Bring Me the Head of Walt Disney (Frozen or Otherwise)

Poster/photo credit: Walt Disney Studios

                                    

Bring Me the Head of Walt Disney (Frozen or Otherwise)

by

Jay Agan
      

"No! You can't see that movie. You'll be scared & have nightmares."

   

The usual response I'd get from Mom when pointing out some cool show advertised in the paper.("Uncle Vince" & Roger Corman were THE team back in the early 60s.) Missed out on a lot of great stuff due to such overprotectiveness. She meant well but come on! A kids' gotta have his fun. Not that we didn't go to movies. Mostly kiddy fare. Usually Disney, Disney, & more Disney. And therein hangs a tale.

After an umpteenth refusal for us to see Pit & the Pendulum or other such vileness, Mom let Dad take us to see another Disney offering. Ah, yes. More uplifting, wholesome, family goodness! Now, normally, people don't think anything from the Disney studios to be damaging to children. True, there was that off screen shooting of Bambies' mother, but that was a mild anomaly not to be repeated. Disney films were supposed to be masterpieces of life affirming, goodness & spiritually edifying fun & happiness. Or so most thought at the time. Howsomever, we kids hadn't reckoned on a tour de force of jollity & good cheer bearing the title of.........Old Yeller.

Dad took us as Mom had to stay home with baby sister. Had they come with us she would have understood the folly of shielding us from the world. She got it second hand. Boy, did she ever!

I don't remember that much about the flick except for the last 20-30 minutes: Disease! Rabies! Death!

Tommy Kirk takes the gun from Pa.

Cut to barn door opening.

Shot of foam at the mouth title character in stall.

Back to Kirk taking aim.

Quick cut of "Cujo" taking a flying leap at the camera.

Quick shot of gun muzzle. BANG!

Fast fade to black.

A few seconds pass as it registers on the audience.

Little moans. One here. Another there. Several more scattered round. More dispersed yelps sprinkle the crowd. More. A little more, till it's evenly spread throughout. All in coordination, it rises in pitch & volume. Higher. Louder. Louder! Higher!

All united & chorousing upward into an overwhelming crescendo of primal scream.

Pandaemonium. Whole & total.

People jumping, hitting the cieling. Writhing on the floor. Throwing up in the aisles. Running about in bounce off the walls panic.

The kids were even worse.

Maybe I exagerate but you get the picture. We were, to say the least, in shock. Traumatized.

Dad, scanning about the theater, a look of abject disgust of his face. Through the tears, I'm thinking, "cool!"

It settles down a bit & everyone watches the epilogue/wrap-up. (Older Disney flicks had anti-climactic ending scenes.) The replacement puppy shows up (They gonna shoot him too?) & the crying crap starts in again. The End. Not yet kiddies....not yet.

The square in Mt. Vernon lies on a gentle slope. The Vernon Theater occupied the lowest (southwest) corner. Out of this "wailing well" come the most piteous squeals, echoing off the First Knox Nat. Bank & other structures. Reverberating down the side alley, bouncing off Brinings News Stand & back up. (Vine St. didn't channel any of it away.) Gives it a sort of "stroboscopic" effect. First time I ever heard sound in quite that way.

Heading home, Dad tries to explain rabies to us. We're having none of that. Reality indeed! Hey! They shot the dog! Deadern'a door nail! Waaaaaaah! Cars pull to the side, thinking an emergency vehicle needs to pass.

After all the dog did for them! Brought fun & happiness into their dull, inbred, backwoods existence. Making life more interesting in Deliverence country. Saved em from the bear 'n wolves, etc. Then they had to go 'n shoot him! Darn old subsistance farmers!

We're sort of settled down by the time we pull into home.

Getting in, Mom cheerily greets us, " so. How was your movie?"

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!
    
Younger brother, stares blankly at the wall, mouth hanging open. Youngest brother, sitting, back to a wall, rocking back & forth, muttering, "they shot the dog ....eh...eh ....eh ....eh ....eh ..eh....eh.....they shot the dog!" Little sister, letting out a minutes long wail, not once pausing for breath. Dad, staring at the cieling, with a "Why me?" kind of look.

"John. John? JOHN! What kind of movie did you take them to?! It wasn't that horror movie, was it?!"

"For Gods' sake Hon! It was a Walt Disney movie! It was Old Yeller!"

"So what happened?"

"Aw, they shot the dog."

Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

"Oh, shut up!"

We didn't go to the movies much after that. On many a Sunday night after. When The Wonderful World of Disney/Color would come on. I'd curse that guy  whenever he'd appear.

"Hello, boys & girls!"

"You're sick Disney! Sick! I hate your slime covered guts! Die, you -------! Die!"

Fast forward a few years to military school. Wednesday movie in the rec hall. 16mm projector puttering away. (Buena Vista presents.......uh oh.) It's the one about John Wesley Powell exploring the Grand Canyon.

"We can't take the dog with us. Here...", handing the rifle over. (Oh, no. Not again?!)

The guy takes aim.

Cut to a wide eyed, happy looking, wiggly tailed, little terrier, toungue hanging out. I swear, the dog actually smiled!

