Skip to main content

The Stupids Die

James Marshall--great fan of dramatic irony--likes when we can chuckle at Martha. We laugh when she believes her silly photo is a work of art. We laugh when she decides this same photo would make a wonderful and very serious gift for a friend.

I'm not sure if Marshall discussed dramatic irony with his collaborator, Harry Allard. But the two men built a series--"The Stupids"--on this one concept.

In "The Stupids Die," we the readers are much wiser than the Stupids. That family! They eagerly await "something stupid happening today." They "mow the carpet." Mrs. Stupid believes that "a loud dress" is literally "a loud dress," so she tapes some clucking chickens to her underwear. ("I hope it's not *too* loud.")

When the son, Buster, eats with his toes, this is applauded as a major step forward.

A book needs a plot, so, towards the end, Allard and Marshall plunge their characters into crisis. All the lights go out. Crazily, the Stupids conclude that they have died. When their wise pets Kitty and Xylophone do some good work with the circuit breakers, the lights come back on, and the Stupids decide they must now be in Heaven.

But, says a visitor: "This isn't Heaven. This is Cleveland."

Disappointed, the Stupids go to bed.

Getting ready to sleep, Mr. Stupid says something shocking and inevitable: "I'm sorry, my dear, that nothing stupid really happened today. But we still had fun."

I find this work therapeutic, at this particular stage in our national history. A tour de force. Recommended.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dysSHTK2Rk

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

How to Host a Baby

-You have assumed responsibility for a mewling, puking ball of life, a yellow-lab pup. He will spit his half-digested kibble all over your shoes, all over your hard-cover edition of Jennifer Haigh's novel  Faith . He will eat your tables, your chairs, your "I {Heart] Montessori" magnet, placed too low on the fridge. When you try to watch Bette Davis in  Hush Hush Sweet Charlotte , on your TV, your dog will bark through the murder-prologue, for no apparent reason. He will whimper through Lena Dunham's  Girls , such that you have to rewind several times to catch every nuance of Andrew Rannells's ad-libbing--and, still, you'll have a nagging suspicion you've missed something. Your dog will poop on the kitchen floor, in the hallway, between the tiny bars of his crate. He'll announce his wakefulness at 5 AM, 2 AM, or while you and another human are mid-coitus. All this, and you get outside, and it's: "Don't let him pee on my tulips!" When...

Raymond Carver: "What's in Alaska?"

Outside, Mary held Jack's arm and walked with her head down. They moved slowly on the sidewalk. He listened to the scuffing sounds her shoes made. He heard the sharp and separate sound of a dog barking and above that a murmuring of very distant traffic.  She raised her head. "When we get home, Jack, I want to be fucked, talked to, diverted. Divert me, Jack. I need to be diverted tonight." She tightened her hold on his arm. He could feel the dampness in that shoe. He unlocked the door and flipped the light. "Come to bed," she said. "I'm coming," he said. He went to the kitchen and drank two glasses of water. He turned off the living-room light and felt his way along the wall into the bedroom. "Jack!" she yelled. "Jack!" "Jesus Christ, it's me!" he said. "I'm trying to get the light on." He found the lamp, and she sat up in bed. Her eyes were bright. He pulled the stem on the alarm and b...

My Favorite Pop Song

  One thing I admire about Prince is his weirdly pretentious verses: Dream, if you can, a courtyard-- An ocean of violets in bloom. Also: Touch, if you will, my stomach. Feel how it trembles inside. No one else writes like this. Did people try to shoot down these choices? Did a producer say, "We'd like to rethink this one... Touch, if you will, my stomach...."  I can't help but wonder. But it's the chorus that makes this a classic. It's direct and universal--and it ends with that bizarre flourish, the allusion to "the crying doves." (Prince's song was number one in America for quite a while; it defeated Bruce Springsteen's "Dancing in the Dark.") How can you just leave me standing-- Alone in a world that's so cold? Maybe I'm just too demanding. Maybe I'm just like my father--too bold. Maybe you're just like my mother; She's never satisfied. Why do we scream at each other? This is what it sounds like when doves cr...