Captain Jack Syndrome

This is a rerun from February, but as it's Halloween, it is appropriate now.


Last Halloween, I rode the hay wagon with a pirate. A full-grown man, dread locks and eyeliner—Captain Jack Sparrow, incarnate with Captain Morgan. He swilled rum in a goblet and had beer bottles stashed between the bales. He had to sit on the back of the wagon so he wouldn’t set the hay on fire with his cigar.

Johnny Depp has given us a new male psychosis: Captain Jack Syndrome. It’s what Peter Pan would have grown into if his nuts hadn’t been clipped off in a flying harness. Those early theatrical flying harnesses are the reason it’s tradition to put a woman in the role of Peter Pan. No matter what sex you send into the fly space of a stage, it’s going to come down in castrati range.

The play, PETER PAN, debuted in London in 1904, and introduced a new myth into modern culture: the boy who won’t grow up. Historians can argue, but I’m guessing childhood was a relatively new fad with the rise of the middle class. The new middle class economy of the Western World afforded families enough disposable income to allow offspring a luxury between infancy and the workhouse.

The Disney animated feature film was released in 1953. Then Disney released a live-action film in 2003 by the same title, and FINDING NEVERLAND in 2004, which explores the story behind the story, starring…Johnny Depp.

Who else has played this role? Robin Williams, as an amnesiatic Peter Pan in HOOK, who faces the formidable profile of Captain Dustin Hoffman, who later plays a the formidable theater manager in FINDING NEVERLAND—a wonderful continuance of overlapping metaphor of reality with the fiction, mimicking the tradition of the role of Captain Hook being played by the same actor who plays Father Darling. And Kevin Costner…yes, I said Kevin Costner, in WATERWORLD. Everybody thought WATERWORLD was an over-budgeted flop; they didn’t realize it was a futuristic remake of PETER PAN.

Peter Pan committed suicide in 1960. Peter Llewelyn Davies threw himself in front of a train, unable to reconcile himself as a person, and a fictional character. He failed to remain in Neverland. He landed.

Only in honesty do we have lies. Perhaps truth is a lack of memory.

Childhood is the formative period. But humans live a lot longer now. When will other stages of life be recognized as formative? What about middle age? If you have a survivorship of your fifties, shouldn’t that hold formative significance? I wonder if dementia and Alzheimer’s are symptoms of our recent past of more limited lifespans. Maybe over the next thousand years, mental disorders associated with aging will decline as we make the lifestyle shift into longevity. Or, maybe only in childhood is where we make memories; whereas, as adults, we forget how to make them, except around formal occasions like weddings and anniversaries. Legal events only.

Boys do grow up. Their bodies, despite their minds, take on mature form. Scientists have found the human male has closer genetic affinity with a chimpanzee than with a human female. Any woman could tell you that. Men make terrible house pets. If you want to live with someone who will obey, get a dog. Or how about a fish, if you’re seeking a quiet companion who will stay confined? Men are men. And sometimes they’re Captain Jack.

Transformers - Robots in the Eye

Sitting through TRANSFORMERS is like watching fluorescent light bulbs going on…going off. Like waking up from the same bad dream, then realizing the dream is still there.

I’ve seen the movie before, I swear I have, but I don’t remember it even though parts are familiar. I thought maybe if I watched it all the way through just once I’d be able to remember from here forward, but my eyes shut anyway.

The movie lacks pacing. It’s all go without enough funny lines or character depth to keep me conscious. It moves in a blur of action where even the transformations are smeared through a million pixels. The mechanical details are left to the toy designers. How the machines attain a multi-storied mass from a two-door sedan remains mechanical genius.

With the exception of the introduction scene, the good bots are indistinguishable from the bad bots. The Autobots behave as much like thugs as the Decepticons, taking over the lives of humans to suit their purposes. The Autobots don’t kill humans, but apparently abduction, grand theft auto, and general terrorizing aren’t on their no-no list. All this is to give preservation to a box that resembles a miniature Borg—you assimilate with the Allspark and it kills you, as with Optimus Prime.



As I mentioned above, the mechanical details of transformation are left to the toy designers. Not only does Hasbro have to create a duel-function toy, they have to make it transform in three-D, and it actually has to work.

What could be a better concept than two toys in one? It is efficiency and ingenuity combined at their finest. And if you lose the directions for how to transform it back, you could be forever out with your blaster arm hanging open as a car door.

Children, of course, can memorize thousands of intricate, sequential steps which do not require triple-strength reading glasses for the Japanese print. Children will only bring the toy to you once it’s one-third helicopter, half faceless robot, and partially functioning as a Betty Crocker oven. Transformers are marvelous Christmas gifts because they can keep a parlor full of adults occupied all day. See if Uncle George can get the chopper blade in. If not, take it to Aunt Gladys to get the broiler function to turn off.

