The Genius of Airplane!: How to Make a Comedy by Playing Everything Completely Straight

Not every 46-year-old com­e­dy still gets laughs, but Air­plane! seems only to get fun­nier with the decades. Some view­ers too young to have caught it in its the­atri­cal release even take the Ben­jamin­ian view of it as the kind of great work that cre­ates its own genre: the rapid-fire dead­pan joke machine, we could call it. But as the InCin­e­mat­ic video essay above reminds us, Air­plane! belongs, at its core, to that ven­er­a­ble comedic form of the par­o­dy. The key lies in its tit­u­lar excla­ma­tion point shared with Zero Hour!, a con­ven­tion­al Para­mount dis­as­ter movie from 1957 also about a dis­graced fight­er pilot forced to assume com­mand of an air­lin­er, albeit one with nary a laugh in its 81 min­utes.

Though it actu­al­ly runs six min­utes longer, Air­plane! feels much short­er, thanks in part to its mer­ci­less­ly con­stant vol­ley of humor. But unlike so many major par­o­dies of this cen­tu­ry, which feel like noth­ing so much as a tis­sue of rapid­ly expir­ing pop-cul­ture ref­er­ences, it also tells a gen­uine sto­ry with momen­tum of its own.

The film’s writer-direc­to­r­i­al trio of Jim Abra­hams, David Zuck­er, and Jer­ry Zuck­er under­stood that view­ers would come for the laughs, but as with Zero Hour! and the count­less oth­er dis­as­ter pic­tures at which Air­plane! pokes fun, they’d stay to find out what hap­pens. Hence the inspired choice to play the whole thing per­fect­ly straight, no mat­ter how groan-induc­ing the visu­al or ver­bal gags being deliv­ered.

All this works only because Abra­hams, Zuck­er, and Zuck­er cast the right actors: that is to say, non-fun­ny ones. At the time of Air­plane!‘s release, “most come­dies relied on actors to be fun­ny, but nobody had real­ly tried mak­ing a com­e­dy with­out come­di­ans before.” This meant that “the com­e­dy had to be there before the cam­era start­ed rolling,” so that the actors being seem­ing­ly unaware of the humor would only make it fun­nier. The per­son­i­fi­ca­tion of this method is, of course, Leslie Nielsen, who’d already put in a quar­ter-cen­tu­ry of dra­mat­ic per­for­mances (includ­ing in no less a sev­en­ties dis­as­ter spec­ta­cle than The Posei­don Adven­ture), but whose dead­pan turn as Dr. Rumack ele­vat­ed him into a kind of super­star­dom of the absurd. Whether a par­o­dy like Air­plane! would work if made today is dif­fi­cult to say, but it nev­er­the­less remains a les­son in sto­ry­telling for young film­mak­ers — comedic or oth­er­wise.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Sein­feld, Louis C.K., Chris Rock, and Ricky Ger­vais Dis­sect the Craft of Com­e­dy (NSFW)

Buster Keaton: The Won­der­ful Gags of the Found­ing Father of Visu­al Com­e­dy

Why Is Jack­ie Chan the King of Action Com­e­dy? A Video Essay Mas­ter­ful­ly Makes the Case

The Air­line Toi­lets The­atre Com­pa­ny: Watch One Man Stage Com­i­cal Shows in Air­plane Bath­rooms

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

11,700 Free Photos from John Margolies’ Archive of Americana Architecture: Download, Use & Re-Mix

Many con­nois­seurs of archi­tec­ture are enthralled by the mod­ernist phi­los­o­phy of Le Cor­busier, Frank Lloyd Wright, and I M Pei, who shared a belief that form fol­lows func­tion, or, as Wright had it, that form and func­tion are one.

Oth­ers of us delight in gas sta­tions shaped like teapots and restau­rants shaped like fish or dough­nuts. If there’s a phi­los­o­phy behind these insis­tent­ly play­ful visions, it like­ly has some­thing to do with joy…and pulling in tourists.

