When Archie Bunker’s Advice on Gun Control Becomes Mainstream GOP Policy (1972)

The more things change, the more the talk­ing points stay the same. Just swap teach­ers for air­plane pas­sen­gers, and watch a sil­ly sit­com punch­line morph into actu­al GOP pol­i­cy.

When Japan’s Top Animators Made a Thrilling Cyberpunk Commercial for Irish Beer: Watch Last Orders (1997)

When it came out in 1995, Mamoru Oshi­i’s Ghost in the Shell showed the world what the art of Japan­ese ani­ma­tion could do with the kind of grit­ty, tech-sat­u­rat­ed, glob­al­ized cyber­punk visions pop­u­lar­ized in the pre­vi­ous decade by William Gib­son and oth­er writ­ers. The film’s par­tic­u­lar­ly suc­cess­ful release in the Unit­ed King­dom got some cul­tur­al­ly savvy mar­keters in Ire­land think­ing: why not use this sort of thing to sell beer?

But rather than rip­ping it off and water­ing it down — all too par for the course in adver­tis­ing — they hired ani­ma­tors straight from Pro­duc­tion I.G., Ghost in the Shell’s stu­dio, to cre­ate a whole new ani­mat­ed cyber­punk real­i­ty, the one in which Last Ordersthe minute-long spot above, takes place. The 1997 com­mer­cial tells the sto­ry of six samu­rai rush­ing through a cityscape that has every­thing we’ve now come to expect from this genre: forests of high-ris­es, bustling streets, mys­te­ri­ous women, arti­fi­cial humanoids, the tech­no­log­i­cal every­where merged with the organ­ic, and neon signs aplen­ty.

The samu­rai con­verge on their des­ti­na­tion, a tav­ern, just in time to silent­ly but firm­ly sig­nal their demand for their drink of choice: Mur­phy’s Irish Stout, a Heineken-dis­trib­uted brew offered as a lighter, less bit­ter alter­na­tive to the mar­ket-dom­i­nat­ing Guin­ness. But no mat­ter of the steely deter­mi­na­tion of the samu­rai in Last Orders, the first ani­me-style com­mer­cial ever to air in the UK and Ire­land, it seems that one chal­lenges such an icon­ic brand at one’s per­il: Mur­phy’s cur­rent­ly has only a five-per­cent share of the Irish stout mar­ket, and that most­ly thanks to a 28-per­cent share in its native Cork.

The Japan­ese ani­ma­tors who worked on the com­mer­cial have fared rather bet­ter, going on to, among many oth­er respect­ed projects, Blood: The Last Vam­pire and Jin-Roh: The Wolf Brigade. Though I’ve nev­er encoun­tered Mur­phy’s on any tap, I’d glad­ly watch a movie or even an entire series set in its world. The stout mar­ket, the mighty Guin­ness includ­ed, may have been on the decline in recent years, but cyber­punk, in our own ever more glob­al­ized and tech-sat­u­rat­ed real­i­ty, seems about due for a come­back.

via Kotaku

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Phi­los­o­phy, Sto­ry­telling & Visu­al Cre­ativ­i­ty of Ghost in the Shell, the Acclaimed Ani­me Film, Explained in Video Essays

Watch the New Ani­me Pre­quel to Blade Run­ner 2049, by Famed Japan­ese Ani­ma­tor Shinichi­ro Watan­abe

Watch a New Star Wars Ani­ma­tion, Drawn in a Clas­sic 80s Japan­ese Ani­me Style

The Art of Hand-Drawn Japan­ese Ani­me: A Deep Study of How Kat­suhi­ro Otomo’s Aki­ra Uses Light

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

Philip K. Dick’s Electric Dreams, the New Series Starring Bryan Cranston, Anna Paquin & Steve Buscemi, Now Streaming Free on Amazon Prime

