Tuesday, September 10, 2013

Claymation of the Gods!

The last time we visited with one of our mesomorphic Super Friends, it was Maciste, the Italian folk hero who boldly squat thrust his way through the history of European cinema, but was usually billed in America as Hercules or "Son of Hercules," thanks to the success of two films starring bodybuilder Steve Reeves, Hercules (1958) and Hercules Unchained (1959).  When these pictures made an unexpected mint in the U.S., engorging the tingly naughty parts of our nation's Betty Drapers and Sal Romanos, it inspired distributors to buy up all the other Italian movies featuring Wesson-basted beefcake (mostly films in the Maciste series) and change the hero's name.  But in 1960, when the whole "peplum" craze first got started, some U.S. distributors were confused about who owned the name "Hercules" (because being stupid in America has never been a privilege reserved solely for beauty pageant contestants from South Carolina), which is how American International Pictures managed to turn an actual Hercules movie (Revenge of Hercules or La vendetta di Ercole) into Goliath and the Dragon.

This budget-minded rip-off marked the film debut of another American weightlifter, Mark Forest, (star of Mole Men Against the Son of Hercules), who dyed his hair and grew a beard to resemble Steve Reeves, but which somehow only made him look like an oily, steroid-abusing Monte Markham.

Goliath and the Dragon (1960)
Directed by Vittorio Cattafavi
Written by (takes a deep breath…) Marcello Baldi, Archibald Zounds, Jr., Duccio Tessari, Mario Ferrari, Fabio Carpi, Ennio De Concini, Franco Rossetti (French version screenplay credits omitted for clarity).

I apologize in advance. This film isn’t in Technicolor, and it’s not in Cinemascope, but it is, according to the opening credits, “In Colorscope,” which, judging by the dark, muddy print, was an early version of the now familiar Colonoscope.

After the credits end and we resign ourselves to watching a film written by Archibald Zounds, Jr. (or as I like to think of him, Zounds the Lesser), we meet Goliath, the duly authorized representative of the God of Vengeance. This is a cushy civil service position, so it’s almost impossible to fire him, and thanks to a “Cadillac” healthcare policy (paid for by hard-working Greek taxpayers), he’s immortal, just like teachers and postal workers. Goliath does a bit of semi-nude spelunking while the narrator informs us that even though we’re only thirty seconds into the movie, Goliath has royally screwed up, allowing his arch enemy King Urethra to steal the precious “Blood Diamond,” and Goliath’s boss, the God of Vengeance, is certain to discover its loss when they do bi-monthly inventory.

Urethra has hidden the Blood Diamond where no one but Leonardo DiCaprio could ever find it, and he won’t be born for like four thousand years, so it’s pretty secure. But Goliath hatches a cunning plan to listen to the narrator, who blabs about how the Diamond is concealed in the mysterious Cave of Foreskins (honestly, that’s what it sounded like).

But Goliath misses his exit and climbs all the way down into Hades, where he finds Cerberus, the three-headed puppet that guards what appears to be the entrance to the Mine Shaft ride at Knott’s Berry Farm. Goliath apparently surprises Cerberus in the act of making dessert, because each of the hellhound’s slavering maws is equipped with a tiny crème brulee torch. The fire keeps our hero at bay, and we worry that he won’t be able to approach and subdue the beast before its papier-mache heads burst into flame, which is almost certain to affect the flavor of the custard.

Goliath dances around the monstrous dog, never actually hitting it, because papier-mache is delicate, and the prop department is all out of old newspapers and wheat paste. Eventually, the flames shut off and the beast just sort of collapses, probably as the result of a Cease and Desist letter from OSHA.

Cut to the throne room of King Urethra (Broderick Crawford – no, I’m not kidding, it’s Broderick Crawford. In a tunic. Fortunately, the cameraman goes to such desperate lengths to keep him framed from the waist up as he wanders around the set that it's almost like you're watching Elvis on the old Ed Sullivan Show – if Elvis had been moist, jowly, and pickled in Cutty Sark -- but instead of concealing a young rock 'n roller's sexually provocative hip gyrations from Middle America, they're just trying to hide Crawford's scrotum, which I assume dangles below his skirt like a pair of Truck Nutz.