Art his­to­ri­an John Mar­golies (1940–2016), respond­ing to the beau­ty of such quirky visions, scram­bled to pre­serve the evi­dence, trans­form­ing into a respect­ed, self-taught pho­tog­ra­ph­er in the process. A Guggen­heim Foun­da­tion grant and the finan­cial sup­port of archi­tect Philip John­son allowed him to log over four decades’ worth of trips on America’s blue high­ways, hop­ing to cap­ture his quar­ry before it dis­ap­peared for good.

Despite Johnson’s patron­age, and his own stints as an Archi­tec­tur­al Record edi­tor and Archi­tec­tur­al League of New York pro­gram direc­tor, he seemed to wel­come the ruf­fled min­i­mal­ist feath­ers his enthu­si­asm for mini golf cours­es, theme motels, and eye-catch­ing road­side attrac­tions occa­sioned.

On the oth­er hand, he resent­ed when his pas­sions were labelled as “kitsch,” a point that came across in a 1987 inter­view with the Cana­di­an Globe and Mail:

Peo­ple gen­er­al­ly have thought that what’s impor­tant are the large, unique archi­tec­tur­al mon­u­ments. They think Toronto’s City Hall is impor­tant, but not those won­der­ful gnome’s‑castle gas sta­tions in Toron­to, a Detroit influ­ence that crept across the bor­der and pol­lut­ed your won­der­ful­ly con­ser­v­a­tive envi­ron­ment.

As Mar­golies fore­saw, the type of com­mer­cial ver­nac­u­lar archi­tec­ture he’d loved since boyhood–the type that screams, “Look at me! Look at me”–has become very near­ly extinct.

And that is a max­i­mal shame.

Your chil­dren may not be able to vis­it an orange juice stand shaped like an orange or the Lean­ing Tow­er of Piz­za, but thanks to the Library of Con­gress, these locales can be pit­stops on any vir­tu­al fam­i­ly vaca­tion you might under­take.

In July 2017, the library select­ed the John Mar­golies Road­side Amer­i­ca Pho­to­graph Archive as its “free to use and reuse” col­lec­tion. So linger as long as you’d like and do with these 11,700+ images as you will–make post­cards, t‑shirts, sou­venir place­mats.

(Or eschew your com­put­er entirely—go on a real road trip, and con­tin­ue Mar­golies’ work!)

What­ev­er you decide to do with them, the archive’s home­page has tips for how to best search the 11,710 col­or slides con­tained there­in. Library staffers have sup­ple­ment­ed Mar­golies’ notes on each image with sub­ject and geo­graph­i­cal head­ings.

Begin your jour­ney through the Library of Con­gress’ John Mar­golies Road­side Amer­i­ca Pho­to­graph Archive here.

We’d love to see your vaca­tion snaps upon your return.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Stew­art Brand’s 6‑Part Series How Build­ings Learn, With Music by Bri­an Eno

Frank Lloyd Wright Designs an Urban Utopia: See His Hand-Drawn Sketch­es of Broad­acre City (1932)

A is for Archi­tec­ture: 1960 Doc­u­men­tary on Why We Build, from the Ancient Greeks to Mod­ern Times 

Watch 50+ Doc­u­men­taries on Famous Archi­tects & Build­ings: Bauhaus, Le Cor­busier, Hadid & Many More

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, and the­ater mak­er in NYC.

The Monty Python Philosophy Soccer Match: The Ancient Greeks Versus the Germans

Today, we’re revis­it­ing a clas­sic Mon­ty Python skit. The scene is the 1972 Munich Olympics. The event is a football/soccer match, pit­ting Ger­man philoso­phers against Greek philoso­phers. On the one side, the Ger­mans — Hegel, Niet­zsche, Kant, Marx and, um, Franz Beck­en­bauer. On the oth­er side, Archimedes, Socrates, Pla­to and the rest of the gang. The ref­er­ee? Con­fu­cius. Of course.

Enjoy!

