachio are slapping each other. This movie ended like 10 minutes ago…why is it still showing itself to me?

2:05 - Oh good, an epilogue is appended to the film, in which the midget and Pistachio make amends. Pistachio wonders aloud what we’re still doing here. He could have asked that five minutes into the thing, really.

2:06 - Yet ANOTHER fucking epilogue, in which the dog talks and says “No more dog food.” This is like watching a movie that fell from space. It looks and sounds a lot like the movies here on Earth, but fuck me if I have any idea what they meant by it.

2:07 - And now, at last, it’s over, and another little sliver of my life has been peeled away forever. Not the sort of feeling comedies usually like to leave you with, but there you go.

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