Brod announces that Goliath will never return from the cave, because he secretly placed a dragon puppet down there, hoping it would look better in low light. Brod’s gone to all this trouble because he wants to invade the Greek city-state of Thebes, but the immortal Goliath, Thebes’ champion, stands in the way. However, Goliath actually lives in the city of Gath, in ancient Israel.  This I know, because the Bible tells me so.  I can only assume he's in Thebes working as some sort of Blackwater-style private security contractor.

Back in Foreskin Caverns, Goliath runs into one of my favorite Aurora Model Kits, “The Forgotten Prisoner of Castlemare.” If he could just manage to find the 1964 King Kong Set (Mint, Sealed in Box), the scale model John F. Kennedy (complete with rocking chair), and the Lost in Space Robot, we’d really have ourselves a movie.

Now we come to the greatest part of this epic: 4.3 seconds of stop motion dragon footage edited in for the American release. It’s a shy dragon -- most of its body is hidden behind some convenient rocks, and it’s peeping rather hesitantly over the top, like it was hoping to catch the Pep Squad sunbathing topless -- but still, it’s better than the cardboard Cerberus, so never let it be said this film was afraid to peak too early.

Goliath pulls his knife, but then the God of Vengeance (speaking in a woman’s voice, because he’s also the Goddess of the Four Winds, which I assume is a drag club he frequents on weekends), reminds Goliath that he’s supposed to be looking for the Blood Diamond, and not putting the film over-budget by mixing it up with a process shot.

Meanwhile, Goliath’s younger brother Illus is seeing a princess on the sly (I didn’t catch her name, but she looks like one of those Does She or Doesn’t She? girls from an early Sixties package of Miss Clairol). They meet secretly in her royal chambers because Goliath doesn’t approve of their impending marriage, hoping instead that his brother will forget about girls and follow in the family tradition of being really beefy and wandering around caves.

Goliath finds the Blood Diamond, but before he can grab it he’s attacked by a flying (which is to say, dangling) creature that looks like what you’d get if the Cowardly Lion from The Wizard of Oz got really drunk one night and boffed one of those flying monkeys. The “fight” lasts 8 seconds – good enough for a rodeo, not great for a monster movie – then Goliath grabs the Blood Diamond and walks off camera. Okay then, quest completed. All he has to do now is turn the gem into the NPC and level up.

Meanwhile, Brod is conspiring with a Klingon (not the bumpy-headed brand, but one of those John Colicos/Michael Ansara models from The Original Series) to get rid of Goliath’s brother Illus, leaving the way clear for Brod to marry Princess Clairol. So a couple of Trojans catch Illus in a net, which as any fan of Muscle Man Movies knows, is the Kryptonite of demigods (and their low-achieving, Billy Carter-like brothers). In fact, nets were so versatile they were also apparently used as anti-anxiety medications in Ancient Greece, because as the soldiers lock Illus in a cell, one says, “Leave the net on him, it’ll calm him down a bit.”

So there you go. Nets: bad for dolphins, but good for Bronze Age panic attacks.

Brod is still trying to get the other kings to attack Thebes, so he holds a banquet and presents them all with a giant L’Eggs egg. No one knows why.

Unfortunately, just when everyone is jazzed about the idea of attacking Thebes with pantyhose, a messenger arrives to say that Goliath survived the dragon because they were never in the same shot, and killed a Flying Monkey Lion, so that costume’s available for Halloween if you’re interested.  The other kings immediately skip out on the check, but the Klingon has a plan; he makes the slave girl, Aloe, trick Illus into believing Goliath wants to marry Princess Clairol too.  Fooling Goliath’s brother doesn’t prove difficult, since he can’t even figure out how to escape from a net that’s just draped over him like some Second Grader’s hand crocheted pot-holder.

Goliath delivers the Blood Diamond to a statue of the God of Vengeance.  Suddenly, the gem levitates out of his cupped hands and flies to a hole in the god’s forehead, where it lodges like a cork. Which would have been a solemn and awe-inspiring display of divine power, if the flying diamond hadn’t made the same sound as George Jetson’s car.

