Saturday, 18 July 2020

Lenny - The Real Story of Lenny Bruce - Valerie Kohler-Smith

LENNY – VALERIE KOHLER-SMITH

It needs to be asked: If Lenny Bruce was to appear today how would he be received? Particularly in America. Would the Alt-Right try to claim him as one of their own and declare him to be an avenging angel of the First Amendment? Or would they see him as the complete opposite of all they hold dear and as an example of cultural Marxism in action, and therefore unleash the hounds of ultra-conservatism upon him in much the same way as they did in the Sixties? You might hope the latter but in this day and age you never can tell.

Lenny Bruce was a pioneer of modern-day, observational stand-up comedy and effectively paved the way so that others might follow. And of course, they did. Without Lenny Bruce we would have no Richard Prior, no Bill Hicks, no Jerry Seinfeld, Stewart Lee or even probably no Ted Chippington. It was Lenny Bruce who suffered the slings and arrows of the self-appointed moral guardians of American society so that others after him might be allowed to be funny. Lenny Bruce suffered so that we might one day laugh.


Lenny, written by Valerie Kohler-Smith is the novelization of the film based on Lenny Bruce's life starring Dustin Hoffman as the much-beleaguered comic. Written in 1974 it's a book very much of its time, written in a New York vernacular very specific to the Seventies. It doesn't pertain to be anything other than what it is, it simply fulfils its role and does its job. As such, it doesn't take anything away from the Lenny Bruce story but neither does it add anything. The best bits, in fact, are when it quotes directly from some of his spiels. For example:
'You know who I'd love to get in front of the House Un-American Activities Committee? Daddy Warbucks.' (Daddy Warbucks being a fictional character from the comic strip Little Orphan Annie).
'Senator: Now Daddy, will you tell this Committee what's really going on at your place with you and that little Orphan Annie and the weird little dog that keeps going 'Arf'? Are you really her Daddy? Uh huh, that's what I thought. OK, you've been having sex parties, isn't that it? Well tell me Warbucks, how come she has no eyes? Her eyes are always rolled back in her head. That's ecstacy, right? “Oh Daddy – oh, Daddy, Daddy,” and the dog keeps going “arf”. 'Arf' means 'next', right?'
Or when he talks about President Eisenhower and how the button to let off The Bomb is on the fly of a Boy Scout, or about how it's just as well Jesus wasn't killed in the last fifty years as we would have had to contend with a generation of parochial school kids running around with little gold electric chairs around their necks. Or when he's being self-depreciating: 'You know it's really weird. Everything that strikes me as being funny is based on all this destruction – this despair and all. But, you know, if the whole world were well, tranquil and all, without the violence? I mean come on - where would I be? I'd be standing on an unemployment line somewhere. Like I say, I'm a hustler. As long as they give, I'll grab.'

As with everything in life, if you're a comedian you need to find your own special trait, your own style. You need to find your own voice. Your shtick. For years, Lenny Bruce performed in clubs to an ever decreasing audience who had come primarily to watch the strippers, and not to hear a collection of old jokes they'd already heard a hundred times before. He'd finally reached rock bottom where he knew he could say anything to an audience – anything that came into his head – because he knew that nobody was listening anyway. Until, that is, he suddenly began attracting a new kind of audience – the beatniks.
Word was getting around that here was one of their own, a comedian who this new generation could actually identify with. The clubs he was playing were soon wall-to-wall with them and with their eyes on a good return on their investment, other much larger club owners were soon bidding large sums of money for him to play for them. Lenny Bruce was suddenly 'in'.

With his new found fame and his new found audience there came the kind of attention from a section of the audience from which there was to be no benefit, neither guffaws and laughs or even financially from them paying to come and see him. Lenny Bruce had come to the attention of the police. At almost every performance they started to show up, standing at the back in uniform or out of uniform at a table, sipping an orange juice whilst scribbling copious notes down into their police notebooks. At the end of a show they would sidle up to him, take him by the arm and say “You can't say that word in a public place, Lenny.”
“What word, Officer?” Lenny would reply “I said a lot of words.”
“You know what word,” the Officer would tell him “You said a lot of crap, smart boy. You think you can go around saying that any place you want? It's against the law.”
“But I didn't do it or anything,” Lenny would tell them “I just said it.”
The word was 'cocksucker'.