At least Transformers don’t require batteries, only aspirin.

Biblical Elephants

This week I was visited by a Jehovah’s Witness, little man who laid his hand atop his Bible and declared how it had opened his eyes. I certainly believed that! He was the most bug-eyed man I’d ever met. Two ice-blue orbs, one shot off sideways and he barely ever blinked. When the good Lord opened the eyes of this man, He meant to keep them open! Little bug-eyed man stuck his mouth in the door and he just didn’t stop talking. End times, he said, and the answers are all in the Bible, all in the Bible, the answers are there.

After I respectfully declined a second visit from the habituators of Kingdom Hall, I came inside and began to contemplate the upcoming election. I opened my concordance and looked up donkeys and elephants. THERE ARE NO BIBLICAL ELEPHANTS! Jesus did NOT make his triumphant entry into Jerusalem paramount on a pachyderm. If all the answers are in the Bible, then God is surely a Democrat.

Here is a brief history of Biblical donkeys:


Balaam’s Donkey – Some say there’s safety in numbers, but in the book of Numbers from the Old Testament, there’s a talking donkey (Chapter 22). It’s like Shrek, really.

Mary’s Donkey – The donkey had to bear a nine-month pregnant woman all the way to Bethlehem just so Mary could give birth in a stable environment.

Jesus’ Donkey – Actually this was a juvenile donkey who probably developed premature arthritis from having to bear such a load at such a young age. He marched Jesus through the streets of Jerusalem, tripping over palm frond and hearing people yell, “Hose, Anna!” and yet he never saw the water girl.


Donkeys appear throughout the Bible, dead and alive, talking and mute, and even as the weapon of choice for Sampson who slew a thousand men with a donkey’s jawbone. The value of a donkey is certainly inherent in the commandment: “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s ass” (Exodus 20:17).

Tina Fey Moment

I’m no Sarah Palin, but I had my Tina Fey moment. Friday night was the rehearsal for the charity fashion show. Final script was due at seven, my laptop was malfunctioning, I hadn't fed my children, and my husband wasn't coming home.

It's good to have a writing gig. Be even better if it were a paying one. Still, the ladies were very pleased with my descriptions of their outfits. One of them turned to me and said, "What did you do, major in English?"

Well, as a matter of fact….

I know nothing about clothes, but I’ve been in worse shape. I’ve written about growing turf grass and ghosted articles for important people who are highly articulate, but don’t perform well on paper. You don’t have to invent the words; you just have to arrange them. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as you produce a memorable sound bite. Sarah Palin knows that, and Tina Fey capitalizes on it.

Good luck, candidates! May you be worthy of your speech writers!

The Mentalist Case

THE MENTALIST comes off as “The Minimalist” in its capacity for primetime entertainment. I thought it would be a show of clues and intrigue, kind of like CSI, which allows the viewer to piece together what’s going on. Instead, the telescoping is so strong in THE MENTALIST, you’d better take caution if you’re watching it in HD.

The concept is solid—the idea of the main character who is NOT a genius, but suffers a severe case of synesthesia, with a side helping of sleight-of-hand. He’s interested in magic with a good looking smile, and has mischief at his elbow. He’s also good at flushing a rabbit from a hat. But he’d do equally well in a competing time slot against BLUES CLUES. Honestly, CBS has him scheduled in the wrong venue. It’s like mistaking NATIONAL TREASURE for anything but a kids’ movie.

I am interested in THE MENTALIST because he gives credence to picking up every single detail of a day. He harvests the smallest items and pours them into the purpose of solving crime. He justifies paying attention to the marginalia of life. I do that! I thought they’d made a show about me! Turns out I don’t have to sue for rights.

Opening episode the pilot crashes. The most effective way to weaken a story is to throw in a therapist. MASH did that to end eleven seasons. Bob Newhart could get away with it because HE WAS the therapist. Deanna Troi was tolerated aboard STAR TREK’s ENTERPRISE because she kept abreast on the show. But even on TWO AND A HALF MEN, the exploits of Charlie Harper flat line in scenes with his therapist. (Not when Rose plays unlicensed psychologist, or when Berta gives him advice.) So I will give the Mentalist credit for lying to his therapist, and yet the scene still lingers beyond the point of interest. AFTER the session, we learn that the therapist murdered the Mentalist’s wife and child! This would have been interesting to know BEFORE he went in and talked to the guy. “You’re late; draw your weapon!” encapsulates the pacing of the entire episode, before it denouements into circumstances so sappy that even Horatio (“H”) of Miami’s CSI couldn’t upstage the melodrama.

I’m trying to like THE MENTALIST, I really am. I figure he is like me: turbo attention to detail, unarmed.