Heck Of A Guy

They Didn’t Call Him “Subtle Sam Kinison”

Sam Kinison was, in fact, an extraordinarily loud, rude, offensive¹ and - and funny - comic whose greatest popularity extended from his first appearance on Late Night with David Letterman on November 14, 1985² until his death in 1992.³

Kinison incorporated into his routines the cadences, exclamations, and movements of a Revival Evangelist, a profession he followed for years prior to his career as a comic. His act was also characterized by a cynical view of romance,⁴ vehement rants, and accounts of sexual exploits and drug and alcohol abuse.

Within the group of comics I enjoy and appreciate, Sam Kinison is sui generis. In fact, his qualities tend to be the polar opposites of my model comedian. Were there a prototype of comics I admire, I suppose it would be a blend of Bob Newhart and Bill Cosby early in their careers.

As far as I know, neither Cosby or Newhart had much to say about homosexual necrophilia and, had they said anything about it, it would not been conveyed in screams.

While defining why one comedian cracks me up while another leaves me wondering how I missed the joke is an exercise in futility. I have always laughed when I have watched a Sam Kinison routine - and that’s that. I have, however, come to recognize two elements of his performances that I find especially seductive.

Part of Kinison’s appeal for me lies in his background as a minister. I grew up listening to evangelists perform in much the same style, albeit with different content. Those familiar with Sam Kinison’s act may be surprised - or frightened - to learn that, of revival-style preachers I’ve personally heard, Sam does not make the top three for amplitude, aggressiveness, or intimidation. And, not everyone, I’ve discovered, has the predilection Kinison and I share for seeing the humor in some of the more awkward parts of the story of Jesus, such as how Joseph must have been at least a little uneasy about Mary’s pregnancy - [Joseph interrogating Mary after learning she is pregnant] “So, he just told you he was an angel and you guys went into the garden?”

The other attraction is his advice to men on sexual performance.⁵ Where else is a guy going to be instructed that because sex is “a sacred experience,” he should therefore “make it a movie, make it an adventure?” Kinison admitted that his interest in this crusade began with the epiphany that “If I get really good at sex, maybe I won’t have to give everything I own away [in a divorce settlement] every six years.” In various routines, he gives specific directions for cunnilingus, points out that “every blow job is like a snowflake. It’s unique,” and advises men that their first job in the bedroom is to make the woman climax twice before she even sees his genitals. And, is there a more mutually gratifying, pragmatic, and philosophically sound principle by which to pursue an intimate relationship than the Sam’s words of guidance I have dubbed, The Kinison Primary Imperative:

Those, gentle reader, are words to live by.

Today’s Sam Kinison Video

The brief video below is Kinison’s explication of his thesis that “Jesus could not have had a wife.”

For More Sam Kinison
The Official Kinison Official Web Site has more information about and clips by Sam Kinison. And, as one might expect, there is a plethora of his material on YouTube; a good starting point is Kinison’s first appearance on the Letterman Show.

Re Sam’s performances, remember what he pointed out,

People at the back must be thinking, “Jesus, this is the sickest, most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

WRONG! I can top it

Footnotes

1. ”Offensive” is, of course, a subjective judgment. So, one might or might not find Kinison’s routine about homosexual necrophilia offensive.↩
2. David Letterman’s introduction of Kinison was, “Brace yourselves. I’m not kidding. Please welcome Sam Kinison.” Wikipedia↩
3. Kinison was killed by a drunk driver↩
4. Pertinent Kinison quotes include I don’t worry about terrorism. I was married for two years, If I get married again, I want a guy there with a drum to do rimshots during the vows, and The Devil hates marriage because it takes away fear of pain↩
5. Kinison did have recommendations for women as well, although these suggestions have a distinctly male point of view: “Women…if there’s something that really gets you off, makes you come…..How about FILLING US IN, HUH? How about giving us a little INFORMATION to work with?[crowd laughs and cheers]. What are we, on an Easter Egg hunt? Tell us what YOU WANT! We will DO it! Will we do it guys? [Men cheer and applaud] WE WILL DO IT! Don’t tell your sister…or your mom…or your hairdresser. We’re the ones who fuck you! Tell US! We will fucking do it …↩

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Introduction: The Gin Game & The Dance Scene

In Part 1 of this post, The Unrealized Potential of Cohen’s Take This Waltz in The Gin Game Part 1: The Basics of the Play and Its Add-on Dance Scene, I provided basic information about D.L. Coburn’s “The Gin Game” and its dance scene as groundwork for an explication of the bipartite thesis I stated in that preceding blog entry:

Today’s post will focus on the specific uses of the dance scene and its music as well as my argument that the music could have been used to greater effect.

