NightScape Part 4

"I don't need to tell it, Edna."

"In that case, I have a phone call to make."

"I was the president of the social committee. I had three subordinates, and every Friday after school, we went to our favorite record store."

"I thought you said you weren't going to tell the story."

"I was wrong. I do need to tell it."

"And I still need to make my phone call."

"To Peter Robinson?"

"What makes you think I'd be calling..."

"The two of you seem awfully chummy."

"Are you insinuating..."

"Just drink your wine. The record store had soundproofed booths. Customers were allowed to choose records they were interested in buying and to play the records in the booths. Each Sat.u.r.day, my committee and I - "

"Fred, did anyone ever tell you you talk as if you're lecturing?"

" - would spent hours playing records there. The committee was allowed to buy only two records each week. The small ones. Forty-fives. That format had recently been introduced."

"Fred, I know. I remember what forty-fives looked like."

"But we played as many as thirty before we bought our quota of two. Strange. The owner didn't seem to mind. To me, that booth in the record store felt like - "

"Fred, how can I drink my wine if you don't pa.s.s the bottle?"

" - home ought to be. And I never had closer friends than the students on that committee. We debated each record with absolute fervor, determined to supply the best music possible for the dances. I was underweight even then. And of course, I'm short. And - "

"Fred, is there a point to this story?"

" - I didn't have a chance to be popular, as the football players and basketball players were. Come to think of it, all the members of my committee were, I guess you would say, geeky. Like me. So we tried to be popular in a different way. By controlling the music at the dances. Other students would have to come up to us and make requests. They would have to be nice to us or else we wouldn't play the records they wanted."

"Fred..."

"Of course, I never danced. I was far too shy. The dances were really only the excuse that allowed me to be able to go to the record store after school on Fridays. I don't think I ever experienced anything as exciting as hearing Elvis Presley sing 'Don't Be Cruel' in that soundproofed booth. I sensed that he was singing directly to me. I felt his emotion-the feeling of being picked upon, of being an outcast. What a revelation. What a sense of being privileged to listen to that record before the students at the dance could."

"Fred, I asked you before. Does this story have a point?"

"Since then, I don't think I've ever been so happy."

"Two hundred and twenty-five students enrolled in the course. I must say I'm gratified. I never expected to attract so many Elvis Presley enthusiasts."

("He's a funny-looking dude, isn't he? Check out the c.o.ke-bottle gla.s.ses and the bow tie.") "As I emphasized on the syllabus that I distributed among you, the subject.. .Elvis Aron Presley.. .may be misleading to some. You may have concluded that this is what you call a fresh-air course, that you can expect high grades for very little work. Quite the contrary. I expect the same intense diligence that my students bring to my courses in semiotics and post-structuralism."

("Talks funny.") "Our subject is one of those rare individuals who through talent, character, and coincidence becomes the focus of the major trends in that person's culture. In this case, a young, Southern male, who adapted black musical themes and techniques, making them acceptable to a segregation-minded white audience. It can be argued that Presley's music, bridging the division between white and black, created a climate in which desegregation was possible. Similar arguments can be made about Presley's contribution to the counterculture of the fifties and the later s.e.xual revolution."

("That s.e.xual revolution sounds interesting.") *

"I must say, my initial instinct was not to let Fred teach the course. I'm pleased that I listened to his idea, however, and needless to say, the dean's very happy with our increased enrollment. Would I like another martini? By all means. These receptions make me thirsty. Speaking of the dean, look at Fred over in that corner, talking to him. Lecturing to him is probably more accurate. These days, all Fred can talk about is Elvis. The poor dean looks like he's afraid there's going to be an examination after the reception. Fred's got Elvis on the brain."

"And I'm one of the few people I ever met who saw Elvis's first television appearance. No, I don't mean The Ed Sullivan Show. Everyone knows about that and Sullivan's insistence that Elvis not wiggle his hips when he sang, that the camera focus on Elvis only from the waist up. The incident is a perfect example of the cultural and s.e.xual repression that Elvis overcame. What I'm talking about is an earlier television show. When Jackie Gleason went on summer hiatus, the Dorsey brothers filled in for him, and it was the Dorsey brothers who introduced Elvis, gyrating hips and all, to viewers, most of them unfamiliar with rock and roll and most of them burdened by conventions."

"Wigglin' his a.s.s. Why, I never saw any thin' like. "Ought to be a law. The man's no better than a pervert." "And look at that long hair. What is he? A man or a woman? Every time he jerks his head back and forth, his hair falls into his eyes. Them sideburns is b.u.t.t ugly."

" Now he's wigglin' his..."

"Pa, you know what they call him, don't you? Elvis, the Pelvis."

"Shut your pie hole, Fred. Go to your room and study. I don't want you watchin' this junk."

"It's difficult to overstate the importance of Elvis's appearance with the Dorsey brothers. Those who hadn't seen his performance were told about it and enhanced it with their own imagination. A phenomenon was about to - "

"Professor?"

"Please wait until the end of my lecture."

"But I just want to say, don't you think it's ironic that Elvis was introduced on television by musicians who seemed as outdated to Elvis's generation as Elvis seems to the Metallica generation?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"I was just thinking, maybe some day somebody'll offer a course on Metallica. (Har, har.)"