Do I like Philip K. Dick? Do androids dream of elec­tric sheep? Hon­est­ly, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to answer such ques­tions about the sub­jec­tive expe­ri­ence of arti­fi­cial beings. But I know for cer­tain that I like Philip K. Dick. Deeply admire, respect, fear, even… there are many words I could use to describe the way I feel about his imag­i­na­tion and vision. And I could say much the same about the film adap­ta­tions of Dick’s work, up to and includ­ing Blade Run­ner 2049, which wasn’t as visu­al­ly over­whelm­ing on the small screen after its release on stream­ing video but still as emo­tion­al­ly cap­ti­vat­ing in its nar­ra­tive, pac­ing, score, and direc­tor Denis Villeneuve’s fideli­ty to, and expan­sion of, the orig­i­nal film’s use of col­or and mon­u­men­tal, future-bru­tal­ist archi­tec­ture to tell a sto­ry.

Though he very much want­ed to break out of sci­ence fic­tion and achieve the sta­tus of a “lit­er­ary” writer—the dis­tinc­tions in his day being much hard­er and faster—Dick’s fic­tion has pro­vid­ed the ulti­mate source for the cin­e­mat­ic sci-fi epic for sev­er­al decades now, and shows lit­tle sign of falling out of favor. The com­mer­cial and cre­ative ques­tion seems to be not whether Dick’s sto­ries still res­onate, but whether they trans­late to tele­vi­sion as bril­liant­ly as they do to film. Crit­i­cal opin­ion can sharply divide on Amazon’s adap­ta­tion of Dick’s alter­na­tive his­to­ry nov­el The Man in the High Cas­tle (about a world in which the Axis pow­ers tri­umphed), which might be “pon­der­ous,” “bor­ing,” and—in its sec­ond season—“the worst TV show of the year,” or “the sec­ond best show Ama­zon has ever made.”

How much this lat­ter judg­ment con­veys depends upon how high­ly, on the whole, one rates the qual­i­ty of pro­gram­ming from that cor­po­rate mega-jug­ger­naut threat­en­ing to over­take near­ly every aspect of con­sumer cul­ture. To say that I find it iron­ic that such an enti­ty pos­sess­es not only one Philip K. Dick prop­er­ty, but now two, with its lat­est Dick-inspired anthol­o­gy show Philip K. Dick­’s Elec­tric Dreams, would be to gross­ly under­state the case. The author who imag­ined an intru­sive inter­net of things and a dystopi­an world where adver­tise­ments appear in our minds might also find this sit­u­a­tion some­what… Dick-ian (Dick-like? Dick-ish?). But such is the world we live in. Putting these ironies aside, let’s revis­it the ques­tion: do Dick­’s sto­ries work as well on TV as they do on film?

Find out for your­self. The first sea­son of Philip K. Dick­’s Elec­tric Dreams is now stream­ing on Ama­zon (see the trail­er above), and you can either pur­chase it by episode, or binge-stream the whole thing gratis with a 30-day free tri­al of Ama­zon Prime. Giv­en that the series, which adapts sto­ries from a col­lec­tion of the same title, is not the prod­uct of one sin­gu­lar vision but a dif­fer­ent cre­ative team each time, you may agree with Evan Nar­cisse at Giz­mo­do, who writes that the episodes “don’t just vary in aes­thet­ics; they vary wide­ly in qual­i­ty.” It has a star-stud­ded cast—including Anna Paquin, Janelle Mon­ae, Ter­rance Howard, Steve Busce­mi, and Bryan Cranston (who co-produced)—and some impres­sive pro­duc­tion val­ues.

But Elec­tric Dreams also has a sig­nif­i­cant chal­lenge set before it: “to show both new view­ers and con­ver­sant fans why Dick’s oeu­vre mat­ters, which is hard in a world where we’re eeri­ly close to some of his fic­tion­al real­i­ties.” Indeed—as we pon­der whether we might be char­ac­ters in a sim­u­lat­ed real­i­ty, our thoughts and beliefs manip­u­lat­ed by pow­er­ful com­pa­nies like those in Dick’s unset­tling Ubik—watch­ing the show might add yet anoth­er lay­er of bewil­der­ment to the already very strange expe­ri­ence of every­day life these days. But then again, “if you feel weird­ed out while watch­ing, that just means the show is doing its job.”