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Why Jorge Luis Borges Hat­ed Soc­cer: “Soc­cer is Pop­u­lar Because Stu­pid­i­ty is Pop­u­lar”

Albert Camus’ Lessons Learned from Play­ing Goalie: “What I Know Most Sure­ly about Moral­i­ty and Oblig­a­tions, I Owe to Foot­ball”

Video: Bob Mar­ley Plays a Soc­cer Match in Brazil, 1980

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Why Jerry Seinfeld Lives by the Stoic Philosophy of Marcus Aurelius

Hav­ing pre­vi­ous­ly con­sid­ered whether come­di­ans are the philoso­phers of our time, we must now ask whether they, too, build upon the work of oth­er philoso­phers. Few of today’s most promi­nent fun­ny men and women live a philo­soph­i­cal life — or have cul­ti­vat­ed the tem­pera­ment nec­es­sary to live a philo­soph­i­cal life — more pub­licly than Jer­ry Sein­feld. This has been sug­gest­ed by, among oth­er things, a 2012 New York Times Mag­a­zine pro­file by Jon­ah Wein­er. “Sein­feld will nurse a sin­gle joke for years, amend­ing, abridg­ing and rework­ing it incre­men­tal­ly, to get the thing just so,” writes Wein­er. “It’s sim­i­lar to cal­lig­ra­phy or samu­rai,” Sein­feld says. “I want to make crick­et cages. You know those Japan­ese crick­et cages? Tiny, with the doors? That’s it for me: soli­tude and pre­ci­sion, refin­ing a tiny thing for the sake of it.”

Or, as Sein­feld puts it in the more recent inter­view above with pod­cast­er Gra­ham Ben­siger, he wants to know what time it is, but he wants even more to take the watch apart in order to learn how it works. This has become his life­long quest, in his pro­fes­sion­al are­na of com­e­dy and with his oth­er obses­sions as well.

Cul­ti­vat­ing both his under­stand­ing and him­self has entailed indulging his taste for dif­fi­cult sit­u­a­tions, or rather, chal­lenges with­in what he calls the appro­pri­ate “brack­et of strug­gle.” At this point in the jour­ney, he’s found what could at first sound like a sur­pris­ing guide: sec­ond-cen­tu­ry Roman emper­or Mar­cus Aure­lius, whose book the Med­i­ta­tions, along with Epicte­tus’ Enchirid­ion and the writ­ings of Seneca the Younger, con­sti­tute the core texts of Sto­icism.

To live Sto­ical­ly in the Aure­lian sense is to bear always in mind that, as Sein­feld puts it, “every­thing that you’re wor­ried about is going to be gone like that. The peo­ple that are crit­i­ciz­ing you, they’re going to be gone. You’re going to be gone. All this hand-wring­ing, wor­ry, and con­cern over ‘How are peo­ple view­ing me,’ ‘Some­one said some­thing bad about me’ — and you get so upset about it — is wast­ed time and ener­gy.” In the view of Mar­cus Aure­lius, “your only focus should be on get­ting bet­ter at what you’re doing. Focus on what you’re doing, get bet­ter at what you’re doing. Every­thing else is a com­plete waste of time.” It’s not hard to under­stand why such a world­view would appeal to the man Sarah Sil­ver­man, in the Times Mag­a­zine Pro­file, calls “the ulti­mate crafts­man” among come­di­ans.

In addi­tion to the Med­i­ta­tions, Sein­feld also relies on the prac­tice of actu­al med­i­ta­tion, which he cred­its with pro­vid­ing him both the phys­i­cal and men­tal ener­gy nec­es­sary to keep pur­su­ing his goals into his sev­en­ties. “Med­i­ta­tion is like if I said to you, ‘I’m going to need you to get in the hot tub once a day, and just sit there for five min­utes. Could you do that? That’s pret­ty easy. Med­i­ta­tion is even eas­i­er than that.” Exer­cise is the oppo­site, since it “takes more effort than any­thing,” but it’s become just as impor­tant a part of his life, the three keys to whose suc­cess he enu­mer­ates as fol­lows: “Tran­scen­den­tal med­i­ta­tion, lift weights, espres­so.” One likes to imag­ine that, had Mar­cus Aure­lius installed a Mar­zoc­co up on Pala­tine Hill, he’d have enjoyed a few shots through­out the day too.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Mar­cus Aure­lius’ 9 Rules for Liv­ing a Sto­ic Life

