Free Frolic of His Own by William Gaddis Page B
Authors: William Gaddis
and the cold hard cash to be blindly torn from the black depths of the Northern mines.
âYes thatâs exactly what I . . .
âIn more responsive hands, the characters of the two substitutes might have reflected the deeper opposing dualism of manâs nature, but Mister Kiester has no time for such subtleties. The Northern substitute is no more than a brutalized excrescence of blind industrial slavery, while the South is personified by Ziff Davis, acclaimed for his portrayal of the sadistic pederast in Sick City, who seems to have wandered into the wrong picture from some subdivision of Godâs Little Acre in his depiction of sly depravity with all the . . .
âYes listen to that! you see? Thatâs exactly what heâs not, what William in the play is not, heâs a sensitive intelligent wait, Christina? Where have you been, listen . . .
âHer name is Ilse, Oscar. She was down in the laundry, she . . .
âHave you heard any of this? Listen youâve got to find it, my play you have to find it, itâs . . .
âIn a black pebbled binder, Iâll look for it after lunch. Sheâs putting it on the table, now . . .
âNo but wait, thatâs not all, Harry? Go on, thatâs not all is it?
âIn the part of the father of the bride, as grossly overplayed by aging exstar Clint Westwood in his first role since A Hatful of Sh*t, the Confederate Major is the archetypal cigar chewing duplicitous Southern planter with a taste for drink and an unsavoury eye for the fatal charms of his own daughter, all of which blossoms in what will undoubtedly be the most widely discussed mass rape scene in screen history.
âWell thatâs just, of all the revolting nonsense thereâs nothing like that anywhere, itâs . . .
âWell my God Oscar whatâs the problem then. Youâre furious because theyâve stolen your play and then youâre furious because thereâs nothing like it in the movie anywhere, how do you expect anybody to take you seriously if you . . .
âWell ask Harry! What heâs just read to me thatâs in the movie right down to the same battles and this scar on his cheek if he takes me seriously ask him, did you hear that? about the scar?
âYouâd hardly notice it, I told you that the minute I walked in didnât I?
âThatâs not what weâre talking about! This is the movie, he comes home from the war with a raw scar on his cheek where heâs been wounded itâs right out of my play, and in the same battle, do you think thatâs an accident? A detail like that, do you think thatâs just a coincidence?
âI think a lot of people to hear you carrying on about this little scaron your cheek from a play you wrote a hundred years ago would wonder about a coincidence, letâs go in to lunch.
âNo wait, stop. Heâs not finished, are you Harry? Would anybody believe thatâs just a coincidence?
âAs the bloodiest single day of the entire Civil War, the battle of the Antietam was the ideal vehicle for the real stars of The Blood in the Red White and Blue, the special effects technicians whose grisly spectacles under Mister Kiesterâs direction established his reputation at the box office with his original extravaganza Uruburu. Billed at the time as not for the squeamish, that epic of modern Africa broke all bounds not only for screen violence but, as in the notorious sledgehammer scene, good taste, obliging him to seek dubious refuge in the First Amendment, and perhaps as a result the more excruciating excesses of the earlier film are somewhat modified in his latest epic. This is not to say that those who thirst for blood and hunger for patriotic gore will go away unrewarded. From the massing of the Union troops of Hookerâs I Corps in the early morning mists for his opening attack on Jacksonâs two
âYes thatâs exactly what I . . .
âIn more responsive hands, the characters of the two substitutes might have reflected the deeper opposing dualism of manâs nature, but Mister Kiester has no time for such subtleties. The Northern substitute is no more than a brutalized excrescence of blind industrial slavery, while the South is personified by Ziff Davis, acclaimed for his portrayal of the sadistic pederast in Sick City, who seems to have wandered into the wrong picture from some subdivision of Godâs Little Acre in his depiction of sly depravity with all the . . .
âYes listen to that! you see? Thatâs exactly what heâs not, what William in the play is not, heâs a sensitive intelligent wait, Christina? Where have you been, listen . . .
âHer name is Ilse, Oscar. She was down in the laundry, she . . .
âHave you heard any of this? Listen youâve got to find it, my play you have to find it, itâs . . .
âIn a black pebbled binder, Iâll look for it after lunch. Sheâs putting it on the table, now . . .
âNo but wait, thatâs not all, Harry? Go on, thatâs not all is it?
âIn the part of the father of the bride, as grossly overplayed by aging exstar Clint Westwood in his first role since A Hatful of Sh*t, the Confederate Major is the archetypal cigar chewing duplicitous Southern planter with a taste for drink and an unsavoury eye for the fatal charms of his own daughter, all of which blossoms in what will undoubtedly be the most widely discussed mass rape scene in screen history.
âWell thatâs just, of all the revolting nonsense thereâs nothing like that anywhere, itâs . . .
âWell my God Oscar whatâs the problem then. Youâre furious because theyâve stolen your play and then youâre furious because thereâs nothing like it in the movie anywhere, how do you expect anybody to take you seriously if you . . .
âWell ask Harry! What heâs just read to me thatâs in the movie right down to the same battles and this scar on his cheek if he takes me seriously ask him, did you hear that? about the scar?
âYouâd hardly notice it, I told you that the minute I walked in didnât I?
âThatâs not what weâre talking about! This is the movie, he comes home from the war with a raw scar on his cheek where heâs been wounded itâs right out of my play, and in the same battle, do you think thatâs an accident? A detail like that, do you think thatâs just a coincidence?
âI think a lot of people to hear you carrying on about this little scaron your cheek from a play you wrote a hundred years ago would wonder about a coincidence, letâs go in to lunch.
âNo wait, stop. Heâs not finished, are you Harry? Would anybody believe thatâs just a coincidence?
âAs the bloodiest single day of the entire Civil War, the battle of the Antietam was the ideal vehicle for the real stars of The Blood in the Red White and Blue, the special effects technicians whose grisly spectacles under Mister Kiesterâs direction established his reputation at the box office with his original extravaganza Uruburu. Billed at the time as not for the squeamish, that epic of modern Africa broke all bounds not only for screen violence but, as in the notorious sledgehammer scene, good taste, obliging him to seek dubious refuge in the First Amendment, and perhaps as a result the more excruciating excesses of the earlier film are somewhat modified in his latest epic. This is not to say that those who thirst for blood and hunger for patriotic gore will go away unrewarded. From the massing of the Union troops of Hookerâs I Corps in the early morning mists for his opening attack on Jacksonâs two
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