At Goliath’s home, Jane, his wife, prepares a lavish celebration for her husband’s triumphant return from his Flying Lion Monkey-punching and spelunking expedition.  Meanwhile, Illus has gotten all emo and is moodily strumming the autoharp.  Jane asks what’s troubling him, and by the way when’s he going to start looking for a job?  He retorts that he put in some applications, and then changes the subject by saying Goliath wants to bone Princess Clairol.

Now comes Scheming Time.  The Klingon gives Brod’s slave Aloe a vial of poison to give to Illus to give to Goliath, which will somehow allow Brod to marry Clairol, who is the daughter of the former ruler and still has the pink slip on the kingdom.  But Aloe, who hates Brod, will only get Illus to kill Goliath if Brod kills Clairol and marries her, so she can rule at his side and they can become a kind of mutually loathing, Mycenaean Age Lockhorns.  Brod agrees, even though this will make his plan to become the legitimate king by marrying Clairol impossible, but his bare thighs are chafing and it’s really hard for him to concentrate.  The Klingon assures Brod that he can solve the whole thing by cutting out Aloe’s tongue, which also doesn’t make sense, but that’s his answer for pretty much everything, including Tennis Elbow, uneven tread wear, and Ring Around the Collar.

Aloe heads for Goliath’s house to deliver the deadly poison, because even though the Mercury logo was working nicely, FTD hadn’t quite worked out all the kinks yet.  She falls off her horse and gets attacked by a bear, but Goliath arrives just in time to wrestle with some spliced-in nature footage, then toss a stuffed animal into the bushes.

When Aloe gets back, Brod orders Anton Le Vey to throw her into the dungeon.  Meanwhile. Illus tries to slip away from Goliath’s homecoming party to visit Princess Clairol, but Goliath yanks him off his horse and ties him to a tree, then goes in to dinner.  At this point, everyone in the theater who grew up with an older brother nods and goes, “Yup.”

 Illus (who still thinks Goliath is in love with Clairol) pours the poison into Goliath’s cup, believing it’s actually a philter that will make his brother fall out of love (an elixir people have apparently been regularly administering to Larry King since 1952).  But Clairol prays to the Goddess of the Four Winds, who allows her to broadcast a warning to Illus (although her voice is faint and crackly, so while powerful, the goddess still gets spotty cell phone coverage).  Illus saves Goliath at the last instant (although he kills his dog instead, because he’d already cracked open the poison and if he didn’t use it, it was just gonna go bad).

Illus then goes to Brod’s palace so he can be captured again.  Meanwhile, Brod has had it with the Klingon’s confusing script revisions, snarling, “After this morning I’ll forbid you to work on any of these plots that don’t make sense, ya moron!”  I feel his pain.

Brod decides to publicly execute Goliath’s brother, so he has Illus and several other prisoners carried out to the yard on St. Andrews crosses, to ensure that all these pantless men are fully splayed at all times (and as much as I dislike gimmicks, even I have to admit that their widescreen taints really show off the Colorscope). Then he has an elephant crush their skulls.

Goliath bursts through the gates just as Illus’s head is about to be popped like bubble wrap and gets into a shoving match with the elephant. As epic struggles between pachyderms and muscular title characters go, it’s a little like the climax of 20 Million Miles to Earth, although the Ymir is a more expressive actor.

Goliath eventually stops molesting Jumbo and he and Illus chariot-jack their way to freedom.  They go to the temple of the Jetson’s Jewel so Goliath can ask the Goddess of the Four Winds what’s the deal with his brother’s destiny and stuff.  Windy reveals that Illus will one day become king, but Goliath’s wife Jane will have to die, presumably so Goliath can star in one of those popular sitcoms starring widowers, like My Three Sons, The Courtship of Eddie’s Father, or Flipper.

Goliath does the classic wrap-chains-around-the-columns-and-pull-down-the-building gag, except this time he does it to his own house, because it’s marble and there’s no way to burn it down for the insurance.  As the walls fall with a thunderous roar, Goliath lifts his arms and cries, “Collapse, like my shattered dreams!”, which is weird, because that's what I always used to shout whenever my sister and I played Jenga.

Goliath loads up the whole family and heads west, because he saw a handbill that said, “Pea Pickers Wanted in California. Good Wages All Season.”