What’s the Deal with Pop Tarts? Jer­ry Sein­feld Explains How to Write a Joke

Jer­ry Sein­feld Deliv­ers Com­mence­ment Address at Duke Uni­ver­si­ty: You Will Need Humor to Get Through the Human Expe­ri­ence

Sein­feld, Louis C.K., Chris Rock, and Ricky Ger­vais Dis­sect the Craft of Com­e­dy (NSFW)

How Sein­feld, the Sit­com Famous­ly “About Noth­ing,” Is Like Gus­tave Flaubert’s Nov­els About Noth­ing

The Sto­ic Wis­dom of Roman Emper­or Mar­cus Aure­lius: An Intro­duc­tion in Six Short Videos

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The 1957 “Spaghetti-Grows-on-Trees” Hoax: One of TV’s First April Fools’ Day Pranks

In 1957, the BBC pro­gram Panora­ma aired one of the first tele­vised April Fools’ Day hoax­es. Above, you can watch a faux news report from Switzer­land nar­rat­ed by respect­ed BBC jour­nal­ist Richard Dim­ble­by. Here’s the basic premise: After a mild win­ter and the “vir­tu­al dis­ap­pear­ance of the spaghet­ti wee­vil,” the res­i­dents of Ticoni (a Swiss can­ton on the Ital­ian bor­der) reap a record-break­ing spaghet­ti har­vest. Swiss farm­ers pluck strands of spaghet­ti from trees and lay them out to dry in the sun. Then we cut to Swiss res­i­dents enjoy­ing a fresh pas­ta meal for dinner—going from farm to table, as it were.

The spoof doc­u­men­tary orig­i­nat­ed with the BBC cam­era­man Charles de Jaeger. He remem­bered one of his child­hood school­teach­ers in Aus­tria jok­ing, “Boys, you are so stu­pid, you’d believe me if I told you that spaghet­ti grew on trees.” Appar­ent­ly he was right. Years lat­er, David Wheel­er, the pro­duc­er of the BBC seg­ment, recalled: “The fol­low­ing day [the broad­cast] there was quite a to-do because there were lots of peo­ple who went to work and said to their col­leagues ‘did you see that extra­or­di­nary thing on Panora­ma? I nev­er knew that about spaghet­ti.’ ” An esti­mat­ed eight mil­lion peo­ple watched the orig­i­nal pro­gram, and, decades lat­er, CNN called the broad­cast “the biggest hoax that any rep­utable news estab­lish­ment ever pulled.”

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent

When Neapoli­tans Used to Eat Pas­ta with Their Bare Hands: Watch Footage from 1903

“Moon Hoax Not”: Short Film Explains Why It Was Impos­si­ble to Fake the Moon Land­ing

Neil Arm­strong Sets Straight an Inter­net Truther Who Accused Him of Fak­ing the Moon Land­ing (2000)

When Ital­ian Futur­ists Declared War on Pas­ta (1930)

 

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The Night John Belushi Booked the Punk Band Fear on Saturday Night Live & They Got Banned from the Show (1981)

Punk rock has a robust tra­di­tion of gross-out, offen­sive comedy—one car­ried into the present by bands like Fat White Fam­i­ly and Diar­rhea Plan­et, who may not exist were it not for Fear, an unsta­ble L.A. band led by an obnox­ious provo­ca­teur who goes by the name Lee Ving. Like fel­low L.A. punks the Germs, Cir­cle Jerks, and Black Flag, Fear gets cred­it for pio­neer­ing a Cal­i­for­nia punk sound known for ado­les­cent brat­ti­ness and a total lack of pre­ten­sion to any kind of art­ful­ness or cool.