The Significance Of The Outcomes Of The Gin Games

At the center of “The Gin Game” is the cruel cosmic joke that we humans cling tenaciously and desperately to the very flaws that can destroy us - even when those faults are made all too apparent. Psychiatrists call the tendency of individuals to repeat a traumatic event or its circumstances over and over again “repetition compulsion.” Fonsia and Weller are the elderly poster children for Repetition Compulsion.

In “The Gin Game,” Weller, who cajoles Fonsia into playing gin and teaches her the rudiments of the game, becomes increasingly frustrated to the point of apoplexy as Fonsia wins hand after hand, all the while maintaining her veneer of sweetly innocent decorum to the point of apologizing for winning, further antagonizing Weller.

This repeated scenario of Fonsia’s victories over the pompous and laughably over-reactive Weller is initially pleasing and genuinely funny to the audience, providing more than enough cues for anyone familiar with movies or TV to infer that “The Gin Game” is a romantic comedy with the familiar Katherine Hepburn-Spencer Tracy story line in which the sweet but shrewd - and a tad shrewish - female wins the the crusty male curmudgeon’s heart, which on analysis, turns out to be composed of gold.

A sense of hope is boosted, for example, by the contrast in appearance of Fonsia and Weller before and after their first meeting. When first seen, Weller wears “terry-cloth slippers, khaki pants, a pajama top and an old brown wool bathrobe” while Fonsia is clothed in “faded pink slippers, an old housecoat, and a cardigan sweater.” Encouraged by their first contact, Weller next appears in “a jacket and tie, khaki pants and loafers,” and Fonsia “looks like a different woman [in] a print dress, a rose-colored cardigan, and open-toed sandals.”

What was comical and hopeful, however, turns threatening and tragic as Weller proves unable to tolerate the assault on his brittle ego caused by the ongoing losses at gin. His increasingly lurid language and escalating violence (e.g., throwing over the card table after yet another loss) drive Fonsia (and likely the audience) into a psychological retreat.

Fonsia, however, cannot ultimately withdraw from the battle, even when it is clear that the only victory she can win will be Pyrrhic. She is herself rigidly insistent, because of her embedded history of unfulfilled hopes, on protecting her own facsimile of self-esteem at all costs and consequently approaches every interaction with the presumption that others, especially men, will attempt to attack, cheat, or abandon her.

This combination of traits prevents Weller and Fonsia from achieving more than a momentary connection and ultimately dooms their chance of forming an enduring relationship.

Because both characters are locked into their self-sabotaging personalities, conditions deteriorate until the final game turns into a furious no-holds barred battle that leaves both contestants dismayed, mortified, and - rightfully - frightened.

The Waltz As Redemption

The counterpoint to the mutually assured destruction, to use an especially appropriate Cold War term, of the card games is the dance Fonsia and Weller perform which offers the sole glimpse of genuine joyousness and selfless human connectedness in the universe created in “The Gin Game.”

Or, as Coburn puts it,

The dancing demonstrates, in fact, a number of qualities that make it a remarkably apt means of portraying a potential route of rapprochement standing in contradistinction to the battleground of the gin games. For example,

• The card games separate the players by a table and the cards while the dancing demands a physical embrace. In an early scene, in fact, Weller moves from sitting on the side of card table adjacent to Fonsia to a chair opposite her to prevent his seeing the cards in her hand. The card game exists in the antagonistic gap between the individuals; dancing exists in the coordinated touching and transient union of the two individuals.
• The card games are mechanical, governed by a list of rules and regulations while the dancing is lyrical, allowing and encouraging variation from the standard format.
• The card games position Fonsia and Weller as opponents, exacerbating their conflicts, while the dancing positions Fonsia and Weller as partners, permitting them to (temporarily) shift their behaviors to act in concert, benefiting themselves as well as their partner.