Broderick dangles Aloe over a snake pit so Princess Clairol will consent to marry him. Considering the two women just met, this seems like feeble leverage, but it turns out Clairol is squeamish and cannot stand to see her new friend be fatally bitten by Olivia de Havilland, so she agrees.

Cut back to the Ancient Joads, and I’m going to warn you, things get a little weird from here on out.  First, they come to a river, and instead of riding around until they find a shallow spot, Goliath decides to build a bridge out of stone, presumably so he’ll have something else to destroy the next time he has a temper tantrum. While he’s busy with his craft project, Illus (who’s in bondage) begs Jane to free him so he can commit suicide and foil the gods’ plan to make him king and her dead. But Jane one-ups him by praying for the gods to just kill her now, because there’s like half an hour left to go in this movie.

In answer to her prayer, some goat-like dude materializes, then keeps teleporting around a meadow like the transporter button on the Enterprise is stuck. He leers at Jane and tells her he’s a god (which is obviously a line, but hey, we’ve all shaded the truth a bit at Last Call) and carries her off.  Illus screams for Goliath, falls off his horse, and gets dragged away.   

Goliath throws a spear into Goat Boy’s back, which just makes him mad, and he shouts, “Now I’m going to take your wife!” which is what he was doing anyway, so it’s really less of a threat and more of a Facebook status update.  Then someone turns on the sprinklers, and Goat Boy and Jane vanish while playing in the spray.

Enraged, Goliath looks to the skies and bellows that if the gods don’t help him he won’t be their friend anymore.  He heaves a spear, which causes a solar eclipse, because that's how that works.

Cut to Broderick’s throne room, where he’s strangling a guy, because why not.  Suddenly, Anton Le Vey appears and shouts, “Quickly! Come with me! First the sky grows black and now a strange monster has arrived!”  Brod squints at the guy, clearly puzzled, and says, “What does that mean?”  A good question, and one I wish had been raised during a preproduction story conference.

The monster is Goat Boy, who drops Jane off on the front lawn of the palace and asks Brod to avenge him because he’s dying. You wouldn’t think a spear could hurt, let alone kill a god, but Goliath and the Dragon is just making its own mythology the way Gravy Train dog food makes its own gravy.

Goliath goes back to the temple to break up with his gods. When they give him the silent treatment, he stamps his foot and demands they return his Blood Diamond and his LPs.  Suddenly, Windy appears to announce that Jane is in the Cave of Foreskins, about to be devoured by very expensive stop motion, so at least it’ll be a quick death.

Cut to the cave, where two soldiers chain Jane next to the Forgotten Prisoner, and she obligingly screams at cutaways shots of the animated dragon that are so brief they’re practically a strobe effect.  Alas, it won’t be that quick a death, because the stop motion budget runs out just as Goliath arrives, so he has to fight the plush toy fom the original Italian cut.  But he’s already proved that he can kill mythical monsters with nothing but his modern dance moves, so he pulls a knife and goes all Twyla Tharp on it’s ass.  Goliath’s flailing arms never seem to connect, but eventually he just sort of yells, “I call you’re dead!” and the stagehands immediately drop the puppet head and go outside to smoke a Modiano and watch the government keel over.

Goliath comes out of the cave, and immediately goes into another cave, beneath the walls of Brod’s palace, where he laboriously undermines the foundation in a scene that’s just as exciting as crawling under your house with a flashlight, looking for water seepage.

The walls come down and Brod kills the Klingon, because it’s always the loyal, Smithers-like aide who takes the fall for this kind of foreign policy failure.  Then he drags Jane to the snake pit.  This involves a fair amount of struggling; fortunately, Brod had the decency to slip into a maxi skirt before the scene.

Goliath is on the opposite side of an iron gate, and there’s nothing he can do to save his wife.  Well, he could tear the gate off its hinges and go beat up the paunchy, drunken old man limply grasping her arm, but that doesn’t seem to occur to him, so he just stands there. Finally, slave girl Aloe takes the initiative and tackles Brod, knocking the two of them into the snake pit.  She saves Jane, at which point Goliath remembers, ‘Oh yeah, I’m a super strong immortal” and tears the gate off its hinges.  Ha!  That would have really shown the villain what sort of demigod he was messing with if he hadn’t already been killed by an 18 year old girl.