Like many of their peers, Fear rose to promi­nence when Pene­lope Spheeris fea­tured them in her 1981 punk doc­u­men­tary The Decline of West­ern Civ­i­liza­tion, Part I. But before that sem­i­nal film’s release, Fear was dis­cov­ered by John Belushi, who first caught the band on a local L.A. music show called New Wave The­atre in 1980. He tracked down Ving, who tells Rolling Stone, “we had a cou­ple of beers and became fast friends.” At the time, Belushi was at work on his com­e­dy Neigh­bors with Dan Aykroyd and con­tract­ed the band to record a song for the film (his last before his death in 1982).

The film’s pro­duc­ers, Rolling Stone writes, “were appalled” by the song “and refused to use it,” so to make it up to Ving and com­pa­ny, Belushi pushed to have the band booked on Sat­ur­day Night Live on Hal­loween, 1981. The result­ing per­for­mance has become leg­endary for what hap­pened, and what didn’t, and led to Fear becom­ing, says Ving, “one of the esteemed mem­bers of the per­ma­nent­ly banned.” You can watch a clip above of the band play­ing “Beef Boloney” and “New York’s Alright if You Like Sax­o­phones” (intro­duced by Don­ald Pleas­ance), and just below see Ving in a clip from an inter­view show dis­cussing the ill-fat­ed gig.

Belushi stage-man­aged the band’s appear­ance, striv­ing for authen­tic­i­ty by bring­ing into the stu­dio what Ving calls “an actu­al punk rock audi­ence rather than just Mr. and Mrs. Mis­souri.” (That audi­ence includ­ed now-leg­ends Ian MacK­aye of Minor Threat and Fugazi, mem­bers of New York hard­core band the Cro-Mags, and Tesco Vee of the Meat­men.)  The result­ing mosh pit was noth­ing out of the ordi­nary for the typ­i­cal punk show. But, unsur­pris­ing­ly, “the real audi­ence at Sat­ur­day Night Live was scared to death,” says Ving, “They didn’t know what was hap­pen­ing with all the may­hem.”

Dur­ing the riotous pro­ceed­ings, SNL pro­duc­er Dick Eber­sol “got hit in the chest with a pump­kin,” some equip­ment was dam­aged, and dur­ing the final song, “Let’s Have a War,” an audi­ence mem­ber grabbed the micro­phone and yelled out “F*ck New York!” The pro­fan­i­ty freaked out NBC, who cut the broad­cast short and shelved the footage for sev­er­al years. The New York Post lat­er quot­ed an unnamed NBC tech­ni­cian as say­ing, “This was a life-threat­en­ing sit­u­a­tion. They went crazy. It’s amaz­ing no one got killed.” The paper also quot­ed a fig­ure of $400,000 for dam­ages to the Rock­e­feller Cen­ter set.

But as Bill­board report­ed two weeks lat­er, the fig­ure was total­ly erro­neous (sup­plied to the Post by Ving as a prac­ti­cal joke, as he says above). “We had to pay $40 in labor penal­ties. That was the extent of it,” said SNL spokesman Peter Hamil­ton. As for the shock to view­ers, it seems the net­work received “all of 12 com­plaints” after the broad­cast. Ving him­self found the over­re­ac­tion ridicu­lous, and NBC’s long shelv­ing of the footage—only recent­ly made avail­able in a trun­cat­ed version—a humor­less mis­take. “They seem to be… los­ing the sense of humor about the whole idea,” he told Rolling Stone, “I had a sense of humor at the whole idea of start­ing Fear. It was extreme­ly humor­ous to me, and I think John saw that humor.”