The mood shift from the card games to the dance is brilliantly clear-cut. The card games are filled with rancor, bitterness, attacks, insults, and rage. Compare that with this storyboard view of the dance scene.

The Dance Sequence Storyboard

From left to right,
Frame 1: Fonsia hears the music begin and is caught up in a revelry.
Frame 2: Weller allows that the music is “all right, but it’s too long.”
Frame 3: Weller complains that “Those lyrics, they’re crazy.”

From left to right,
Frame 4: Fonsia pleads/lures/entices Weller to dance with her.
Frame 5: Weller accedes to her wishes.
Frame 6: Fonsia reacts with delight to Weller’s agreement to dance with her.


The dance begins at the point portrayed in the graphic atop this post. Just prior to this, Weller motions Fonsia to him when they step together to dance, reciprocating her motions enticing him (see Frame 5).

From left to right,
Frame 8 & 9: After beginning with a standard, cautious box step, Fonsia and Weller accelerate, twirling and spinning youthfully and happily.
Frame 10: Fonsia and Weller gleefully take each other in, joyously celebrating their dance.

From left to right,
Frame 11: Immediately following the joyful moment, Weller’s leg gives out.
Frame 12: Fonsia commiserates with Weller’s lament that he “used to dance all night,” responding “so did I.”
Frame 13: Weller invites Fonsia back to the card table.

The sequence is also nuance-suffused with multiple details highlighting or reinforcing motifs. Beyond those mentioned already, one notes, for example, that Weller’s leg doesn’t buckle during the spinning and twirling but surrenders to fatigue immediately following that glimpse of happiness, emphasizing that, while old age may have intensified their weaknesses, the cruxes of Weller’s and Fonsia’s problems are their characterologic flaws rather than their physiological or intellectual deficits secondary to aging. Again, quoting from Coburn’s commentary on the PBS web site,

In fact, one of the few instances of true empathy between the two characters is Fonsia’s observation that she too used to “dance all night.”²

Timing
The entire dance scene, from the time the two characters appear on-screen until the segment ends with them returning to playing cards, is less than three minutes. The dancing itself lasts less than 30 seconds. Yet, as the author intended, the scene opens the audience’s eyes to what is possible for Fonsia and Weller and develops an empathic bond between the characters and those watching the play.

That, my friend, is dramaturgic efficiency.

The Use of Take This Waltz in The Gin Game

That Take This Waltz serves as a fitting accompaniment for a waltz, a dance step appropriate to the characters, their setting, and the needs of the play is important but also self-apparent. The effect of the song’s lyrics, however, is less obvious and is part and parcel of my argument.

Readers may recall from yesterday’s post the playwright’s own description of the music:

Coburn’s recounting of the event resonates with this comment from Julie Harris,

And, indeed, these “bizarre,” “poignant” lyrics are positioned as the alternative to the rigidly logical rules that regulate the gin games. Extrapolating, the implication is that logic and intellect, the provinces of the head, can’t cure problems of the heart. To communicate between two hearts, to overcome the psychological flaws that preclude two individuals reaching out to one another requires something that is, like Take This Waltz, surreal, beautiful, and touching.

The Staging Of Take This Waltz And Its Effect On The Audience’s Comprehension Of The Lyrics

Observing the staging of Take This Waltz is best accomplished by viewing the video of the dance scene from the PBS production of “The Gin Game” in the player below. I suggest watching it twice. First, enjoy an overview of the dance. On the second viewing, focus on the lyrics of Take This Waltz being sung in the background with the goal of determining the words and phrases the audience can hear and understand.

To my ears, the only reliably clear words from the start of the song until the dialog between the characters halts while Fonsia motions Weller to dance with her and Weller silently decides to fulfill that request are the refrains, Take this waltz and Ay, Ay, Ay, Ay. During the described interlude in the dialog, these lines from Take This Waltz are sung:

In Cohen’s lyrics, the line, Dragging its tail in the sea, is followed by the verse that begins,

and continues for three stanzas.