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A New 2‑In‑1 Illus­trat­ed Edi­tion of Philip K. Dick’s Do Androids Dream of Elec­tric Sheep? & A Scan­ner Dark­ly

Free Philip K. Dick: Down­load 13 Great Sci­ence Fic­tion Sto­ries

33 Sci-Fi Sto­ries by Philip K. Dick as Free Audio Books & Free eBooks

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Binge-Watch Carl Sagan’s Original Cosmos Series Free Online (Available for a Limited Time)

FYI. Carl Sagan’s 13-episode series Cos­mos orig­i­nal­ly aired in 1980 and became one of the most wide­ly watched series in the his­to­ry of Amer­i­can pub­lic TV. The show also won two Emmys and a Peabody Award.

Right now, you can watch the orig­i­nal Cos­mos episodes over on Twitch.TV. From time to time, Twitch airs marathon ses­sions of old pro­grams. They did Julia Child’s “The French Chef” back in 2016. Now it’s Sagan’s turn.

Usu­al­ly the videos are only avail­able for a few days. So you might want to start your binge-watch­ing ses­sion now. If you miss the boat, you could always pick up a copy of the show on Blu-Ray.

Twitch.TV orig­i­nal­ly aired the Cos­mos series last spring as part of a Sci­ence Week cel­e­bra­tion. Read their press release for more infor­ma­tion.

Update: Neil deGrasse Tyson just coin­ci­den­tal­ly announced this on Twit­ter: “Yup. We got the band back togeth­er. Anoth­er sea­son of Cos­mos is offi­cial­ly real. COSMOS: Pos­si­ble Worlds To air on & in a year — Spring 2019. Be there.”

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. It’s a great way to see our new posts, all bun­dled in one email, each day.

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!

via Big­Think

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Carl Sagan Pre­dicts the Decline of Amer­i­ca: Unable to Know “What’s True,” We Will Slide, “With­out Notic­ing, Back into Super­sti­tion & Dark­ness” (1995)

Carl Sagan Presents His “Baloney Detec­tion Kit”: 8 Tools for Skep­ti­cal Think­ing

Carl Sagan & the Dalai Lama Meet in 1991 and Dis­cuss When Sci­ence Can Answer Big Ques­tions Bet­ter Than Reli­gion

The Pio­neer­ing Physics TV Show, The Mechan­i­cal Uni­verse, Is Now on YouTube: 52 Com­plete Episodes from Cal­tech

by | Permalink | Make a Comment ( 4 ) |

Watch an Episode of TV-CBGB, the First Rock ‘n’ Roll Sitcom Ever Aired on Cable TV (1981)

For a good long while, or at least a few decades, the best things on TV in the U.S. hap­pened out­side the major broad­cast and nation­al cable net­works. And like a great many oth­er cul­tur­al hap­pen­ings of the pre­vi­ous cen­tu­ry, you would have to live in New York to expe­ri­ence them. I mean, of course, the weird, won­der­ful world of Man­hat­tan pub­lic access cable TV. Here you could watch, for exam­ple, Glenn O’Brien’s TV Par­ty, cre­at­ed by the tit­u­lar host as “a drug-fueled re-inter­pre­ta­tion of Hugh Hefner’s Play­boy After Dark”—as we not­ed in a recent post—and fea­tur­ing the most cut­ting-edge artists and musi­cians of the day.

Around the same time, Andy Warhol con­duct­ed his ver­sion of a celebri­ty inter­view show on local cable, and as the banal info­tain­ment of day­time talk show and 24-hour-cable news devel­oped on main­stream TV, a dozen bizarre, hilar­i­ous, raunchy, and ridicu­lous inter­view and call-in shows took hold on New York cable access in the years to fol­low (some of them still exist).