Indeed he did, but Belushi’s appre­ci­a­tion for Fear’s antics was ahead of its time. Now we can see, at least in part, what all the fuss was about. And we can also final­ly hear the long-shelved sin­gle for Neigh­bors that Belushi record­ed with the band.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2016.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Stunt That Got Elvis Costel­lo Banned From Sat­ur­day Night Live (1977)

The Birth of the Blues Broth­ers: How Dan Aykroyd & John Belushi Start­ed Intro­duc­ing a New Gen­er­a­tion to the Blues

Sat­ur­day Night Live’s Very First Sketch: Watch John Belushi Launch SNL in Octo­ber, 1975

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

 

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When CBS Canceled The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour for Criticizing the American Establishment and the Vietnam War (1969)

Rig­or­ous­ly clean-cut, com­pe­tent on the acoustic gui­tar and dou­ble bass, and sel­dom dressed in any­thing more dar­ing than cher­ry-red blaz­ers, Tom and Dick Smoth­ers looked like the antithe­sis of nine­teen-six­ties rebel­lion. When they first gained nation­al recog­ni­tion with their vari­ety show The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour, they must have come off to many young view­ers as the kind of act of which their moth­er — or even grand­moth­er — would approve. But the broth­ers’ cul­ti­vat­ed­ly square, neo-vaude­vil­lian appear­ance was deceiv­ing, as CBS would soon find out when the two took every chance to turn their pro­gram into a satir­i­cal, relent­less­ly author­i­ty-chal­leng­ing, yet some­how whole­some show­case of the coun­ter­cul­ture.

The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour pre­miered in Feb­ru­ary of 1967, and its first sea­son “fea­tured min­i­mal con­tro­ver­sial con­tent,” writes Sarah King at U.S. His­to­ry Scene. There­after, “the show became increas­ing­ly polit­i­cal. The broth­ers invit­ed activist celebri­ties onto their show, includ­ing folk singers Pete Seeger and Joan Baez and singer-actor Har­ry Bela­fonte.

The show also pro­duced its own polit­i­cal mate­r­i­al crit­i­ciz­ing the Viet­nam War and the politi­cians who sup­port­ed it,” not least Pres­i­dent Lyn­don John­son. Bring­ing on Seeger was a dar­ing move, giv­en that he’d been black­list­ed from net­work tele­vi­sion for the bet­ter part of two decades, though CBS’s cen­sors made sure to cut out the most polit­i­cal­ly sen­si­tive parts of his act.

Even more so was the broth­ers’ own per­for­mance, with George Segal, of Phil Ochs’s “Draft Dodger Rag,” which they end­ed by urg­ing their audi­ence to “make love, not war.” All this can look fair­ly tame by today’s stan­dards, but it locked the show — which had become top-rat­ed, hold­ing its own in a time slot against the cul­tur­al phe­nom­e­non that was Bonan­za — into a grudge match with its own net­work. Before the third sea­son, CBS’ high­er-ups demand­ed that each show be turned in ten days in advance, osten­si­bly in order to under­go review for sen­si­tive mate­r­i­al. In one instance, they claimed that the dead­line had­n’t been met and aired a re-run instead, though it may not have been entire­ly irrel­e­vant that the intend­ed pro­gram con­tained a trib­ute by Baez to her then-hus­band, who was being sent to prison for refus­ing to serve in the mil­i­tary.

CBS did broad­cast Baez’s per­for­mance on a lat­er date, after clip­ping out the ref­er­ence to the spe­cif­ic nature of her hus­band’s offense. A sim­i­lar strug­gle took place around the “ser­mon­ettes” deliv­ered by David Stein­berg, one of which you can see in the video above. The irrev­er­ence toward U.S. for­eign pol­i­cy, reli­gion, and much else besides in these and oth­er seg­ments even­tu­al­ly proved too much for the net­work, which fired the broth­ers after it had already giv­en the green light to a fourth sea­son of the Com­e­dy Hour. Though they suc­cess­ful­ly sued CBS for breach of con­tract there­after, they nev­er did regain the same lev­el of tele­vi­su­al promi­nence they’d once enjoyed, if enjoy be the word. At any rate, the fall­out of all this con­tro­ver­sy firm­ly installed the Smoth­ers Broth­ers in the pan­theon of twen­ti­eth-cen­tu­ry free-speech war­riors, and their expe­ri­ence reminds us still today that, with­out the free­dom to give offense, there can be no com­e­dy wor­thy of the name.

