I Love You, Rip Torn: A Tribute to the MAIDSTONE Brawl

Lately, a change has come over me. Strange urges, like taking red construction paper and some glitter glue and making little kindergarten type heart shaped cards for my newest love. Oh sure, call me silly. I'll accept that. Even call me a deranged romantic. Fair enough. But I cannot help it, because ever since seeing the “Improv gone wrong” footage from the 1969 film, MAIDSTONE, involving Rip Torn both physically and verbally owning Norman Mailer, I am officially in love with Rip Torn.

Now, I've always liked Mr. Torn. He's a fine actor, aptly handling everything from sci-fi/art films like Nicolas Roeg's THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH to comedy in the MEN IN BLACK franchise. (My introduction to him as a little kid was his awesome turn as Scully in the John Candy film, SUMMER RENTAL. I was instantly fond of the crusty, borderline insane pirate/restauranteur.) But it was when my eyes gazed upon the infamous clip from MAIDSTONE that cartoon hearts and cotton candy clouds started to float over my head. And I'm being serious as a heart attack.

Here you have a young Torn, bedecked in a well fitted green t-shirt, his uniquely handsome face looking both saddened and electric. There is something obviously cooking in that brilliant head. Meanwhile, the Mailer brood frolic in an idyllic countryside, complete with an old, teal windmill and half naked hippie-esque children. Even their momma, former model Beverley Bentley, looks like an appropriately lovely Earth-momma. This is all too nice and we need a dark cloud, a berserker of a storm. 

Luckily for us, we do not have to wait too long as we soon see Rip pull out Chekov's gun in the form of a hammer, which he soon enough uses to hit Mailer on the head. Awesome, right? It gets even better. Rip starts talking about he must kill “Kingsley,” the Mailer director character in MAIDSTONE but he doesn't want to kill Norman. (Though I'm sure there were plenty of people, including some of his exes who did.) Mailer responds by biting a piece of Rip's ear off, which is a punk move suited only for the criminally insane and insecure macho male writers. Does this deter Rip? Hell no, because Rip is a real man and basically pounces on him, forcing the part-Yeti director to the ground, pinning him down with his mega-strength.

Mailer mumbles some kind of wounded animal phrase, in which Rip responds, “No, baby. You trust me?” with all the cool and suaveness of a beatnik Don Juan. Being a true gentleman, Rip is about to concede but wussy-boy Mailer takes the opportunity to strike when he thinks Rip's guard is down. Wrong! Rip keeps that man down, only to be intercepted by the Norman Mailer Partridge Family Army. Mamma Partridge immediately starts shrieking. Some would say it is from the fear of seeing her husband pinned to the ground with a bloody head wound. I would say it was from the subconscious realization that she married less than a man and that the REAL man whooped his ass. Truth hurts, babies.

When I say that she starts screaming, I am not exaggerating. You would think that Rip was chainsawing Mailer in half. Even worse, while her kids were a little upset at first, they start flipping out big time once momma bear starts freaking. Mailer acts like your typical sort of college educated mook, threatening to cold cock Rip and more, while Torn is clearly hurt and trying to communicate something verbally to someone who cannot and will not listen. There has been some kind of artistic violation that had lead up to this brutal (and brutally awesome) act. This is all the more evident with words like “betrayal,” “fraud,” “sham” and “trust” repeatedly come up throughout the whole clip.

The two eventually walk off, after Beverly, understandably freaked out, threatens to kill Rip if he does anything else. Torn makes attempts to communicate the reasons why he did what he did and talk about the film as a whole. Mailer is having none of this, just opening himself to being run over some more by the genius that is Rip Torn.

Exhibit A, when Mailer starts to insult Torn's “ugliness” in the picture, Rip instantly cuts him off with a grin, retorting “Woah wait a minute, I was trying to look like you.” Awesome. It gets even better with the “cocksucker” exchange and then off screen one of the Mailer-urchins audibly says, “don't fight any more.” It is Rip, not Mailer, who responds to the kid, saying “That's right baby, no fighting. It was just a scene, in a Hollywood whorehouse movie. Okay baby? You know it's okay and your Dad knows it's okay.” Then he whispers under his breath, looking right at Norman and smiling almost maniacally, “Up yours.” What's the best Mailer can come up with? “Adios.” Smooooth. The truly beautiful thing is that in one fell swoop, Torn not only comforts the kid but also throws in an insult, audible only to Mailer and the camera, with his wild eyed smile returning in full effect.

