A clip from Mike Judge’s “Office Space” (1999)……. as you will notice, the unruly and long-haired neighbor who looks like Metallica’s James Hetfield…… a mullet and steer-like mustache as Friday and a six-pack is your salvation, putting in long days working construction in a very practical, down-to-earth way about him.
A glint in his eyes…… like a more earnest version of dodgy Beetlejuice mannerisms and the ole’ rolling countryside of American opportunity. If ingenuity is a magician’s card trick with a down-home sense of playfulness…… and “a sizzlin’ hot” deck of naughty cards while knocking pack a mouthful of beer and a fist-full of peanuts at your autumn/winter family holiday of choice. A home-bar like a personal Old West saloon and good company.
Heaven is outdoor seating at a rock festival and a cooler of “Rolling Rock” specials with a tour program and a concert t-shirt…… farming land and punching the clock at the factory with an open-mindedness, as vast and “blue-sky thinking” as your own nephew chasing after a frog, leaping away to the sound of crickets and earnest whiff of hickory BBQ smoke.
It might not be much– but how a wise old country wayfarer “frames the question”……
Like a crafty old fox……. you’ll be amazed at his street smarts, even if that is more like an unpaved gravel road of the hearty rustic. Picture Beetlejuice in a flannel shirt and torn old blue-jeans and you’ll see his hang-dog virtues and cracker barrel companionship.
Hey, same tailor! Nice suit……
Good ole’ express-elevator, straight-down to hell…… out of 100 floors, with floor 13 “the missing netherworld” edited-out of the tour unless “you draw a door” and speak the secret, occult password.
And what would that password be?
If for the sake of repetition or “13 steps to nowhere”– Beetlejuice is about to become a Broadway franchise. With illusion and stage-magic and A WHOLE HELL of a lot of fun.
So begs the question…… what is the closest point between a good idea and a great idea?
It digs low and hard into your ribs like charred steak, bourbon, and nighttime asphalt as the kind of movie “YOU’D WALK THROUGH THE FLAMES OF HELL” to holler at the screen in raucous, bilious appreciation like a truck-stop riot and snow-chains through the laughing heart of darkness that leaves you with a eaten-out heart and half-a-lung.
Give me EDGE….. OR GIVE ME DEATH! Better yet….. GIVE ME THE SEQUEL!!! For the best in artfully-crass entertainment, it’s Beetlejuice 2!!!
Scott H. Biram. . . . . will whip his own weight in wild-cats.
Step up right now, folks– watch the tent-act with toothy gouts of “Beetlejuice” drippin’ right down his chin like beer gravy and chicken blood. . . . . the green feed-store cap and mean blue-jeans “right off the street” as he glares through the smoky darkness of juke joints and concert halls and taverns like red brick loam and the smell of beer suds.
Like grit in your craw, jerkin’ a knot in the devil’s tail and snarling like a rabid shit-dog drove through a thresher. . . . . sawed-bone and green biting flies for prairie Texas sugar-land gothic and a whole lot of American roots.
His skilled fingers slide over the nylon guitar strings– like that rough edge that digs into your ribs, a stomp-pedal keepin’ rhythm as he sits on the amplifier over the smell of frying meat and mean-grilled BBQ.
Working man’s music, like that wind howling over mile after mile of interstate truck-drivers, a sandpaper clutter that wails it’s troubles from the very bottom of the world like you were staked to an ant hill and dunked in Tabasco sauce.
Scott H. Biram. . . . . one man tornado.
Once, I showed-up in a zany black Beetlejuice t-shirt, a perfect riff on hoppin’ low-down human behavior. And there, as “the ghost with the most” oggled you upon white press-on plastic, arms extended like a carny or Grand ole’ Oprey comedian. Corn liquor for your troubles or a slurred swallow of “Beetlejuice” like chewing tobacco.
He “got” the reference.
“Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!”
Part of this man IS Beetlejuice. And he tied-on a wild one, that night down by the river.
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