Cut to the final scene, where workmen are rebuilding Goliath’s home, overlooked by Illus, who has married Princess Clairol and is now king, thus fulfilling his Destiny; and Goliath and Jane, who is not dead, thus proving that Destiny is a bunch of crap. Take your pick.

Stand By For ACTION!

Just as the Night Belongs to Michelob, the Morning Belongs to Medical Appointments.  But check back a little later today, and we'll have a new movie piece up, the second entry in our series "Someone Left the Beefcake Out in the Rain."
"I just feel like there's too much bestiality in our wallpaper.  Couldn't we do something in a mauve or a taupe?"

Sunday, September 8, 2013

Sundays With S.Z.: I Have Drank of Swank

People seem to be enjoying the Swank flashbacks (and small wonder, since Wo'C founder s.z. not only pioneered Pastor Swank Studies, but raised the subject from a mere DSM-IV listing of aphasia symptoms to a unique art form).

[Originally published November 4, 2005]

Swank o' the Day

It’s the weekend, so let’s get crazy with Swank, who still hasn’t recovered from Halloween (he never should have watched Satan’s Cheerleaders* while drinking Old Dad and snorting Pixie Stix).
America’s Dem-nable Pit 
If Dems sit upon America’s throne, we will have:
Abortion clinics on every corner.
Wow, that’s a lot of abortion clinics! In my town, we don’t have anything on every corner, except maybe rocks (it’s probably a zoning issue). So, if you’re in the construction business, it sounds like you’ll be getting a lot of business if the Dems get their chance on the throne. Just a little tip.
Same-gender ‘marriages’ blessed on every blissful boulevard.
In my town, none of our boulevards are particularly blissful, so I guess we won’t have to worry about same-gender marriage chapels springing up next to all of our abortion clinics.
Schools engineered for European secularism cloning.
We’ll be cloning Europeans in our schools? Cool! Even if we have to do it secularly, it should make biology class a lot more interesting!
Condom machines under every lamppost.
My town does have a lot of lampposts, so I should probably invest in condom machine stocks now, before the boom.
Christmas symbols stored in underground caves in favor of “Season’s greetings” stamps on every envelope.
Underground Christmas caves? Okay, now the Pastor is just having us on.

Friday, September 6, 2013

Google Backwash!

A lot of people despise and mistrust Google, but I happen to think that as soulless, potentially world-ending technologies go, it's pretty good-natured and accommodating.  Oh, certainly, it has its problematic side, but if millions of people pestered me with stupid questions a billion times a day, I'd be even more snappish than I am now, and nobody needs that.  Also, they don't employ that annoying hipster guy from those "Bing It On Challenge" commercials.  But there are some topics Google just prefers not to get into -- issues such as Hitler pee, artificial eyebrows, and the heartbreak of Battlefield Earth crotch -- and when a desperate interlocutor raises one of these tender subjects, the Boolean operator just gestures vaguely in our direction, then goes back to searching itself for topless images of Abbie Cornish.

At least, that's how I assume most of these people wind up here.  And while it's not my job to answer their questions, since I'm not a highly advanced algorithm created by two Stanford Ph.Ds in the late 1990s as far as you know, I still like to be hospitable.  So let's grab a few brews from the fridge, tear open a bag of Tostitos, and see if we can't help them with their problems.  Or at least, the first ten of them.

1. head of lenin on la brea:  Yes.  (We originally ordered the head of Alfredo Garcia, but they were out of stock.)

2.  incest perfect:  This is a colloquial verb form ("I did my mother," "I am doing my mother," "I am going to do my mother") native to Appalachia and parts of western Alabama and southeastern Mississippi.

3.  is there a real california lifestyle?:  Yes, it involves eating a lot of Ramen noodles so you can afford gas.

4.  bunch of crap mlk speech celebration:  Not a question really, just a composite of all the headlines at TownhallAmerican Thinker, and WorldNetDaily the day after the March on Washington anniversary.

5.  incest daughterfather:  Well, I suppose if your family is so inbred that you're actually your own daughterfather, then even masturbation would constitute incest.