In the play, however, Dragging its tail in the sea marks the end of the lyrics; the remainder of the version of the song used in the play, which serves as accompaniment for the actual dancing, is purely instrumental. When the dancing ends because of Weller’s leg giving out, the song ends as well.

The rest of the original lyrics of Take This Waltz are either buried beneath the actors’ lines or are expunged altogether.³ Take This Waltz plays for most but not all of the three minute dance scene. Given that the shortest version of Take This Waltz I can find on a Leonard Cohen CD is a few second less than six minutes, simple arithmetic reveals that at least half the song, as Leonard Cohen performs it, has been deleted in the version used in “The Gin Game.”

That only a fraction of the song’s lyrics are accessible to the audience places Weller’s comment that “Those lyrics, they’re crazy” in a new light. This observation, which echoes a similar comment by Weller earlier in the play, is, I suspect, meant to substitute for a full rendition of the lyrics, i.e., the author, through Weller, tells the audience that lyrics are crazy - or as Coburn himself calls them, “bizarre.”

This course of action may have been chosen because it’s more efficient.⁴

Or Weller may announce that the lyrics are “crazy” to relieve the audience of the burden of puzzling it out for themselves, i.e., Weller’s declaration is the means to assure that the audience “gets it.”

Came So Far For Beauty

Eliminating a portion of a song, even an excellent song, does not, of course, necessarily decrease the value of the song’s function in a play. Obviously, alterations to music used in movies and theater (when that music was not written specifically for those purposes) may be necessary for practical reasons (e.g., Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, AKA Ode to Joy!, seems a dandy piece of music and at just over an hour of playing time, is not, as symphonies go, an especially lengthy work; yet, even dedicated playgoers might flinch at the prospect of a play consisting of 90 minutes of dialog plus 60 more minutes of the Ninth Symphony. As they (should) say, a little of the Ninth goes a long way) or issues intrinsic to the film or play (e.g., switching pronoun genders in love ballads to match the play’s cast or changing the tempo or length of an orchestral work to match the action on the screen).

Whether or not a different staging of Take This Waltz, especially one that would feature more of the lyrics, would offer any enhancements to “The Gin Game” is a legitimate question.

There is, admittedly, more than a tad of a bit of hubris involved in my answering that query. After all, D.L. Coburn has a Pulitzer Prize for “The Gin Game”⁵ while I have - a blog. There’s also the matter of my attempts to read Coburn’s mind despite my lack of psychic credentials. And, I carry the biases of one who is a Leonard Cohen fan more than a D.L. Coburn fan; I tend, for example, to see “The Gin Game” as a backdrop for Take This Waltz and to find myself wondering if Coburn considered doing a musical version of the play, turning the Bentley into an all-Cohen, all the time cabaret.

Nonetheless, my perspective, now that all the necessary analysis has been done, is simple to explain but neither trivial or the mere product of my Cohenthusiasm.⁶ As an audience member, I want the chance to discover and experience for myself the same enchantment and gratification Coburn felt when he first heard the “strange” song, Take This Waltz, with its “bizarre” lyrics and “beautiful harmonies.” I want to share the excitement of Julie Harris extolling the “poignant” and “perfect piece of music.” That sounds much more interesting than being told by an actor playing Weller that a character like Weller would find the words to the song “crazy.”

And, I have one additional argument to offer:

Footnotes

1. The only production of “The Gin Game” I’ve seen is the video of the PBS version of the play. Since the PBS TV screenplay was adapted from the script by the playwright, D.L. Coburn, my working assumption, until shown otherwise, is that the staging of the dance in this production is in line with his intentions and instructions.↩
2. OK, it did occur to me that this would have been an excellent opportunity to use Cohen’s “Do I Have To Dance All Night.” See The Best Leonard Cohen Song You’ve (Probably) Never Heard » Heck …↩
3. Early in the song, other words can, with special effort, be understood but are otherwise obscured by the actors’ dialog being spoken simultaneously. Surely, an audience intent on following the action of the lay would not make out many of the lyrics other than those noted and the success rate in comprehending even those lines, especially if the audience member has not previously heard Take This Waltz, would likely be low.↩
4. The economical use of time is, obviously, important, especially for the the TV version of the play since it has discrete, rigid time restrictions; it could be that because of the less demanding timing of the live theater, stage productions of “The Gin Game” use longer versions of the song↩
5. The Pulitzer Prize was awarded before the dance scene was part of the play↩
6. That said, it does seem a lost opportunity to forgo using a Leonard Cohen recording of Take This Waltz in the play, given that there is no reason the song has to be performed live. The version of Take This Waltz on The Essential Leonard Cohen is one of the singer’s more melodious vocalizations, is easily understood, and seems well worth the extra three or four minutes.↩

