"It's not about the movies"

"The Wizard of Oz" (1939), Directed by Victor Fleming (or so he says)

 I have to admit that it wasn’t really my idea to see this movie.  I have a casual dating relationship with one of the stars of the production, Buster Brody.  He plays a flying monkey along with his poker buddies Harry Monte, Sid Dawson, Lee Murray, and Harry Cog.  Buster was the trouble- maker on the set.  He came two whiskers away from being banned for life from all Hollywood soundstages when, “just for giggles”; he cut about 6 inches off the ends of Judy Garland’s pigtails.  Of course the movie wasn’t being filmed in chronological sequence so, if you watch closely, poor Dorothy’s pigtails experience a dizzying change of lengths from scene to scene.

One tragic instance of practical jokery that was never reported involved the accidental hanging of one of the munchkins.  This in itself would have been horrible, but the actual event was caught on camera.  Buster had convinced one of the not-so-bright little ones that he could get a better view of the Tin Man’s dance scene if he was perched high above it in one of the prop trees.  After the munchkin climbed the ladder and situated himself on one of the limbs, Buster quietly stole the ladder.  Unfortunately, during the filming of the scene the munchkin developed cold feet and decided to sneak back down the ladder.  Not realizing that it had been moved, he started to fall.  Desperately he grabbed for one of the anchor ropes holding up the tree; it wrapped around his neck and…oh well.  Remarkably, no one saw this happen (except Buster, of course) and the filming of the dance sequence continued.  When the director yelled cut, Buster quickly removed the poor little guy and secreted him out of the building.  The whole thing can be clearly seen occurring over the Scarecrow’s shoulder as the trio is dancing their way down the road and out of the scene.  Unbelievably, because no one saw what happened, the scene was never cut.

Buster asked me to the opening night ceremonies.  I accepted immediately, but as it turned out, this wasn’t the star studded Grauman’s premier on August 15^th.  You know, the one where MGM turned the theater’s courtyard into a Kansas cornfield, the one where dozens of midgets were dressed as Munchkins to greet the luminaries?  Oh no, Buster and his cronies weren’t invited to that one.  We had to catch a puddle jumper to Oconomowoc, Wisconsin on the 11^th where the movie had its worldwide premier at The Strand Theater.  The fact that the theater was bookended by a Laundry and a liquor store didn’t bother Buster a bit.  This was his first role in a major motion picture.  He had decided that he was going to play the part of a major motion picture star even if the movie opened in the tiniest backwater town in the country. 

  We arrived at high noon in the middle of a blistering heat wave. The “premier” was scheduled for 7:00.  We spent most of the afternoon playing poker in the lobby of the downtown Oconomowoc Holiday Inn waiting for our rooms to be cleaned.  Finally, the “magic hour” arrived.  Buster had rented a tux as well as a stretch limo for him and his buddies and he insisted that I wear my most uncomfortable evening gown.  As the limo pulled up in front of the theater, Buster peered out the smoked glass window.  “Where is everybody?” he said.  Sure enough, the only people standing in front of the theater were, the ticket lady (who somehow had locked herself out of the ticket booth), a policeman that was attempting to help her and a small girl trying in vain to eat an Italian Ice before it turned into a small sweet lemon-flavored puddle.

  Buster opened the window and called the policeman over to the car.  He somehow (probably with the help of a well-placed sawbuck) convinced him to make an announcement to the tiny crowd that had gathered to watch the manager (who had finally shown up, still absentmindedly wearing his napkin bib from “Sophie’s ‘Breakfast served all day’ Diner”), berate the poor ticket lady.  Buster’s instructions must have lost something in the translation because the policeman turned to the “crowd” and bellowed, “Ladies and Gentlemen,” as he motioned in the general direction of our car, “ I proudly introduce Jessica Atwater and her trained monkeys.”  There was a general smattering of quizzical applause as we exited the car into the hot mid-west evening.  Fortunately, by this time the manager had gotten the main doors open and, with all due obsequiousness, he ushered us in to the air-conditioned theater and our reserved seats in the balcony.

Surprisingly, the theater filled up rapidly.  The mystery was solved when I later discovered that the embarrassed manager, who had never managed to open the ticket booth, had stood, barker-like, in front of his theater and beckoned all passersby to enjoy a free showing of the “wondrous, magical world premier of Shirley Temple’s newest movie.”  I don’t think it mattered much that America’s Sweetheart wasn’t starring in this film (thank you very much, Twentieth Century Fox).  The people just wanted to get out of the darn heat.

From the minute the newsreel started, Buster and his friends began acting up.  They started stomping their feet and yelling, “Start the movie!  Start the movie!”  Several ushers tried, to no avail, to quiet down the group.  The kibitzing continued for most of the movie.  The midgets kept pushing the envelope, each attempting to outdo the other in tastelessness.  The final straw came during the flying monkey sequence.  The guys had become so exuberant in their joking that the experience of seeing themselves, albeit under tons of fur and makeup, on the silver screen caused them to abandon all remaining semblance of civility.  They stood at the edge of the balcony, jumping up and down throwing scatter shot barrages of Raisenettes on to the audience below, the whole time yelling at the top of their lungs, “Monkey poop!  Incoming!  Monkey poop!”

I was so embarrassed by this time that I fled the theater, jumped into the waiting limousine and told the driver to take me back to the motel.  Let them walk, I gleefully thought to myself.  But I wasn’t done with those boys.  No sir-ree, I was a long way from being “done” with them.  I’m not sure what had gotten into me.  Maybe it was the heat; maybe it was having to show up at this podunk little theater in downtown Boondock.  All I know is that some one was going to pay for it.  Sorry, Buster. 

When I arrived at the motel room I immediately put a call through to Sam Goldwyn.  “Sam,” I said.  “The next time you watch “The Wizard of Oz”, look closely over the tripping Scarecrow’s shoulder after the Tin Man's dance and tell me what you see.”

Monkey poop indeed!

Rating for “The Wizard of Oz”:  4 stars (I loved little Shirley)  

~Take that, Buster!~