Mailer soon tells him to basically kiss off, in which Torn replies, smile resplendent, “I leave the kissing....to you.” Mister original-pants Norman then says, “Yeah, and I leave the shit eating to you.” This prompts Rip to give one of the best come backs ever in the form of, “No, no more. That's your specialty..You're the champ. I salute the champ of shit.” Mailer than tells the cameraman that “you might as well turn off this tape cause he is a very dull talker” to which Torn replies by pointing at Norman and going “Oooh oooh!” Thus ending one of the most amazing, startling and riveting clips ever. Hearing about creative collaborators coming to blows is not uncommon at all but to have such an occasion open up like one bloody, dysfunctional flower on tape, is nothing short of an historical feat.

This clip hits hard in some bizarre form of creative catharsis for any artist who has felt like they have been bent over a barrel, whether it is by the nature of the business, their own demons or the now-frayed trust of a collaborator. You expect hurt from a stranger but never from an ally. Rip is the heart of this and it is this raw passion that makes him, to this day, such a great force as an artist. One can never give enough appreciation and love to this talented man.

MAIDSTONE is still a hard film to come by, which is something that will hopefully change soon for those of us in the States that love fringe cinema. It would be a neat coup to have Mailer's three underground features, BEYOND THE LAW, WILD 90 and MAIDSTONE all in one set. Mailer was a flawed but notable artist and few and far between noted authors ever dipped their toes into the wonderfully murky waters of underground cinema.

As for Torn, it is the hope that a project truly worthy of his presence and ability will come along, because he deserves it and he is bigger and badder than all of Hollywood.

2011 © Heather Drain


Special Thanks to C.F. Roberts for his encouragement of my own creative dementia and Cat Fury for her artistic help. 

“Live longer, Live Healthier, and let thy arse make wind! A Video Round-up and Tribute to Timothy Carey”

“Live longer, Live Healthier, and let thy arse make wind! A Video Round-up and Tribute to Timothy Carey”

By Heather Drain

“We slip, we bleed. The truth is, I never really cared about conventional success. I was probably fired more than any other actor in Hollywood.” –Timothy Carey

Very few people have it and most of us do not. It’s the division between the Greek Gods and the mere mortals who are left to the farm, goats and vomitoriums. No, I’m not talking about religion or goat farming, but that tiny handful of artists who are so brilliant that they leave the rest of us in their dust. Years after they are gone into the ether of the afterlife, we are the ones eternally trying to catch up to them. Salvador Dali was one of them, as is Alejandro Jodorwosky, Clu Gulager, Bukowski and most definitely, Timothy Agoglia Carey.

On paper, Carey was a memorable character actor who worked with the likes of Stanley Kubrick (Paths of Glory, The Killing) and John Cassevettes (Minnie & Moskowitz, Killing of a Chinese Bookie). He also had a sizable body of work, often popping up on shows ranging from Gunsmoke to Mannix. The reality is that but so much more. Carey was a maverick of the biggest order and an artist who, like Sinatra, Elvis and Sid Vicious, did it his way. An artist and a man with true huevos who never took the easy way out on anything. This is the fabric, ladies and gents, of someone who will always be my hero.

Carey, as both an actor and director, possessed that incredible, rare human kinesis where you cannot take your eyes off of him for one second. There could be chimpanzees on fire while circus clowns openly weep, but if Carey is anywhere in the shot, he is the man you’re going to be looking at. Physically alone, he stood out. Most screen actors are pretty much on the wee side but not Carey, who was an oak of a man and stood around 6’5. Top that with jet black hair that often transformed itself into a pomp gone to seed (For the perfect example of this, see The World’s Greatest Sinner) and a pair of piercing, light blue eyes and you had a man whose looks alone commanded your attention.

But looks are like icing and are not substantial if you don’t have something underneath it for balance. Carey had that “it” factor, that presence that no amount of training, experience or plastic surgery can give you. It’s like being cool. You’ve either got it or you don’t. Give him a two-minute role in an hour and a half movie and trust that the main thing you will be talking about afterwards will be that guy. There have been and still are some great actors, but a tiny few can even come close to matching Carey’s intensity and sheer brilliance.