Hand pulls the hammer back.

Back to happy dog.

"Agan, quit yer cryin!

"I'm not cryin!"

"Yeah, right."

"What's goin on?"

"Aw, Agan's cryin."

"Shut up man! I'ma kick yer butt!"

"Yeah, right."

Guy relents & lowers the rifle. The pup is saved. Whew!

Yes sir! The ole tried 'n true Disney formula: KILL THE DOG!

Folks think I'm warped due to all the crazy flicks/books I've watched/read over the years. Not so. It wasn't Lugosi, Karloff,  Price, Corman, the Chaneys or any of the other greats who put my miniscule grey matter in a bunch.

It was that darned Disney.

I hate you Walt.


Article copyright © 12-17-20


Old Yeller as I saw it. (Parody trailer is not mine).


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On the "Chemical Enhancement" of Films

                                                                        by
                                                                            Jay Agan


                        "When I was young & irresponsible, I was young & irresponsible."
                                                 Comment allegedly said by Pres. George W. Bush

         
      The first time I was ever drunk (two shots of Yukon Jack & a beer), I drove home. Yeah. I know. Stupid with a capitol STUPID. Didn't get caught & (Thank God!) no incident/accident. I definitely DO NOT recommend drinking & driving. If you must get drunk (Do you really?), do it at home & have someone hide the keys. Which brings me to this article.

      I get home, marveling at the side effects, & turn on the tv. Nite Owl Theaters' Chiller Night (WBNS ch 10)  was on & half way thru the first feature. The 1941 Jekyl & Hyde with Spencer Tracey. Talk about apropo!

      The tv screen was twice the size it usually was. A black & white set, it had this eerie semi-technicolor blue glow. The sound was enhanced with a "depth" I had never experienced before, not to mention that echo effect. Any movement of the screen, I could more than feel. And there. As Mr. Hyde. Was Spencer Tracey leering down at me. I didn't know people had teeth that big! The films' "poney girl" dream sequence knocked me on my posterior. (Did I just see what I thought I did? Huh? What? Whoa!) I have this flick in my collection, but without the booze, it isn't the same.

     Fast forward about 10 years. The days before I collected films. Desperate for entertainment, I recalled the aforesaid experience, & took up alky again.

     In the late 80s/early 90s, ch 61 had Republic Theater (Rep. Pictures flicks) & another show that had poverty row/public domain movies on late at night. The days of Shock/Son of Shock & other pre-70s film packages on ch 10 & other stations were long gone. Nite Owl Theater was reduced to showing newer & foriegn drek.

     Thanks to beer, I was able to take in flicks I wouldn't be caught watching, dead or sober. Romances, chick flix, singin' cowboy junk, musicals (Yuck!), etc. I passed many of what otherwise would have been boring nights that way.

      It all came to a head one day. Or day after. After taking in "Exterminators In the Year 3000" (along with an 8 pack of malt liquor) on Nite Owl the night before, I spent the first half of Saturday pondering wether or not to pray at the shrine of Ralph. The great porcelain god won out & I gave the unabsorbable poison the ole heave ho.

     I haven't done this in years & doubt I'll ever try again.

     "Uh! Urp! Oh geez! Rrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaallllph!!"


                                              Article copyright © Jay Agan

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Scooby Dooby Doo, I Hate You ...

Scooby Dooby Doo, I Hate You ...

by

Jay Agan


I remember when this came on CBS in '69. Thought it was kinda kool .......at first. As a fairly nondemanding adolescent, I'd look at anything. After a few episodes I noticed: Each ep was the same. Painfully so.

Scooby ran a half hour with commercials. Take the ads out:    

1. 5 mins of set-up/intro.The spooky place, telling the legend/crime/curse/treasure/talisman/warning(s)/consequences, etc.

2. 10 mins of slapstick with the moron & even more moronic dog, involving fear, food, & foolishness.

3. One min+ of aforesaid klutz & canine blundering into the monster/wizard/maniac/ghost, etc. & "subduing" him.

4. 4 min of Velma wrapping it up & revealing it wasn't anything supernatural/extraterrestrial at all. Usually with the mandatory unmasking of a local personality or authority figure. "It was Sheriff Smith/Mayor Dudley/Farmer Brown, etc. all along."

"Yeah! And if it weren't fer you kids n' that snoopy dawg 'o yours, I'da gotn' away with it too!"

Yeah ( sigh), whatever. It was like this every excruciating episode. This krap went on for years. Hanna/Barbera tried "spicing it up" with animated versions of celebrities & lengthening it to an hour. Didn't help a bit. And we never did find out what Fred & Daphne were doing "off camera" for most of the time.

I initially saw through this after 4 or 5 eps (took me long enough) & quit. The rest of the country didn't. You'd think this show would have gotten stale pretty fast for everyone else. It didn't. The kiddies ate it up, wouldn't spit it out, letting it fester in their little guts, calcifying their tiny brains.

Many of the things wrong with this country, I blame on previous generations watching Scooby Doo.

And all this time you thought it was sex, drugs, rock n' roll.


Article copyright © Jay Agan


Scooby Doo Meets Azumanga Daioh here.


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