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Introduction

Leonard Cohen’s Take This Waltz is the musical accompaniment for a dance sequence in D.L. Coburn’s “The Gin Game.” I contend that (1) the use of this specific song is key to the dance scene, which itself, though not part of the original script, exponentially enhances the drama and pathos of the play and serves as catalyst for the audience’s investment in the fate of the characters and, by the way, (2) the scene’s full potential is not realized because of the manner in which the music is implemented in the orthodox, playwright-sanctioned production of the play.¹

No doubt Mr. Coburn and the theatrical world are breathless in anticipation of this revelation.

But they will have to wait a bit. Because “The Gin Game” appears to fall into the category of Classic, Frequently Produced American Plays With High Name Recognition About Which Few People Know A Darn Thing, it seems the better part of valor to establish rather than assume a common database of basic knowledge about this work prior to an elaboration of my hypothesis; happily, this information and, I trust, its acquisition are interesting and entertaining.

The Gin Game

Written in 1976 by D.L. Coburn, “The Gin Game” is a two-act, Pulitzer Prize winning play that first appeared on Broadway in 1977 starring Jessica Tandy and Hume Cronyn and directed by Mike Nichols. In 1997, Charles Durning and Julie Harris appeared in a Charles Nelson Reilly directed Broadway revival of the play. In 1999, a major production of “The Gin Game” in London featured Joss Ackland and Dorothy Tutin. Since its first Broadway production, “The Gin Game” has been a stalwart in the repertoire of amateur and professional theater groups and has been produced extensively in the U.S. and scores of other countries.

The cast consists of two characters, Fonsia Dorsey and Weller Martin, who are residents of Bentley, a ramshackle nursing home for the elderly.

Initially, Fonsia appears to be the epitome of the nice old lady who lives down the street and bakes cookies for the neighborhood children, but as the play unwinds she is revealed to be unexpectedly tough, embittered, and psychologically dangerous to herself and others.

Shortly after Fonsia arrives at the home, she meets Weller, a sardonic, self-important, and temperamental man who invites her to play gin, teaching her the rudiments of the game at which he professes great proficiency, noting that he is “one of the best damn Gin players you’ll ever see.”

The play’s structure is less a traditional linear plot than a series of vignettes staged around seventeen hands of gin Fonsia and Weller play over three consecutive Sundays (Sundays are “Visitors Days,” a particularly painful appellation since Fonsia and Weller are drawn together largely because neither ever has a visitor).

The gin games serve as a mechanism for disclosing the important elements of Fonsia’s and Weller’s lives, but this presentation of life events and psychological elements is not passive; it is instead intimately, destructively interactive, arming each player with the weapons to breach the others defensive facade and expose the weaknesses lying just below the surface, humiliate and traumatize the opponent, and ultimately prevent any connection between them other than reciprocal horror.

The card games, despite sporadic comic turns (e.g., during one hand, Fonsia forgets the card stuck between her lips), are increasingly tense affairs, governed by forces as unyielding as the laws of physics. Combined with the equally uncompromising psychological forces controlling Fonsia and Weller, the competitiveness of the card games inevitably produce a catastrophe where there was once the potential for respect and mutuality.

The script, in fact, is said to be an especially difficult one for actors to learn because the cards must be dealt, played, selected, and discarded precisely as specified since the card game itself, down to its mechanics such as shuffling, is coordinated with and interdependent on the movement of the play. The playwright himself devised scorecards for the gin games as an aid to the actors (see example below).