Unfortunately, the price one pays often for being ahead of their time is being majorly misunderstood by their peers, bosses and society at large. Eccentric at best and heaven help you if are not wealthy or charming enough to be given that moniker. Artists are communicators and have to fight, sometimes literally, to get their work out there and seen. Not everyone has to love it and in fact, sometimes they will utterly despise it, but if you are able to move their blank-eyed stares into some sort of emotion, then you have success. But people often loathe what they do not understand. Sometimes this is the fault of the filmmaker, but in this instance it’s more of a case of the man being ahead of the game by leaps and bounds.

Judging by his sole completed effort, the life changing The World’s Greatest Sinner and the glimpses of the works in eternal stasis, especially Tweet’s Ladies of Pasadena, Carey’s approach to filmmaking was unlike any others. The biggest fight for any artist, other than the communication breakdown, is being able to have a unique thumbprint. Especially when you realize cinema is often a daisy chain of inspiration. And while I’m sure Carey had his own inspirations, by the time he got behind the camera, every bit of it has his DNA in it a 110%. You can’t even fully compare it to the underground cinema of the time. If anything, Carey influenced a lot of those guys, not the other way around. This film is its own animal, all the way.

Being a real dyed in the wool maverick, Carey was bound to irk some people. There are near legendary stories of Carey pissing off actors ranging from Kirk Douglas, whom starred along side him in Kubrick’s war film Paths of Glory to Seymour Cassell. Why? Because he was some ego driven male diva? No because he tended to overshadow everyone on the screen. This was something never intentional and in fact, part of his drive as an actor was to heighten the quality of whatever project he was working on. It was this lack of ego that makes Carey all the more of a rare creature, especially with actors.

But if Timothy Carey was dynamite as an actor, then he was one neutron bomb of a director. His best-known work and only completed one is the one-of-a-kind religious rock and roller surrealist masterpiece, The World’s Greatest Sinner. The filming reportedly started as early as 1958, wrapped up in ’61 and was debuted in 1962. Watching this movie now is an intense experience but it must have felt like Stravinsky’s riot inducing performance of The Rites of Spring at its debut. This tale of a seemingly normal middle class salesman who turns into rock & roll playing evangelist who changes his name from Clarence to God Hilliard. God’s bad deeds include committing adultery with both an elderly woman and a teenage girl, then becoming completely disenfranchised with his family. The religious imagery is a real standout as well, with the most startling being God challenging the real thing by piercing a Eucharist that ends up bleeding.

This is some heady stuff. Showing something like this now to the unsuspecting spuds could elicit a charged reaction, but back in the early 60’s? Holy shit! Between the smart observations of both the weakness and power of one power-fueled man and an absolutely searing musical performance with a gold suited Carey gyrating to hordes of screaming fans, this is a movie that will brand itself on your psyche for a long, long time. It’s a revolutionary piece of work, then and certainly now.

It’s important to also keep in mind that this is an era where Elvis was censored from the waist down and guys like Pat Boone were raping the catalogs of good rock and roll records to make them less threatening to “proper” white families. A lot of kids today will see someone like the King and wonder what all the fuss is about. But I think anyone seeing Carey’s gyrations and instantly see the almost anihilistic lack of inhibition and fire that is going on in that man. You know, church never moved me that much but World’s Greatest Sinner? You better believe it!

Brothers and sisters, Mr. Timothy Carey was ahead of his time. Too ahead of his time as it turns out, since the film was very poorly received. Even its composer, a young Frank Zappa, famously ripped on it on the The Steve Allen Show. As ubersmart and gifted as Zappa was, he should have known better. This is the man that was responsible for films like 200 Motels , for crying out loud. (For the record, I am actually a Zappa fan and love his music for TWGS.) Carey actually stated on an episode of the West Coast public access show Art Fein’s Poker Party, that the only person that liked TWGS was the equally legendary John Cassevettes. Which is a shame and far from the truth now. At least Cassevettes put his money where his mouth was, since he cast Carey in both Minnie & Moskowitz and the great Killing of a Chinese Bookie. But more importantly, he also gave Carey film and editing equipment, along with trying to help him snag cast, crew and backers. It’s a tragedy that someone as special as Carey had to go through his life often misunderstood by so many.