During his lifetime, Lenny Bruce gained a lot of famous friends and supporters – Frank Zappa, Phil Spector, Bob Dylan, Norman Mailer, Paul Newman, Gore Vidal, Hugh Hefner and so on but also a lot of enemies in high places. By the moral guardians of America he was hounded, harassed, arrested, jailed and banned. He was even barred from entering Australia and the UK as an 'undesirable alien'. So much so that in the end no club could afford to put him on as it would almost certainly put them at risk of losing their license. In the end, destitute from the endless legal fees and being unable to perform anywhere, Lenny overdosed on heroin and died alone at the age of 40.

Valerie Kohler-Smith's novelization is a good enough place to start with Lenny Bruce but perhaps it might be just as well to watch the actual film? Even better, there's a lot of recorded material and live clips of Lenny Bruce available now on YouTube and there – getting it straight from the horse's mouth – is the best place to investigate him. Bearing in mind how old all this stuff is, a huge amount of his spiels, routines and monologues are still standing the test of time and are still extremely funny.
Pioneer. Godfather. Legend. Lenny Bruce.
John Serpico

Sunday, 5 July 2020

I Can't Stay Long - Laurie Lee

I CAN'T STAY LONG – LAURIE LEE

Laurie Lee walked out one midsummer morning and from his home in the Cotswolds made his way on foot to London. Based on nothing but a whim, from London he then made his way to Spain where he spent a year traipsing around the Spanish countryside armed with nothing but a violin, a pen and some paper until the encroaching Civil War forced him out. Aware of the meaning of Fascism and of what a Franco-led government would entail, he returned to Spain to take up arms with the International Brigades whereupon he entered the history books and became legend.


I Can't Stay Long is a collection of Laurie Lee's essays, short stories and travel writing chronicling various times and experiences in his life from childhood to ripe old age. They are, quite simply, a joy to read. Every one of them is a pleasure, crafted with detail yet succinct and to the point. Like Constable or Turner paintings in miniature. His evocation of the world as seen through the eyes of an eight-year old is wonderful as are his descriptions of meeting a witch in the woods, his discovery of books, and not least his discovery of sex – with an added and amusing twist at the end.
His thoughts on exile, autobiography, love, appetite, and on being a father are insightful and considered. And then there are his reports from other places, from other countries, from other worlds beyond the Cotswold village he grew up in.

I presume Lee was mostly commissioned to travel to other countries and to report back on them for publication in a newspaper or magazine? He doesn't actually say so but how else was he ending up going to places all over the world and doing nothing but writing about them? How else was he ending up in Beirut, for example, or the Cannes Film Festival, or on a Concorde test flight if it wasn't by special invite? If it was by invite then it was an inspired decision to opt for Laurie Lee rather than some newspaper hack because it meant these places and experiences were going to be witnessed through the eyes of a poet and subsequently reported on in a similar fashion. And very beautifully so.

Tuscany, Mexico, Warsaw, Spain ('an ecstacy of mirage and delirium'), Ibiza, Holland ('Atlantis in reverse'), the Caribbean, and Ireland all get the Laurie Lee treatment. Like reports from the front-line wired in from a battle-hardened Reuters war correspondent. And then there's his article on Aberfan and you might think what could possibly be said about a school full of children being wiped out by such a disaster? There are no words though Lee very sensitively finds some that manages to convey the sense of tragic sadness regarding the whole incident, none so succinctly as those he spies upon a gravestone in the village cemetery: 'God came one day to gather flowers. He came our way and gathered ours'.
Exemplifying the tragedy, Lee tells of the world-wide sympathy the disaster elicited, leading to not only a huge sum of money being donated to a disaster fund but also to an avalanche of toys being sent to the village from well-wishers from all around the world. Toys for a village no longer with children.

Laurie Lee was born in 1914 and passed away in 1997. It was his wish that when he died that he should be buried in his native village, and that is indeed where his grave can be now found. It was his way of ensuring his life would go full circle, that he would return to whence he came. Lee's was a life lived well. He came from nothing, he saw, he worked, he loved, he cried, he partook, he created. All that is left now are his books but that's more than most and in itself is more than enough.
John Serpico