So the news hits me yesterday.
Poor old Lemmy Kilmister, colonel and warty lead singer– and bassist– of Motorhead has sadly passed on to the great “Hammersmith/Odeon” up in the sky. Maybe in an angel outfit– even if he was a philosophical pessimist of great decline and fall– but Motorhead was once described as the kind of animal pack who’d move next door to you AND YOUR LAWN WOULD DIE.
He was the sort of grizzled sot who kept things gruff and honest, a straight-up Englishman as a snakebite godfather to punk and heavy metal music. A mutton-chopped road-dog of stern, no-nonsense portent– off-set by his stage-appearance usually on freaky amounts of speed, marijuana, and Jack Daniels.
Just to see him screw his eyes around crazily and take the stage, craning his neck up to the microphone and singing like motor-grease and frying eggs as he tore his way through rubbery, low-throttle licks like a sonic blitzkrieg.
He found himself in several movie cameos– usually as a gloomy bystander of circumstance– as I’m sure Beetlejuice 2 will reference him somewhere.
Sing his praises– “or be a vagrant on the sidewalk of life”.
Seasons greetings– from your favorite pesky screenwriter. Milking a fictive, hoary franchise “for all it’s worth”. For your free dose of entertainment (– and mine), make a Christmas wish and Winona certainly ain’t wrapped in a bow, under my tree.
So conceptual work continues on the “here-today-gone-to-hell” script of elusive repute. Though we certainly come-up with tons of ideas– whether Beetlejuice could actually be turned into a mini-series with all the ideas we’ve generated.
Oh, and here’s the latest. . . . . as the Christmas theme is a rich vein of material where Beetlejuice can worm himself, into.
In certain Christian fundamentalist circles, they actually believe that Santa Claus is a stand-in for the devil– a kind of imposter taking the place of theological soundness.
Santa? The Devil? Really?
Well, the idea is that Santa is a cheery old devil and bit of a mischief maker.
I think I’m smelling the rot of some interesting appearences. . . . . as you could see Beetlejuice in a Santa outfit– or otherwise known as “SATAN-CLAWS”.
Here is the rationale for all of this in a Bible tract, here:
The idea is an evil-deceiver who leads kids out to the faithless snows based on their susceptible belief– and disappears with the brimstone of false promises. And if kids now won’t believe in Santa “on faith”, then what will they refuse to believe next?
Extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence– and I’d tend to see Beetlejuice sleeping-off a drunk in a cold, shivering storage locker. He swiped all the goodies from the stockings and makes his bedraggled haunt like the stink of rum and a three-day’s growth of unshaven neglect with a single, lit candle and a mouldy summer sausage swarming with rats.
From the chimney of hell to the cold, cold grave– I believe in the enduring humor of a wretched American character (– I think he gambled away his money for Christmas presents down at the dog-track).
Well, “DIRT CHEAP” beer & liquor is always open. . . . . so leave you with an image of some debauched old St. Nick and he certainly doesn’t look jolly in this video below.
I’ve seen that on our Bi-State local buses and Metro-Link light-rail cars. Will Lydia and her gang save the Larry Rice New Life Evangelistic Center & Homeless Shelter from greedy local developers? The Plot thickens!!
Nothing like that shopping “high holy day” known as Black Friday. And just to think, why Beetlejuice would fit in around those parts.
A refresher to any pilgrim new to this strange land called The United States: the day after Thanksgiving when stores open to long lines in the pre-dawn hours for sheer shopper’s extravaganza and when the Christmas retail season officially starts.
Wherever the highways loop around like a butterfly-knot as the inky darkness blazes with activity over the Missouri river. Like suburban sprawl– everything big and bigger– as the parking lots become a magical winter wonderland like the icecapades.
The floodlights drown out the stars, themselves as they converge into parking lot at all strange hours like the madness of Star Wars fandom and home entertainment systems.
Stocking caps, hockey jerseys.
To score on electronics or perhaps the newest video game system like so much fountain soda and goopy candy for the young, unhealthy American specimen.
Like “South Park” libertarianism with cranky cut-out’s of the ever-obnoxious school-yard, they are sharp-eyed for the hottest round of home entertainment– nevermind planned obsolescence or next year’s hottest commodities.
It’s all expendable and then again, “so are we”.
What is Asian manufacturing and super math-skills next interchangeable species of mall-rats and 7-Eleven slushee philosophers?
As hearty and feckless as consumerism is flashy and vast. . . . . some have been camping-out in front of the locked entrance, practically.
Nighttime is the right-time.