Relat­ed con­tent:

Watch Steve Mar­tin Make His First TV Appear­ance: The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour (1968)

When The Who (Lit­er­al­ly) Blew Up The Smoth­ers Broth­ers Com­e­dy Hour in 1967

Watch 3000 Years of Art, a 1968 Exper­i­men­tal Film That Takes You on a Visu­al Jour­ney Through 3,000 Years of Fine Art

Revis­it Turn-On, the Inno­v­a­tive TV Show That Got Can­celed Right in the Mid­dle of Its First Episode (1969)

Pink Lady and Jeff: Japan’s Biggest Pop Musi­cians Star in One of America’s Worst-Reviewed TV Shows (1980)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

The Spinal Tap Sequel Arrives Next Month: Watch the Trailer and a Scene with Elton John & Paul McCartney

This Is Spinal Tap came out more than 40 years ago. At the time, says direc­tor Rob Rein­er in a recent inter­view at San Diego Com­ic-Con, “nobody got it. I mean, they thought I’d made a movie about a real band that was­n’t very good, and why would­n’t I make a movie about the Bea­t­les or the Rolling Stones?” Indeed, sto­ries cir­cu­lat­ed of peo­ple in the music indus­try (includ­ing the late Ozzy Osbourne) not real­iz­ing it was sup­posed to be a com­e­dy, so close was its satire to their actu­al pro­fes­sion­al lives. Even­tu­al­ly, “the real word start­ed creep­ing in”: the fic­tion­al band “played Glas­ton­bury, they played Roy­al Albert Hall and Wem­b­ley Sta­di­um.” Real-life rock and pop musi­cians also became fans of the film. “Every time I see it,” Rein­er quotes Sting as say­ing, “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

The bound­aries between Spinal Tap’s world and the real one have remained porous enough that the pro­duc­tion of the film’s upcom­ing sequel Spinal Tap II: The End Con­tin­ues has involved a great many celebri­ties play­ing them­selves, or at least ver­sions there­of.

Take, for exam­ple, the new­ly released ver­sion of “Stone­henge,” whose music video fea­tures not just Elton John, but — to the delight of some fans, and per­haps the dis­ap­point­ment of oth­ers — a cor­rect­ly scaled stage prop. The song will be includ­ed on the album of The End Con­tin­ues, sched­uled for release along with the film on Sep­tem­ber 12th, whose thir­teen tracks bring in guest stars like Paul McCart­ney, Garth Brooks, and Trisha Year­wood.

It’s been about fif­teen years since the last Spinal Tap album, a fac­tor the sequel incor­po­rates into its premise. “We cre­at­ed this whole idea that there’s bad blood, they’re not speak­ing to each oth­er,” says Rein­er, “but they now are forced togeth­er because of a con­tract” dic­tat­ing that they must give one last per­for­mance, a prospect sud­den­ly made viable when their song “Big Bot­tom” goes viral. As unrec­og­niz­able as both pop cul­ture in gen­er­al and the music indus­try in par­tic­u­lar have become over the past four decades, Rein­er assures us that David St. Hub­bins, Nigel Tufnel, and Derek Smalls “have not grown emo­tion­al­ly, musi­cal­ly, or artis­ti­cal­ly. They are stuck in that heavy-met­al world.” In a Hol­ly­wood movie, such a fla­grant lack of char­ac­ter devel­op­ment would con­sti­tute a vio­la­tion of sto­ry­telling laws; in rock, it’s unflinch­ing real­ism.

Relat­ed con­tent:

The Ori­gins of Spinal Tap: Watch the 20 Minute Short Film Cre­at­ed to Pitch the Clas­sic Mock­u­men­tary

Ian Rub­bish (aka Fred Armisen) Inter­views the Clash in Spinal Tap-Inspired Mock­u­men­tary

The Spinal Tap Stone­henge Deba­cle

Watch The Nine Lives of Ozzy Osbourne: A Free Doc­u­men­tary on the Heavy Met­al Pio­neer (RIP)

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. His projects include the Sub­stack newslet­ter Books on Cities and the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

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