A Weekend With 3, no, wait, 6 Comedy Legends

My Thanksgiving weekend tradition is a bit different from most people. In lieu of exploring shopping mall parking lots for a space, I much prefer to hunker down with a cinematic treat or two. And, while some huckleberrys were in Best Buy fighting over some new WiFi gadgetry, I was enveloped in that magic light shining from a projection booth. Or the heat from my plasma screen.

I didn't plan it this way, but, through TiVo and Netflix, I had inadvertently created for myself a mini film festival featuring a few classic screen comedy icons, two of which I had either minimal or no exposure to before. And that, in certain respects, was an eye opener of major proportions.

I had previously recorded via Turner Classic Movies some of the movie appearance of ventriloquist Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. They were significant radio stars in the 30s and 40s and Hollywood loved to cash in on their national popularity. And the movies I sampled all featured several personalities of the radio world, giving millions of filmgoers to finally put the face with the voice.

Okay, I have always had a weakness for dummies. The ones made of plastic and wood as opposed to the ones I deal with in everyday life. Indeed, I actually have a Charlie McCarthy puppet currently guarding my linen closet, along with Howdy Doody and Willie Tyler's Lester. And I still have the head of the Jerry Mahoney dummy I got for Christmas when I was four or five. That's perched atop the microwave in my NY apartment. Despite all this, I had seen very little of the Bergen/McCarthy act until this past weekend. And I have to tell you this little guy is hilarious. The films I watched were full of belly laughs, but only when the camera was trained on the monocled star. The double entendres and insults come fast and furious, and you can clearly see why the public loved him.

And these screen appearances also brought up an interesting question for me. I mean, radio audiences, even though they couldn't see him, did know that Charlie McCarthy was a dummy...or a ventriloquine figure. Right? Well, I'm not so sure now. Because, in two of these movies, the directors went to great lengths to imply that he was real. For instance, there's one sequence where Charlie is surrounded on a night club stage by a bevy of chorus girls. Then, they cut to a long shot where a midget or child, dressed as Charlie, begins to dance. Huh? There are almost a dozen instances of the same thing. You'd see a closeup of Charlie. Then, a long shot of some midget running or falling down. Could we not accept Charlie McCarthy for what he was? It was as weird as it was entertaining. All the more reason why I believe Candice Bergen had to deal with a lot of issues as a child. I'm betting Charlie had a bigger room than she did in the Bergen's Bel Air mansion.

Netflix and TCM introduced me to somebody I had only heard about previously. The renowned French film comic and director, Jacques Tati. That country considers him on a par with Keaton. His screen persona, Monsieur Hulot, is supposedly the equal of Chaplin's character of The Tramp. Over and over and over, I have heard what a genius Tati is (actually was). So, finally, I wanted to see for myself. I watched two of his films, "Mr. Hulot's Holiday" and "The Big Day," which was Tati's first movie.

I have come to the conclusion that the French's ineptitude in resistance during WWII is on a par with their inability to understand good film comedy. I never laughed once. Now I understand why Jerry Lewis is a god in Paris. After an hour of Hulot, I was craving to switch to "The Bellboy." What did I miss? I found both films horribly unfunny. I went on-line and read several film critics gush over this twerp. I didn't see it. I didn't get it. Now, I've read that English comic Rowan Atkinson patterned his Mr. Bean character after Tati's Hulot. I can see some resemblances, but there is one basic difference. I laugh out loud at Mr. Bean. I fidgeted like a two year-old while I was watching Mr. Hulot. Jacques Tati, I am moving on.

The piece de resistance (no pun intended) for the weekend was the Alex Film Society's annual marathon devoted to the Three Stooges. It's amazing how funny a lead pipe to the head can be. Of course, I was a big fan when these shorts ran on television, because, secretly, there was always somebody whose eyes I wanted to poke out. But, when you experience this type of humor in front of a live theater audience, this is a different kind of exhileration. They ran a bunch of the Stooges' best work, including one featuring the oft-maligned Shemp, who looked a little long in the tooth. The theater was filled with old people, young people, men, and, amazingly, women. A female friend of mine refused to go, because no woman can appreciate the Three Stooges. Well, there were plenty of them there on Saturday, including comedian Paula Poundstone, who admittedly could be included in either gender. After an hour, it hurt me to laugh.

Now that's pain! If only somebody would swing a wrench at that blasted Hulot guy...

Dinner last night: Grilled bratwurst.