I hap­pened to catch the tail end of this gold­en era, which tapered off in the nineties as the inter­net took over for the com­mu­ni­ties these shows served. But oh, what it must have been like to watch the thriv­ing down­town scene doc­u­ment itself on TV from week-to-week, along­side the leg­en­dar­i­ly flam­boy­ant Man­hat­tan sub­cul­tures that found their voic­es on cable access?

Quite a few peo­ple remem­ber it well, and were thrilled when the video at the top emerged from obscu­ri­ty: an episode of TV-CBGB shot in 1981, “an odd glimpse,” writes Mar­tin Schnei­der at Dan­ger­ous Minds, “of a CBGB iden­ti­ty that nev­er took shape, as a cable access main­stay.” It is unclear how many episodes of the show were shot, or aired, or still exist in some form, but what we do have above seems rep­re­sen­ta­tive, accord­ing to two Bill­board arti­cles describ­ing the show. The first, from July 11, 1981, called the project “the first rock’n’roll sit­u­a­tion com­e­dy on cable tele­vi­sion.”

Cre­at­ed by CBG­Bs own­er, Hilly Kristal, the show aimed to give view­ers slices of life from the Bow­ery insti­tu­tion, which was already famous, accord­ing to Bill­board, as “the club that pio­neered new music.” Kristal told the trade mag­a­zine, “There will always be a plot, though a sim­ple plot. It will be about what hap­pens in the club, or what could hap­pen.” He then goes on to describe a series of plot ideas which, thank­ful­ly, didn’t dom­i­nate the show—or at least what we see of it above. The episode is “90% per­for­mance,” though “not true con­cert footage,” Schnei­der writes.

After an odd open­ing intro, we’re thrown into a song from Idiot Savant. Oth­er acts include The Roustabouts, The Hard, Jo Mar­shall, Shrap­nel, and Sic Fucks. While not among the best or most well-known to play at the club, these bands put on some excel­lent per­for­mances. By Novem­ber of the fol­low­ing year, it seems the first episode had still not yet aired. Bill­board quotes Kristal as call­ing TV-CBGB “one step fur­ther in expos­ing new tal­ent. Radio and reg­u­lar tv aren’t doing it. MTV is good, but it’s show­ing most­ly top 40.”

Had the show migrat­ed to MTV, Schnei­der spec­u­lates, it might have become a “nation­al TV icon,” ful­fill­ing Kristal’s vision for a new means of bring­ing obscure down­town New York musi­cians to the world at large. It might have worked. Though the sketch­es are lack­lus­ter, notable as his­tor­i­cal curiosi­ties, the music is what makes it worth­while, and there’s some real­ly fun stuff here—vital and dra­mat­ic. While these bands may not have had the mass appeal of, say, Blondie or the Ramones, they were stal­warts of the ear­ly 80s CBGB scene.

The awk­ward, strange­ly earnest, and often down­right goofy skits por­tray­ing the goings-on in the lives of club reg­u­lars and employ­ees are both some­how touch­ing and tedious, but with a lit­tle pol­ish and bet­ter direc­tion, the whole thing might have played like a punk rock ver­sion of Fame—which maybe no one need­ed. As it stands, giv­en the enthu­si­asm of sev­er­al YouTube com­menters who claim to have watched it at the time or been in the club them­selves, the episode con­sti­tutes a strange and rare doc­u­ment of what was, if not what could have been.

via Dan­ger­ous Minds

Relat­ed Con­tent:  

Take a Vir­tu­al Tour of CBGB, the Ear­ly Home of Punk and New Wave

Pat­ti Smith Plays at CBGB In One of Her First Record­ed Con­certs, Joined by Sem­i­nal Punk Band Tele­vi­sion (1975)

CBGB is Reborn … As a Restau­rant in Newark Air­port

When Glenn O’Brien’s TV Par­ty Brought Klaus Nomi, Blondie & Basquiat to Pub­lic Access TV (1978–82)

Ian McK­ellen Recites Shakespeare’s Son­net 20, Backed by Garage Rock Band, the Flesh­tones, on Andy Warhol’s MTV Vari­ety Show (1987)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

Watch Every Episode of Bob Ross’ The Joy Of Painting Free Online: 403 Episodes Spanning 31 Seasons

Whether your New Year’s res­o­lu­tion involves tak­ing up paint­ing, man­ag­ing stress, cul­ti­vat­ing a more pos­i­tive out­look, or build­ing a busi­ness empire, the late tele­vi­sion artist Bob Ross can help you stick it out.