The outcomes of the card games and the implications and consequences of those results are intertwined with the significance of the dance scene and will be discussed in Part 2 of this post.

The Dance Scene

The dance scene was not part of the original play but was constructed for its 1997 Broadway revival.² How the dance became, by the playwright’s own description, an essential element of the production, is best told by Coburn himself. The following is excerpted from The Gin Game Web Site:

The dance scene was added a few years ago when I received a phone call from Charles Nelson Reilly, the director of the Broadway revival. He was relaying a message from Julie Harris, who played Fonsia. Julie thought, wouldn’t it be nice since Charles Durning is such a wonderful dancer if they could dance at some point?³ “I called Charles Nelson Reilly back and said, “Don’t encourage anyone on this run because it’s very likely not going to happen.”⁴

So I set about writing the scene and we performed it in the Broadway revival, and it was wonderful. Then we did it in again the West End production in London in 1999, with Joss Ackland and Dame Dorothy Tutin. And I continued to refine the scene there. Frith Banbury was the director there and one of the noted directors of the 20th Century in the English theater. So I called Frith afterwards and asked him if he felt the scene belongs. And he said, “Don, I not only feel it belongs, but that it’s imperative. It’s an essential part of the work.” I’m now confident of that, and it was good to get that confirmation.

Any doubts of the scene’s importance that remain are resolved by Mr. Coburn’s instructions, on The Gin Game Web Site, to those considering producing the play:

The PBS Production

In 2003, “The Gin Game” was transposed from the stage to the TV screen as part of the “PBS Hollywood Presents” series with D. L. Coburn himself adapting his stage play into a 90 minute production that PBS first broadcast on May 4th of that year.

I confess to having referenced the dance sequence from the PBS production of “The Gin Game” as that scene’s exemplar for this post for purely pragmatic considerations: given the choice of hoping a local theater group or a Broadway theater would put on a decent production of the play I could attend or renting the PBS version, a known quantity, from Netflix, the latter option seemed seemed the wiser choice.⁵ And, of course, should a reader wish to see the play, the PBS video is readily available.

I also admit to some trepidations because the PBS production was and continues to be marketed as a reunion of Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore, who were on stage together for the first time nearly 40 years after they appeared together on the Dick Van Dyke Show. While I’m a fan of the TV sitcom and both actors, there was something here that smacked of a gimmick, a dramatic encore for two deserving stars.

Happily, my concerns proved unfounded; whatever the motivation for casting Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore in these roles, their performances, according to the critics’ evaluations as well as my own, were professionally capable, demonstrating well-schooled skills and craftsmanship.

The only incontrovertibly disappointing aspect of the “PBS Hollywood Presents” version of “The Gin Game” is the habit, now apparently fossilized into a shibboleth, of PBS, the BBC, and similar highfalutin, hoity-toity broadcast institutions of explicitly inducing or tacitly encouraging actors in TV versions of stage productions, including “The Gin Game,” to utilize the techniques and stagecraft integral to live theater.

Consequently, the players exhibit broad, exaggerated motions, strike stylized poses, and enunciate their lines as they project their voices as though attempting to assure that the ticketholder stuck in the back of the third balcony gets his money’s worth. My cynical guess is that the PBS-BBC axis is determined to remind the hicks, Philistines, dunderheads, and rednecks, with a flourish and exclamation worthy of Jon Lovitz’s Master Thespian character - that “It’s THEATER!” and that thing the actors are doing - “It’s ACTING!.” The mannerisms, the troweled-on makeup, and the self-consciously theatrical stage set were conspicuous enough, at least from my perspective, to lend the production a Kabuki-esque aura.

None of which impaired my enjoyment of the play and especially the dance scene by a demi-whit.

Two additional casting issues specific to the PBS production deserve mention.

First, choosing Dick Van Dyke and Mary Tyler Moore, two actors heavily identified with comedy and a happy, albeit fictional, marriage, to play Weller and Fonsia inevitably sets up the audience with expectations of and implicit associations with romantic comedy, an especially treacherous circumstance, as we’ll see in Part 2 of this post, in the case of “The Gin Game.”

Second, Leonard Cohen’s “Take This Waltz” is performed by a li