And then the Tea Party descends down on the lined-up throng like clowns and stilt-walkers and fire-eaters. They hand-out literature for fringe candidates and causes– somehow rationalizing apolitical consumerism with the great American bandstand of politics, as if festooned with patriotic bunting with a holy Christmas star of good American providence.
They might as well be approaching the cagey shrug of “Jay & Silent Bob” and crimping the party. It speaks to the opportunity and yet the futility of politics– handing-out leaflets as if appealing to the wrong tribe of nimble-fingered video game enthusiasts.
To them, “The Founding Fathers” are more like Mario, Ms. Pac-man, and Sonic the Hedgehog.
Ben Franklin around here is a $100 bill and not checks on Federal spending– hardly “likely convert”s to a ragged survivalism. . . . . or even a lower substratum of what makes up a drunker, bird-brained electorate.
Call-and-shout. . . . . rousing the crowd as a certain bottom-feeder dresses like Santa and rings a bell on the flat-bed of a truck like an impromptu stump speech or a bit of forsaken political theater.
Beetlejuice is too cynical to be much of an ideologue– but just get him going about the government over-regulating the roach-exterminator business and he’s down there at 4 in the morning with the rest of them. Throwing down presents as fake play money flies through the air to make a point about the Federal Reserve.
P.T. Barnum always loved a forming crowd.
Next thing you’ll tell us– Barack Obama was born on Mars.
Quick Idea for a Christmas Gift: Tim Burton is from the Rings of Saturn– here
You didn’t really think I had “sold-out” and closed-up shop, did you?
A busy holiday season has kept me away from my own personal blogosphere, yet feeling that ole’ “writer’s itch” to come back. . . . . and post-up some more ravings “from the mad monk, himself”. Maybe I needed a break but we’ll be back tomorrow as if this subject hasn’t been flayed-to-death, yet. I believe in Beetlejuice. I believe in me.
I believe in magic.
Yeah. . . . . sure “it will happen”.
Coming sooner “or not” is Beetlejuice 2 even if Tim Burton scrunches up with the sheepish grin of unholy procrastination and other put-upon vagaries. . . . . as today we have reached our 200th post after being up online for less than a mere year, alone.
For being a story about ghosts we sure “stick around”.
Let’s keep rooting-on for this fresh script as it almost writes itself, doesn’t it?
Stay with us and we’ll return shortly as not enough, if everything can be said about this new idea. May jaws drop in awe and the ole’ idea crock churned-around for great opportunities, even if no one wants a lawsuit and won’t formally seek succor from the creative public.
Everybody have a Happy Thanksgiving as I’m grateful to have you as my fan-base.
The original Elvis Presley who traded the bonus gravy of fame with an Elvis impersonator, now old n’ crotchety in a retirement home fights an ancient Egyptian mummy curse up and down the stick-whapping halls as they switched “Elvis” had succumbed to fame and died in 1977 as we best know the story. . . . . kind of a rhinestone mummy vs. an Aztec ape in a modern cult-film starring Bruce Campbell.
It’s 2002’s “Bubba Ho-Tep” for a twisted romp through the sort of drug-culture Rob Zombie crowd as there’s nothing that screams “kitsch appreciation” more ironically than the whole retro-world of Elvis Presley and the stranger side of the backwoods “white experience”.
I was introduced to this film by my older cousin who grew-up in the winding back-hills of outlying St. Louis counties as it’s where farmland is replaced by exurbia and speaks to the Atari/Star Wars/Six Flags basis of local Generation-X flavor– like wolfen stares and fringe art workshops you would find “vaguely off-putting” as you sit side by side next to a home computer work-station.
Call it “punk”, call it “stoner”, call it “flat & grim”. . . . . but you’d know it as the new American Gothic and what happens when Generation-X adopts into gamer culture quite seamlessly.
Black “Betty Boop” t-shirts and not forgetting “Speed Racer”.
We, “the children-of-the-night” over whiskey and pasty, stark complexions as life is existential, like forest fungus and rusted-out cars. . . . . and not forgetting “The Residents” as a gang of eyeball-heads stuck on spindly legs and tuxedo outfits with high society top-hats.
Over NES “Castlevania” and the 1980’s Garfield Halloween special you could see spirits from the Civil War tramping up through that paved, woodsy road of gnarled darkness like the deepest, hoariest under-belly that post-World War II America had to offer.
Write what you know– and Beetlejuice would figure out there along the highways by the shale rock cliffs and shoeless “Huckleberry Finn” quality of thicker country folk, earthy yet wise in their own ways.
Just another idea for where to put the sequel: “Beetlejuice 2”.