Like Fred Rogers’ Mr Rogers’ Neigh­bor­hood, Ross’ long-run­ning PBS show, The Joy of Paint­ing, did not dis­ap­pear from view fol­low­ing its creator’s demise. For over twen­ty years, new fans have con­tin­ued to seek out the half-hour long instruc­tion­al videos, along with its mes­mer­iz­ing­ly mel­low, eas­i­ly spoofed host.

Now all 403 episodes have been made avail­able for free on Ross’ offi­cial Youtube chan­nel. That cov­ers all 31 sea­sons.

It’s said that 90% of the reg­u­lar view­ers tun­ing in to watch Ross crank out his sig­na­ture “wet-on-wet” land­scapes nev­er took up a brush, despite his belief that, with a bit of encour­age­ment, any­one can paint.

Per­haps they pre­ferred sad clowns or big-eyed chil­dren to scenic land­scapes of the sort that would not have looked out of place in a 1970’s motel.… Or per­haps Ross, him­self, was the big draw.

Like Mis­ter Rogers, Ross spoke soft­ly, using direct address to cre­ate an impres­sion of inti­ma­cy between him­self and the view­er. Twen­ty years in the mil­i­tary had soured him on barked-out, rigid instruc­tions. Instead, Ross reas­sured less expe­ri­enced painters that the 16th-cen­tu­ry ”Alla Pri­ma” tech­nique he brought to the mass­es could nev­er result in mis­takes, only “hap­py acci­dents.” He was patient and kind and he did­n’t take his own abil­i­ties too seri­ous­ly, though he seemed like he would cer­tain­ly have tak­en plea­sure in yours.

Ross’ Land of Make Believe was a char­ac­ter-free nat­ur­al world, in which many of the same ele­ments appear over and over.  Accord­ing to Five Thir­ty Eight cul­ture edi­tor Walt Hickey’s sta­tis­ti­cal analy­sis, trees reigned supreme. The real life land­scapes he observed as first sergeant of the U.S. Air Force Clin­ic at Eiel­son Air Force Base in Alas­ka became his life­long sub­ject, and by exten­sion, that of untold num­bers of home view­ers.

His devo­tees may be con­tent just see­ing “hap­py lit­tle trees” and “pret­ty lit­tle moun­tains” bloom on can­vas, but in an inter­view with NPR, Ross’ busi­ness part­ner, Annette Kowal­s­ki, sug­gests that he would not have been.

The gen­tle, for­est-and-cloud-lov­ing host was also an ambi­tious and high­ly focused busi­ness­man, who used TV as the medi­um for his suc­cess. Every folksy com­ment was rehearsed before film­ing and he stuck with the permed hair­do he loathed, rather than scrap­ping what had become a high­ly visu­al brand iden­ti­fi­er.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Watch all 31 sea­sons of Bob Ross’ The Joy of Paint­ing here, or right here on this page. Offi­cial Bob Ross paint­ing kits are wide­ly avail­able online, or source your own using a cob­bled togeth­er sup­ply list.

Sea­son Three

Sea­son Four

Sea­son Five

Sea­son Six

We will con­tin­u­ing adding sea­sons to this list as they become avail­able.

