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Joe
R. Lansdale's writing style is hard to
define: twisted, morbid, visceral, brutal,
frank, funny, dripping with atmosphere, and
most important of all, it has a simple
honesty about it that's very endearing --
even though his subject matter tends to be
very, very dark.
His
first novel, Act of Love,
about a brutal serial-killer, had me
guessing until the very end about the killer's
true identity. His cult classic, The
Drive In, has a
mysterious, trans-dimensional comet that
gulps up the denizens of a drive-in,
trapping them there, where all they have
to live on is soda, popcorn and --
eventually -- each other. His
latest novels, The
Bottoms and
A Fine Dark Line,
are murder mysteries, too, but they're
more of a coming of age story as each is
told from the perspective of a young boy.
Both set in his beloved east Texas, the stories come
off as an odd combination of Harper Lee
and Stephen King, mixed with the narration
of Joe Bob Briggs or some other, lethargic
good-old-boy spinning tales on the back
porch.
I
was personally introduced to Lansdale's
work when I picked up a copy of
Jonah
Hex: Two Gun Mojo
at the local comic
shop. I liked that wild western tale so
much I snagged the sequel,
Riders of
the Worm and Such, and that led me to
tracking down his The Lone Ranger and Tonto
series that he and artist Tim Truman also
did, earlier, for Topps Comics.
Lurking in those
pages of "It Crawls" was a story
where the legendary lawman and his partner
(yes partner,
not sidekick -- if you called him that,
there's a good chance this Tonto would
scalp you on the spot)
run afoul of a resurrected Aztec Mummy
that's rampaging across Texas, leaving
many dead bodies in it's wake.
So
that's one way to describe Lansdale's
work: Who else would have dreamed to have
the Lone Ranger and Tonto fighting off an
evil mummy from outer space? That's the
thing about his writing, though; the
situations are completely absurd, but
played straight on a razor, with enough
nuggets of truth scattered about that one
will think the situation is not only
plausible but possible.
Which
brings us to Don Coscarelli's new film,
Bubba Ho-Tep, that's based on a Lansdale
short-story featured in the Writer of
the Purple Rage anthology. (The
anthology also contains Godzilla's
Twelve Step Program
that's pretty danged funny and can be read
right here.)
The
premise of the film? Well, try to get your
head around this: In a retirement home,
living under an assumed identity, an aged
Elvis Presley (Bruce Campbell) is alive
but not very well. Seems the Big E was
tired of his lifestyle and swapped places
with an Elvis impersonator; but all traces
of this switch have been lost. So to the
rest of the world, Elvis Presley died back
in 1977.
Saddled
with bouts of dementia, a bum hip, and
"festering pecker," Elvis looks
back on his life with much regret. His
only friend at the home is Jack. Now Jack (Ossie Davis) thinks he is former
President John F. Kennedy. The victim of
his own conspiracy, Jack is convinced part
of his brain was removed, and then he
was dyed black and hidden away in Texas as
part of some insidious plot hatched by
Lyndon Johnson.
Things
turn even more sinister as the mortality rate
quickly jumps at the nursing home. Soon,
the two
men discover that an ancient Egyptian
Mummy is stalking the grounds and sucking
out the souls of their elderly roommates.
No one else would ever believe them, so
these two legendary figures gear up for
one final showdown to try and save the
day.
Sounds
completely ludicrous doesn't it. Sounds
like typical Lansdale to me.
I
finally got to see the film during it's
limited theatrical run in early February.
Sadly, the film never could find a real
distributor, and that's too bad because
more people really need to see this film.
Bruce
Campbell turns in a completely amazing
performance as the curmudgeonly, decrepit
King of Rock-n-Roll. How good is he?
Half way through the film, I honestly
forgot that it was Campbell. He sold me,
completely. The
scenes where he expresses regret over his
life choices, and laments about
abandoning his daughter is heart wrenching
stuff. After he points a blaming finger at
his wife, the Colonel, and the other usual
suspects, he realizes that the biggest culprit
in his downfall was himself. This is really
touching stuff and those scenes really got
to me. And Campbell's delivery is the
reason why.
Campbell's
involvement in this independent production
could have been either a boon or a bust.
Those expecting Evil Dead IV, or Ash like
antics from our boy, could be disappointed,
but, luckily, the film is good enough that
you shouldn't care. (And I stress
on the "could" and
"shouldn't", my fellow fanboys.)
The farther away we can separate this
film from Raimi's trilogy, the better;
because comparisons aren't fair to either
franchise. (Do you hear me fellow
fanboys?)
The
film's real casting coup, though, is Ossie
Davis, who brings much energy, spirit and
coyness to the Jack character. Like I said
before, we believe Elvis is who he says he
is, but Jack is a complete loony tune. Or
is he? Coscarelli leaves all kinds of
clues and hints that maybe Jack is telling
the truth, too. You just get to the point
where you say it's so insane, how can it
not be true?
Coscarelli
then made the right decision by letting the
plot be as absurd as it wants to be, but
kept his characters stone cold sober. The
actors and characters are so good, and
bring such dignity to the scenes that deal
with regret, getting old, and the
mistreatment of the elderly -- discarding
them in homes, where they're treated like
helpless children -- that it's a little
jarring when we go from that stuff to the
soul-sphincter- sucking mummy stuff. If the film has
one flaw, it's that it switches moods from
melancholy to manic so quickly, without
any kind of transition, it tends to be a
bit disjointed.
Still
the film can be looked at and enjoyed on
many levels. As a metaphor, absurd
escapism, or a touching treatment of
growing old, and going out with dignity on
your own terms. What it definitely did was
overachieve to something far, far greater
than it's schlocky trappings.
I
like to think of it as Lansdale,
Coscarelli, Campbell, and Davis giving
these two truly American cult-heroes of
the last century -- both enshrouded in
scandals while they lived (and even
more so after they died) -- who both
met tragic deaths long before their time
should have been up, a chance to go out
in a blaze of glory.
Elvis
gets to be the Lone Ranger, mounted on
his silver walker, with JFK, his trusty
Tonto, right beside him in a motorized
wheelchair. Together, they ride to the
rescue, and
in a sense, ride off into the sunset.
It's hysterical, yet touching, and
beautiful all at the same time. That is
why at the end, after the villain is
vanquished, when a mortally wounded Elvis
thanks the stars above for this last
opportunity to do something right, this
particular film critic had tears in his
eyes.
Hail
to the King, indeed.
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