[In case you were wondering, this sudden influx of incest-seekers seems to have been triggered by Bill S.'s funny -- but apparently irresistible to the insatiably incestuous -- review of Flowers in the Attic.]

6.  kissing above stomach:  I assume this question comes from some ambitious corporate ass-kisser looking to push the envelope, and I'm afraid the answer is No.  HR frowns on anything above the belt.

7. butt power pell:  They're really making it hard to qualify for those college tuition grants.

8.  ryan mcpartlin nu: Despite well-defined abdominals and awesome bed-head, the hunky young actor has apparently failed to impress the Yiddish-speaking audience.

When it comes to John Woo-style two-fisted gunplay, they just prefer someone a little more believable, like Luther Adler, or Mollie Picon.

9.  18 years horny: This is the porn parody of 12 Years a Slave. Frankly, it seems a little Too Soon to me, but I guess they can't all show the refined good taste of Genital Hospital or Edward Penishands.

10.  lassie sexy: Well this one popped up in the referrer logs just last night, so as hard as it is to admit, it looks like former Senator Rick Santorum was right: first you allow sexy birthday lizards to commit frottage on your blog, and the next day someone is violating the personal boundaries of a border collie.

Anyway, now we come to the fun part (for me at least), because as you know, this is an Open Source project, so the next five questions are for you guys...

11.  do troll dolls have demonic spirits?

12.  easy to swallow tapeworm

13. tube Gary Cooper

14.  codpiece bicentennial man 

15.  erection in a flightsuit

Have at it in comments!

Thursday, September 5, 2013

Happy Birthday, D.Sidhe!

Today is the natal anniversary of revered veteran Crapper D.Sidhe, a date which also signals the end of the High Post-Partum Holidays here at Wo'C (three major birthdays in a single week!), which we celebrate in the ancient tradition by piercing our genitals, blowing on a conch shell, and cutting a trailer for a fake movie starring cats.


Interested studio executives may feel free to contact my management.

I probably don't have to tell you guys how much we love D.Sidhe around here, and since she's a self-effacing soul who would likely be embarrassed by the kind of fulsome praise I'm fully capable of after a glass of wine and a Vicodin, I'll content myself by simply saying that s.z. had it right when she called her a "sharp cookie," and also I admire both her candle collection, and the fact that she has enough armadillo-related stories that she can actually pick a favorite:
My best Xenarthrid story: I own a candle in the shape of an armadillo with a glossy shellac coating that is the exact color of a flaccid Caucasian penis. It reminds me of Dr Mike.
Which brings us to another venerable custom, one which canny trendspotter Doc Logan correctly predicted would become the lingua franca of the future: the Sexy Birthday Lizard.  Now, we usually try to Think of the Children and keep these presentations as PG-13 as possible, but with contraception and sex education under fire in our nation's schools, kids today probably don't even learn about the birds and the bees, let alone the sexy, sexy lizards, so we decided to go all out this year in hopes of sparking a frank and open discussion, and ultimately bridging the Generation Gap.

Parental discretion is advised.
Happy birthday, D.Sihe!

Tuesday, September 3, 2013

Happy Birthday, AnnPW!

UPDATED BELOW

Thanks for coming to our party for perky young Crapper AnnPW, who's been reading Wo'C since she was just a freckle-faced, pigtailed little slip of a thing who weren't but yea high to Mitch Daniels.  Unfortunately, we spent most of yesterday afternoon and evening at the ER, and are now in quarantine, so please observe all isolation protocols: masks, gloves, boots, whips, and push-up corselets, because this is a party, dammit!
The short explanation for turning our apartment into the bottom level of that bioweapons research facility from The Andromeda Strain is that Mary has come down with a Geneva Conventions-violating infection, which has caused her to suffer temperatures ranging between 100 to 104 degrees over the past four days, and inspired the attending physician to prescribe Cipro, the heavy duty antibiotic administered to the postal workers and Congressional aides who were exposed to mail packed with weaponized anthrax back in 2001.

However, none of that will stop us from honoring Ann's special day with a little cheesecake from the Golden Age of Hollywood Glamor:
(I asked Mr. Grant to tone down the sexy, smoky, smoldering thing a touch, lest he set the entire blog on fire, but as Tom Servo once said of Gypsy on Mystery Science Theater, "She's a fun gal, she's got her own groove," and so alluring is Ann's groove [that came out way dirtier than I meant it -- sorry!] that Cary simply cannot stop himself from giving her the Bedroom Eyes, despite his being both dead and gay.  Now that's a groove!)