Sea­son Sev­en

Sea­son Eight

Sea­son Nine

Sea­son Ten

Sea­son 11

Sea­son 12

Sea­son 13

Sea­son 14

Sea­son 15

Sea­son 16

Sea­son 17

Sea­son 18

Sea­son 19

Sea­son 20

Sea­son 21

Sea­son 22

Sea­son 23

Sea­son 24

Sea­son 25

Sea­son 26

Sea­son 27

Sea­son 28

Sea­son 29

Sea­son 30

Sea­son 31

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Watch Bob Ross’ The Joy of Paint­ing, Sea­sons 1–3, Free Online

Mr. Rogers Goes to Con­gress and Saves PBS: Heart­warm­ing Video from 1969

Stream 23 Free Doc­u­men­taries from PBS’ Award-Win­ning Amer­i­can Expe­ri­ence Series

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is an author, illus­tra­tor, the­ater mak­er and Chief Pri­ma­tol­o­gist of the East Vil­lage Inky zine.  Her res­o­lu­tion is to spend less time online, but you can still fol­low her @AyunHalliday.

Ian McKellen Recites Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20, Backed by Garage Rock Band, the Fleshtones, on Andy Warhol’s MTV Variety Show (1987)

80s revival­ism can be done bad­ly and it can be done well. Those old enough to remem­ber the decade seem best placed to recre­ate it, but the suc­cess of Stranger Things offers an excel­lent coun­terex­am­ple. The mil­len­ni­al Duf­fer broth­ers did a mar­velous job of con­jur­ing the look and feel of mid-80s mise-en-scène by stitch­ing togeth­er close view­ings of a dozen or so films—from the mas­sive­ly pop­u­lar E.T. to more obscure flicks like made-for-TV Mazes and Mon­sters (not to men­tion such pre­cious archival footage as this.)

When it comes to music how­ev­er, 80s retro tends to con­fine them­selves to ear­ly hip and hop and elec­tro, the syn­th­pop of Gary Numan and Duran Duran or the cheesy hair met­al of Möt­ley Crüe. But this lens miss­es the sig­nif­i­cant 60s revival­ism that emerged at the time. Garage, surf, and psych rock and the jan­g­ly sounds of The Byrds inspired R.E.M., the B52s, the Replace­ments, the House of Love, and the Flesh­tones, a much less­er-known NYC band who may nev­er have got­ten their com­mer­cial due, but who cer­tain­ly appealed to 60s art star Andy Warhol.

When Warhol remade him­self as a TV per­son­al­i­ty in the 80s with his MTV vari­ety show Andy Warhol’s 15 Min­utes he cast the Flesh­tones as the back­ing band for ris­ing the­ater and film star Ian McK­ellen, a match-up that rep­re­sents anoth­er hall­mark of 80s pop culture—the post­mod­ern jux­ta­po­si­tion of gen­res, styles, and reg­is­ters which Warhol helped pio­neer 20 years ear­li­er when he brought kitschy silk-screened soup cans, sexy street hus­tlers, and the Vel­vet Under­ground into the art scene.

Warhol’s tele­vi­sion work turned this impulse into a mul­ti­me­dia cir­cus fea­tur­ing “The high and the low. The rich and the famous. The strug­gling artists and the ris­ing stars,” as Warhol Muse­um cura­tor Ger­a­lyn Hux­ley puts it. In this par­tic­u­lar­ly fit­ting exam­ple, McK­ellen and the Flesh­tones bring Shake­speare’s racy Son­net 20 to young, hip MTV audi­ences in 1987. L.A. Week­ly lists a few of the “cool points” from the clip:

  • A young, hot, already insane­ly tal­ent­ed Ian McK­ellen
  • Wear­ing awe­some New Wave fash­ions
  • At Andy Warhol’s Fac­to­ry in 1987
  • Backed by cult group the Flesh­tones
  • Recit­ing a Shake­speare Son­net

What’s not to love? Start your 2018 with some Shake­speare-meets-garage-rock cool­ness from 31 years ago—and revis­it more of Warhol’s MTV vari­ety show at our pre­vi­ous post. For seri­ous stu­dents of the decade, this is essen­tial view­ing.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Andy Warhol’s 15 Min­utes: Dis­cov­er the Post­mod­ern MTV Vari­ety Show That Made Warhol a Star in the Tele­vi­sion Age (1985–87)

