Where Do Movie Stars Come From? The Independent Movement: Vague Goals and Candid Answers

A couple of days ago I learned they filmed this movie in Rome, NY, which is a quick drive from my house. It's very vulgar. It's full of hilarious awkward moments and ridiculous characters. The cast is cross-dressing for the latter 1/3 of the film. The Jerk, he was fucking fantastic.

I yelled at the people in the trailer park around the block from me. I couldn't make my excitement any more apparent.

Glengary Randy Rick "got it." Pinpointing the psychological bent of counter-cultures off Wixom Road, a lot of what he said stemmed from the Kool-Aid picnic (not to mention its socialization procedures) because it was a good time. In the empty tool shed he shed his clothes and sounded off and said (as if on holiday), "Hell yeah!!!! I’m decorating my trailer with bayberry and lights and shit, and drinking Pabst all night!!!!!!!!! Come by!!!!!"

I was blown away, thinking hell on earth was about to erupt. The synopsis looks something like this:

An historian in the film points out quite clearly that "youth" is a creation of post-industrial society. Categories of life are just economic surpluses. For millions of teenagers, "wide-awakeness" describes the adolescent self in young voices shouting with glee, extrapolated from quasi-theoretical essays and all aspects of mass media. You start thinking, Why didn’t the government bureaucrats see this coming? "I couldn't agree more with Epstein (the historian)," says the most reliable liberal in the Senate.

Of course the American people are just looking for refreshing candidness.

Eventually we have no idea what he (Epstein) is talking about. "The Economy is the collection of countless choices chosen too fast on carefree summer days." We begin to observe the superiority of the Old-Order Mennonite (horse and buggy) / Amish model. Who cares about drop-outs, their drugs and their vision for a better social reality? "Every American citizen," goes Epstein, "must choose between the life he knows and an unknown destiny that beckons him." His girlfriend tries to protect us from how meaningless our lives are. Like a proverbial fish in the surrounding water, she climbs high atop Grandad's old mulberry tree and reveals herself to be a sort of ectoplasmic spirit held within a very special containment suit. "We just want to be left alone," the corporeal youth decide.

It's all very original, all very breathtakingly beautiful, like illustrations of modern biology and contemporary (circa 1975) trends in family life.

With all the hullabaloo in the Stratford Villa trailer park (a reporter was beginning to prepare commentaries in Volumes 1-12 from the only people who could reasonably and reliably be expected to know about the subject matter), I decided to reflect on my own childhood:

I remember browning my arms and burning my nose,
Feeling the grass tickle 'tween my toes.

The New Olympians versus the Kracken and the Gorgon Medusa is not unheard of, and someday you may have half the fun in watching it as the movie of the week on PBS. Still, fucking Epstein and his epic tale scared the shit out of me. The mortal youth in the film call a man blessed for his handsome face. And Epstein was; yeah, like a glimpse of the cell structure of a clockwork golden owl named Bobo (played by Burgess Meredith) in Shakespeare's trendiest play. His incomplete and inaccurate concepts were sometimes absurd. "I have a couple of theories," Epstein is inevitably producing out of his mouth, giving himself an authority that would otherwise be absent. "And I offer them now for your commentary."

Here is what I would have said: "We rarely even get together on major holidays anymore. Brothers sign deals, split talent and authority throughout the company. Shall we expose our weaknesses, or do the most for the fraternity between nations?"