So please join me in wishing Ann a very festive and rollicking natal day!  (And no need to thank me for resisting the impulse to exploit the mere coincidence of their names and post an Ann Coulter pic, even though I couldn't reach my sponsor and really came this! close! to falling off the wagon and going all Nic Cage in Leaving Las Vegas.  Except with Ann Coulter pics.)

UPDATE:  Okay, since Cary's chin deformity is apparently a dealbreaker, and on advice of counsel (in other words, D.Sidhe), here's a sexy birthday lizard for Ann (I believe this marks the first time in the history of the English language those words have been strung together in that order.  And You Are There!)
Did I mention I've got a prehensile tongue?

Monday, September 2, 2013

Happy Birthday Ivan, Superman's Girlfriend!

Wait.  Sorry...that should read, "Happy Birthday Ivan, and Superman's Girlfriend."  Like so much of the hoary Mainstream Media, Wo'C has been forced to layoff most of our proofreaders, editors, and copy boys, until now our once bustling newsroom is empty, save for a pile of surplus green eyeshades and sleeve garters, while the street corner outside is cluttered with unemployed urchins in short pants, morosely pitching pennies as they take turns gnawing on a single stale corn dodger.

But the important thing is, today is the natal anniversary of our old friend Ivan G. Shreve, Jr., the blogger behind the always funny and informative Thrilling Days of Yesteryear, a columnist for Radio Spirits, and some sort of New Media guru for ClassicFlix.  And judging by the many actresses he has dubbed TDOY "goddesses" (not in the Charlie Sheen sense), Ivan is also a man with an eye for a comely Golden Age Girl (not a Golden Girl -- at least, I don't think he's got a Farrah Fawcett-style swimsuit poster of Estelle Getty, but I've never seen his bedroom walls), so I alway like to ornament his birthday posts with some period appropriate cheesecake.

The only question is, which Hollywood Hottie will be Miss Afterbirth of 2013?  It's a knottier problem than usual, because as I understand from Facebook (which has a record for factual accuracy only slightly less luminous than the IMDB), this is a Big One for Ivan, birthday-wise, and I've been thinking that I'd really like to do something special.

Then Mary came to my aid when she mentioned that it was also Lois Lane's birthday.  Not today, specifically (according one source her birthday is August 17), but this year marks the 75th anniversary of Lois's debut in the comics, which makes her even older than Ivan.  Now to be honest, the Lois Lane of the comics is my least favorite version of the character, and for much of her four-color history she came off as shallow, shrewish, conniving, and kind of stupid -- in other words, Lucy Ricardo without the henna rinse.  But I have varying degrees of fondness for Lois as depicted on film -- whether hand-drawn, computer-generated, or live action -- and in my opinion, the best Lois was the first Lois: the Lois of the Fleischer Superman cartoons of 1941-1943.
Voiced by Joan Alexander (who also played the part on the long-running Superman radio program, which debuted a year earlier), the Lois of the Fleischer cartoons was a newspaperwoman so full of pluck and spunk she made Brenda Starr look like the Society Page reporter for the East Moline Gleaner.  In fact, this Lois was so brave, brassy, and determined to get the Story -- imagine Rosalind Russell's Hildy Johnson from His Girl Friday chasing scoops about bank-robbing robots or reanimated Tyrannosaurs -- that you could remove Superman entirely and still have a hugely entertaining series.

So with that in mind (and because we're deathly ill and trapped in the House of Crap), I put together a little video to illustrate my thesis:

Now to be fair, I understand there are cases to be made for many of the other Loises over the years, from Noel Neill to Dana Delaney, and I freely admit that the brief (and more recent) clip below may in fact represent her finest moment:

So in the spirit of a Golden Age Goddess who stood up to the Bulleteers of Yesteryear, and remains unafraid to flip off the Brainiacs of today, please join me in wishing Ivan a very happy (redacted round number) birthday!  And tell us who was your favorite Lois Lane?

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