Ian McK­ellen Reads a Pas­sion­ate Speech by William Shake­speare, Writ­ten in Defense of Immi­grants

Pink Floyd’s David Gilmour Sings Shakespeare’s Son­net 18

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. Fol­low him at @jdmagness

The Improbable Time When Orson Welles Interviewed Andy Kaufman (1982)

“Sit­coms are the low­est form of enter­tain­ment,” declares Andy Kauf­man as por­trayed by Jim Car­rey in Milos For­man’s biopic Man on the Moon. “I mean, it’s just stu­pid jokes and canned laugh­ter.” The scene comes in the peri­od of Kauf­man’s life in the late 1970s when, grow­ing ever more well-known on the back of acts like his “For­eign Man” char­ac­ter, he receives an offer to take part in ABC’s Taxi. The real-life Kauf­man, even­tu­al­ly con­vinced to join the show’s cast, devel­oped the For­eign Man into the unplace­able mechan­ic Lat­ka Gavras. Quite pos­si­bly Taxi’s most mem­o­rable char­ac­ter, Lat­ka also won the appre­ci­a­tion of no less demand­ing a cul­tur­al fig­ure than Orson Welles.

Guest-host­ing the Merv Grif­fin Show in June of 1982, Welles describes Taxi as a show that has “kept tele­vi­sion from being a crim­i­nal felony” just before bring­ing Kauf­man on for a brief (and unchar­ac­ter­is­ti­cal­ly straight­for­ward) chat. He heaps praise on Kauf­man’s per­for­mance as Lat­ka, adding, “I want to know why it is that you go and wres­tle with peo­ple when you can act so well.” Kauf­man had shown up wear­ing a neck brace, an acces­so­ry sig­ni­fy­ing the end of his stint as a pro­fes­sion­al wrestler, one of the many inex­plic­a­ble but some­how com­pelling choic­es in a short career that blurred the lines between com­e­dy, per­for­mance art, and life itself.

“Nobody ever came from nowhere more com­plete­ly,” Welles says, draw­ing a big stu­dio-audi­ence laugh with this descrip­tion of not just Lat­ka but Kauf­man as well. Asked how he came up with such a dis­tinc­tive char­ac­ter voice, Kauf­man says only that he “grew up in New York, and you hear a lot of dif­fer­ent voic­es in New York” (“You don’t hear that one,” replies Welles). He also cites the accents of a high-school friend from South Amer­i­ca and a col­lege room­mate from Iran. Less than four years lat­er, both Kauf­man and Welles would be gone (and actor Ron Glass, look­ing on from the oth­er side of the couch, joined them this past Novem­ber).

Or at least both men would be gone if you don’t cred­it the rumors about Kauf­man hav­ing elab­o­rate­ly faked his death. “I don’t know whether it’s the inno­cence of the fel­low or the feel­ing you have that he is not stu­pid­er than every­body, but maybe smarter, that adds to the fas­ci­na­tion,” Welles says. Again he speaks osten­si­bly of Kauf­man’s For­eign Man/Latka per­sona, but his words apply equal­ly to the man who not just played but peri­od­i­cal­ly — and some­times unpre­dictably — became him. 33 years after Kauf­man’s death, or in any case dis­ap­pear­ance from life, that fas­ci­na­tion remains as strong as ever.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

A Look Back at Andy Kauf­man: Absurd Com­ic Per­for­mance Artist and Endear­ing Weirdo

Orson Welles Meets H.G. Wells in 1940: The Leg­ends Dis­cuss War of the Worlds, Cit­i­zen Kane, and WWII

Orson Welles’ Last Inter­view and Final Moments Cap­tured on Film

Based in Seoul, Col­in Mar­shall writes and broad­casts on cities and cul­ture. His projects include the book The State­less City: a Walk through 21st-Cen­tu­ry Los Ange­les and the video series The City in Cin­e­ma. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall or on Face­book.

« Go BackMore in this category... »
Quantcast