WILDER THING

RIP to the beautiful Gene Wilder, whose one-of-a-kind combination of gentleness and manic intensity places him among the greats of American comedy. I love him most for perhaps his least manic role, as Jim, the amiably detached Waco Kid, in Blazing Saddles...

...and also as Willy Wonka, dreamily singing “There’s no earthly way of knoooowing….Which direction we are gooooing…” He was a terrific foil to Richard Pryor in Silver Streak and Stir Crazy, and he gave classic performances in The Producers, Start the Revolution Without Me and few other uneven films. But many regard the 1974 Mel Brooks favorite Young Frankenstein, which Wilder co-wrote and in which he played the title character, as his finest hour. It’s certainly wonderful, so…

Monster-of-the-Week: …this week we can hardly do other than give the nod to the Monster in that film, splendidly played by Peter Boyle…

…with whom young Dr. Frankenstein (FRONK-en-steen) performs “Puttin’ on the Ritz.”

ROYALE WATCHING

Sunday afternoon Your Humble Narrator & The Kid betook ourselves to The Royale, the Midnite Movie Mamacita’s nouveau-grindhouse in downtown Mesa, for a screening of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory benefitting Kids Need to Read. Not for the first time, I was struck by how really messed-up, on many different levels, that movie is, in spite (& at times because of) Gene Wilder’s classic turn as Wonka.

But it was a lot of fun anyway, & I swelled with pride to see my two contributions to The Royale’s décor. First, this poster for the 1955 Republic serial Panther Girl of the Kongo, starring sexy Phyllis Coates:

Seeing this so prominently displayed in the lobby delighted me, because it was a legacy from my dear late pal & mentor Bill Rocz, who passed on in 1996. Valley folk will remember Bill as the movie critic at Channel 5 & host of that station’s Family Classics & Hollywood Greats. I had enjoyed the Panther Girl in my home office for years, but there was no place she fit in our current house, & she had been in storage for more than five years. I can think of few places that Bill would more wish to see her than her new home.

The Royale has also offered shelter to The Great Shuggahoo, a big wooden Tiki that hung over my desk for years, but who was also out of place—according to The Wife—in the current Moorhead Hacienda. Shuggahoo (named after an alien ruler in some head comic I read decades ago) has an important gig at The Royale—guarding the commode:

He looks pretty sullen about the detail, wouldn’t you say?