That said, this is no sob story and someone like Carey deserves something better than trite pathos. His warpath of creative brilliance continued with a string of unfinished projects, starting with Tweet’s Ladies of Pasadena. No amount of description will prepare your eyes for this corneal cornucopia. The basic plot has Carey as the titular Tweet Twig, the only male in a knitting club called “Don’t Drop a Stitch.” He’s surrounded by knitting old ladies, a blowsy weightlifting cockney blonde for a wife (whom at one point bellows “Oh no! More bloomin’ animals!”) and a horde of the aforementioned animals whose nakedness will be clothed by Tweet and his ladies’ creations. If anything will ever make you want to flash your collective asses to network television as a whole, it is knowing that this was turned down. Yes, this was a TV pilot and in my Utopia, this is what would be on TV 24/7. Forget Lost, I’d much rather see Timothy Carey as this lovable bumble Tweet knitting and dressed up as a Native American Indian for no discernable reason. Do not fear Dada, folks.

Another project was A.L. and before you start having images of Franken or Capone drift in your heads, it is LA backwards. Quite fitting given that the plot revolved around a young midwestern couple that gets lost on the Los Angeles freeway while the wife goes into labor. Along the way he runs into your average person wandering the streets of LA; the worker, the illegal immigrant, the bums, the street kids, etc. Undoubtedly, it would have been great especially given that everything happens in one day. This was one of the big projects that Cassevettes tried to get backed for Carey, but was kyboshed when studio execs would only accept it if a lot of changes were made. This was unacceptable for an artist like Carey and the film was never made.

His last big project was a play/film entitled The Insect Trainer, in which he played the lead character, restaurant dishwasher Guasti Q. Guasti ends up being on trial for murder after letting out a ballast of flatulence so strong that it physically knocks over an old woman. Her fall proves to be fatal and at some point, Guasti realizes he has a talent for training insects. The Insect Trainer was inspired by the twin figures of Salvador Dali and Le Petomane, the famous French Fartiste. Footage of this film exists and is certainly very, very high on my personal wish list. Apparently Martin Scorsese donated $3,000 to the production, which just highlights the fact that Scorsese is the real deal. (Taxi Driver alone has forever and always sealed my love for the man. No matter how many times he uses Leonardo Dicaprio in his films.)

Timothy Carey was taken away from this plane on May 11, 1994 after suffering a massive stroke. Our bodies will always ultimately fail us in the end but it is the marks that we leave here that can be the testament of the spirit. Timothy Carey’s legacy is huge, as actor, writer, director and man. He was that rare force of nature whose power and beauty will never be equaled and always admired by anyone smart enough to be open to it.

Now onward ho to the audio/video celebration of this supernova of one man’s vision, talent and spirit. Always remember those that you may write off, so called madmen are sometimes the most perceptive of us all. (Except for that guy in your front yard wearing a ski cap on his genitals and singing “Oh Susanna.” He’s just batshit crazy.)

Anyways, on to the Video Round Up!

Ah yes, the infamous dance from the 1957 drive-in cult classic "Bayou" aka "Poor White Trash." It starts out as cute but as soon as Carey enters the scene, you know you are witnessing something really special. Note the way he grabs on to leading lady Lita Milan's hair, even deftly switching hands when he takes his shirt off. Wow!

 

 

One of my favorite moments in "World's Greatest Sinner." This is one of the most truly rock and roll moments ever committed to celluloid. I would love to watch this scene back to back to the Cramps doing "Tear it Up" from "Urgh! A Music War."

 

 

 

This is like having your psyche hugged by an angel. Enjoy!

 

Carey as "Moose" on the 70's chestnut, "Mannix." Nuff said!

INCREDIBLE clip of Carey on Art Fein's show. Bless this man for sharing such a rare gem with us. Notice the reference to Carey's scene stealing turn in "Beach Blanket Bingo!" And yes, the farting.

Carey's hilarious and demented turn in the Monkees' cult classic "Head." Attaboy Mike!  

Here are some very fascinating links to interviews and articles dealing with the man. 

http://impossiblefunky.blogspot.com/2010/04/evening-with-timothy-carey.html

http://www.absolutefilms.net/tim_carey/chicagodaily.html

http://www.absolutefilms.net/tim_carey/filmfax.html

http://www.filmlinc.com/fcm/1-2-2004/carey.htm

http://www.absolutefilms.net/