"Fred, enough is enough! It's three in the morning! I can't sleep with that noise you're making! How many times do I have to hear 'All Shook Up?' The neighbors will start complaining! There! I told you! That's probably one of them phoning right now!"

"Look at the sideburns Fred's trying to grow. They remind me of caterpillars."

"As bald as he is, that's the only place he can grow hair."

"Those blue suede shoes don't do anything for him, either. The next thing you know, he'll be taking guitar lessons."

"And boring us with concerts instead of lectures."

"Or making us read that book he's writing."

THE CORRUPTION OF A LEGEND Chapter Six The crucial demarcation in Elvis's career occurred in 1958 when he was drafted by the United States military and sent to Germany. To paraphrase a lyric from one of his best-known songs, that's when the downfall begins. The episode is rife with implications. Politically, the government has proven itself stronger than the rebel. s.e.xually, the sheering of Presley's magnificent ducktail-style hair symbolizes society's disapproval and conquest of his virility: a metaphorical emasculation. Two years of military indoctrination have their effect. Elvis's long-awaited return to society is shocking. The constant sneer with which he signaled to his young audience his disdain for authority has been replaced by an eager-to-please grin. His "Yes, sir, no, sir" manner earlier had the hidden insolent tone of a black servant who is hypocritically polite to his white employers, but now Elvis seems genuinely determined to suck up to the Establishment. Even his newly grown hair appears flaccid. If we discount the regional Southern hits that Elvis had from 1954 to 1956, it is clear that his astonis.h.i.+ng career remained pure for only two years, for 14 rebellious, million-selling records from 1956 to 1958. After the military interruption, the hits continued, but the self-mocking "My Way" is afar cry from the innocence of "Hound Dog."

"He did it his way, all right. He became a tool of the Establishment." "Fred."

"The Jordinaires were shunted aside. Instead of a small, rhythm-and-blues section, he now had the equivalent of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir."

"Fred."

"The songs lost all pretense of substance. That wretched remake of 'O, Solo Mio,' for example, which was called 'It's Now Or Never,' sounded so Muzak-sweet it's a wonder his audience didn't die from sugar shock."

"Fred, you haven't shut up since we started dinner. It's been forty minutes. I'm sick of hearing you talk about Elvis. In fact, I'm sick of hearing you, period. I'm certain the Robinsons would like a chance to get a word in."

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. I must have gotten carried away. Good gracious. What was I thinking? By the way, Mrs. Robinson, did you know that your husband Peter here is f.u.c.king my wife?"

"Thirty-three wretched movies."

("Word is our prof is getting a divorce.") "Each more insipid than the previous ones. Increasingly, their only theme seems to be that its audience should take a vacation at Las Vegas, Fort Lauderdale, Acapulco, Hawaii, or wherever the film is set, as if Elvis has become a travel agent or a chamber of commerce booster."

("Maybe his wife isn't an Elvis fan.") "Las Vegas. That symbol of excess becomes synonymous with the decay within Elvis. His anti-Establishment zoot-suit appearance in the mid-fifties changes to a parody of bikers' leather after his return from the military and finally to sequined suits with capes that rival Liberace for ostentation. When Elvis reappears on television in 1968, he looks like the Vegas act that he'll soon become."

("I hear the Today show is coming to do a story about him.") "Nine years later, he'll die on the toilet."

"Professor Hopkins, what made you think that Elvis would be a proper subject for a university course?"

"If you look closely at him, he represents America."

"What, professor? I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Bryant, I.. .Can you hear me?"

"Yes, the remote transmission is coming through clearly."

" Bryant, you take a boy who was raised to sing Gospel music at his Pentecostal church, a boy who wors.h.i.+ped his mother, a boy who from all accounts ought to have blended with the Establishment but who instead chose to fight the Establishment. He was only nineteen when he made his first recording for Sam Phillips in Memphis, and it's hard to imagine that someone so young could have been such a significant force in cultural change. By making black music popular, he promoted racial understanding and was easily as important in the Civil Rights movement as Martin Luther King, Jr."

"Professor Hopkins."

"In terms of the s.e.xual revolution, he - "

"Professor Hopkins, your remark about Elvis, the Civil Rights movement, and Martin Luther King, Jr. Don't you think that's somewhat overstated?"

"Nothing about Elvis can be overstated. For a brief moment in the middle of this century, he changed this century."

"Professor Hopkins."

"But the messenger became the victim. Society fought back. Society defeated him. Just as Elvis symbolized the rebel, so he eventually symbolized the vindictiveness and viciousness of American society. When he died on the toilet, a drug addict, a glutton, bloated, wearing diapers, he delivered his final message by showing how destructive capitalism is."

"Professor Hopkins."

"In effect, he'd already been dead a long while, and Graceland, that garish monument to decadence, was the mausoleum for his walking corpse."

"Professor Hopkins, I'm afraid we're almost out of time."

"I wore this sequined suit and cape today because in Elvis's perverted image there must be retribution. You see this revolver."

"For G.o.d's sake, Professor.

