Chowderhead Bazoo

The Captivating World of Baron Von Sourwurst

The Bossy Bum

On Mother*@#$!&! Robson

Soon a generation will rise to prominence that will have no ability to find or seek, technology having triumphed over instinct and intuition. As well as on the street, I've seen it inside stores - people zeroing in on each other through verbal prompts and finally visual contact - while still carrying on a conversation. The fact that visual contact does not immediately instigate the stowing of the homing device only proves that I must be going out of my mind.

Giuliani 3.0

This is close enough for the next step, which hopefully will be completely over the top, sick and vile - monstrous, retina-scalding... something like that. I'm going to give it my best shot. Just for kicks. Stay tuned.

The Honing, the @#!&*$ Crafting

Drinkin' & Drawin'

Rudy Giuliani

Just futzin' around trying to get a grip on this smirking sack of dental caps, ego, and corruption. Despite his inherently cartoony puss, I haven't quite got him yet. And he might be good caricature fodder, but God help us all if the scumbag becomes president - he'll make the Cheney administration look like a Tupperware party that got just a little bit out of hand.

What if...?

Brando Jag

I went on a bit of a Brando jag recently, starting with the golden mumbly years of The Men, On the Waterfront, A Streetcar Named Desire, and The Wild One, then on through his "watch me wreck the movie" phase with two of his wreckiest - Mutiny On the Bounty and the insane The Missouri Breaks. But hey - you know what? The guy was pretty good. Even when he was so far out in left field that no one including the director could even see him, he was still good, he was still fascinating. No matter what he's doing, you can't take your eyes off of him; he was just so singularly strange and singularly brilliant. I didn't manage to catch all of it, but even in 1953's Julius Caesar he was mowing his way through the movie like a powerful acting combine, cutting down everything in his path including a somewhat beleaguered John Gielgud.

Just watch him in Waterfront - pretty much ground zero for every "cool" performance afterwards. You've seen that walk a hundred times since; Newman, DeNiro, Pacino, Christopher Walken, Sean Penn, even John Travolta (talk about diminishing returns) - they've all copped his moves at one time or another. It didn't matter that Brando walked like that because Terry Malloy was an ex-boxer - it was so modern and hip that they all worked it into the act, they all absorbed it. The whole performance became part of everyone's act.

And then there was that freakin' Brando head. I slashed this crap sketch off while watching The Men - Brando still heavily under the Montgomery Clift intense brooding/internalizing influence, before the hot-wired physicality. I think the sketch owes an atom or two to Mort Drucker. Sorry, Mort.