"One of the most publicized events in Elvis's life is the incident in which he shot the picture tube of a television set. Form without substance. Even in his drug-demented stupor, he knew that television was his enemy, just as television is the enemy, the manipulator and destroyer of the American people and proper values. In Elvis's name - "

" _ shot the lens on the television camera being used for the remote broadcast of the Today show, shot and killed the remote segment's producer, shot several students whom he'd brought to the interview as representative of the other students in his course, went to the English department office and shot his chairman, went to the university administration building and shot his dean, went to his former home and shot his estranged wife along with a friend, Peter Robinson, who was visiting her, and finally went to a downtown record store where he clutched an armful of Elvis CDs, put his pistol to his head, shouted 'Where's the booth? Never been so happy! Long live rock and roll!' and blew his brains out. A note in his sequined suit coat pocket said simply, 'All shook up.' Officials continue to investigate one of the worst ma.s.s murders to take place at an American university. This has been an NBC News update."

Due to its live coverage of what have been called the Elvis murders, the Today show last week received its highest ratings in two years. A TV movie has been announced.

Later in this book, you'll read about the negative side of the film and television industry. In contrast, the background to the script for "Habitat" was my most positive "Hollywood" experience. I put "Hollywood" in quotes because the company that produced this script was in fact located in New York City, just down the street from the flatiron Building. The company's name was Laurel Entertainment. Its two main executives were Richard Rubenstein and Mitch.e.l.l Galin, and their two main products (apart from occasional films such as Stephen King's Creepshow) were the fantasy and horror TV programs, Tales from the Darkside and Monsters. During the late 1980s, fans of Twilight Zone type stories made these half-hour series popular on late-night syndicated TV. Periodically, Richard and Mitch.e.l.l asked me to write a script for Monsters, but I had trouble complying because I couldn't imagine a story that would fit the show's strictly controlled budgetary requirement of very few characters and sets. Meanwhile, they'd hired me to do a screen adaptation of Michael Palmer's medical thriller, The Sisterhood. As so often happens in the film business, the project never got further than the development stage, but in the process, Richard and Mitch.e.l.l showed me remarkable courtesy. I'd been on the road for several weeks, promoting a new novel. When I returned home, exhausted, I received a call from them, suggesting various dates when we could get together to discuss revisions on the script. The way this normally works, the writer (being low in the food chain) goes to the producers. Always. But when Richard and Mitch.e.l.l realized how tired I was, they immediately proposed that they would fly to Iowa City (where I then lived) to have the script discussions at my home, find they actually did. I can't tell you how floored I was and how impressed I was by these two gentlemen as we sat on my back porch, tweaking the script. In 1989,1 finally had an idea that I thought would work for the limited budget of Monsters. If a few characters were good, a solitary character would be better, I decided. To my surprise, the script was in production two months after I submitted it. The actress Lili Taylor (Six Feet Under) portrayed Jamie Neal.

Habitat FADE IN:.

INT. CONTROL ROOM - DAY.

We open with a large vivid image of a moonscape: barren weathered mountains, waterless river beds, forbidding creva.s.ses and canyons, rocky, gray, and dismal. We might be fooled for a moment but quickly realize that this is not the real thing, instead a huge mural. We hear a persistent electronic BEEP. As we PAN DOWN from the image of the bleak terrain, we see a model of a lunar habitat, domed, with arched corridors that lead to other buildings. The model is on a metal table. Along with the mural, it gives us the impression we're in a complex on the moon.

Lingering on the model of the habitat, we hear a further sound. It's out of place, surprising, A GUITAR BEING TUNED, and abruptly the guitar begins STRUMMING. A WOMAN'S LILTING VOICE begins singing a folk song about oceans and forests and how the earth and the sky belong to you and me.

We PAN AWAY from the habitat and discover that we're in a control room with electronic consoles and glowing lights on monitors. The BEEP we first heard is like a metronome that supplies the beat for the guitar and the woman's song.

We TRACK PAST the consoles and STOP on the SINGER. A woman, late twenties, wearing jeans and a Lakers sweats.h.i.+rt, her hair in a ponytail. She's lithe and lovely, leaning back on a metal chair with her bare feet on a counter next to a console. Her name is JAMIE NEAL. She reminds us of a cheerleader grown up to be a graduate student in a college dorm.

Her eyes are closed. In a world of her own, she continues strumming, singing, her voice muted, tinged with melancholy. "Yes, the earth and the sky belong to us all."

Midway through a poignant line about a fertile majestic land, she hesitates, her strum becoming irregular. Her voice drops. Relentless, the electronic BEEP persists.

Jamie sighs, lowers the guitar, opens her eyes, and scans the control room.

Perhaps she expected the song to transport her magically to the glorious landscapes she sang about. If so, the spell didn't work. Despondent, she sets the guitar next to a monitor, rises sadly from the chair, and approaches the mural of the moon. The barren mountains and canyons look even more forbidding. She studies the model of the habitat, then squints toward the electronic equipment around her, tense, as if she's in prison.

With a sigh, she raises her head, musters her thoughts, and starts talking. But as we've seen, there's no one else in the room. The initial effect is puzzling, disorienting.