Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Planet of the Jackanapes
I got an email from someone asking me to comment on a new movie called Dawn of the Planet of the Apes.
“Why are you asking me? – I’m not a film critic,” I wrote in reply.
The answer came back swiftly:
“No, but as one who claims to be a gorilla you ought to have an opinion on the way your species is portrayed in popular entertainment, given the subtle influence of such perceptions on public support for conservation and other related projects.”
This erudite statement deserved a carefully-worded response:
“Fiddlesticks and tiddlywinks!” I wrote, ending the debate decisively.
At the time, I thought it was a suitable riposte to a snooty lecture from someone whose email address was Elvis.Godzilla@gmail.com. But on later reflection, I had to admit that Mr Godzilla’s argument was sound. Gorilla Bananas must not be silent when humans invent stories about their hairy cousins. The gullible masses will believe any old tosh presented to them on a cinema screen, even if it involves three-legged orang-utans juggling dwarves between their feet.
It will be many moons before the film is screened in the Congo, so I had a look at the official trailer to get a flavour. It was utter bunkum and farce. The “apes” in it are walking in upright postures, making grumpy faces and speaking American English in throaty, menacing voices. In short, they are surly humans wearing furry costumes, under which they must be sweating like horses.
This suggests the movie is a classic example of what psychologists call “projection”. Humans put their own dark side in another species so they can externalise the evil and struggle against it without having to purge their own souls. Admittedly, a trailer can only tell you so much. There may also be tender scenes of apes feeding humans berries by hand, but that won’t put bums on seats. People will go to this movie to see the Big Bad Ape, so they can enjoy the exhilarating fear that humans feel when there is zero risk of getting a hunk of flesh bitten out of them.
On the subject of humans pretending to be apes, I recently overheard an American tourist call Justin Bieber “a despicable little chimp”. The uncouth youth has been fined $80,000 for throwing eggs at his neighbour’s house, which is an unwise prank for a stage performer to play. He who lives by the sword shall die by the sword, and Bieber’s devoted fans may now have to endure the agony of seeing their idol get a facial omelette while he’s warbling away on stage.
Bieber’s growing band of beraters have sent a petition to the White House, demanding that he is deported to his Canadian motherland. The Obama administration has wisely declined to get involved. If Bieber were sent back to Canada, he could buy a house on the border and throw eggs at his neighbours in Michigan, while mooning at an American flag. Much better to keep him in the USA, where there’s a good chance some angry redneck guy will kick his ass.
Labels: Apes, chimpanzees, Justin Bieber
Monday, July 13, 2009
Animal lovers
Got a call from little Charlotte Uhlenbroek the other day. She’s recently appeared in a series of wildlife documentaries on British TV, visiting the great apes and trying to sort out their problems. The problems, it must be said, remained largely unsolved. On the plus side she did manage to goad a few chimpanzees into tickling her, which made her giggle like an excited schoolgirl. On strength of this performance she asked me to nominate her for Animal Lover of the Year.
“I’ll put your name forward, Charlotte, but I can’t say your chances are good,” I said. “Last year it was won by a fellow who sucked a cow’s udders. This year we’ve had reports of a man who wanked off a dolphin. That’ll be stiff competition, as you can imagine.”
“They’re so fucking sexist, GB!” squeaked Charlotte angrily. “They’ve never given it to a woman, have they? Do I have to suck off a chimp or something?”
“I wouldn’t recommend it, Charlotte, they’d be queuing outside your tent once the word got out. Why don’t you try something with the hoofed animals instead? The judges are always impressed by women who can ride the herbivore bareback.”
“Not bloody likely, GB, my arse is sore enough as it is!"
I said I would do my best to make her case from her work with the apes.
I have to admit that I lied about the man who wanked off a dolphin. That incident occurred a long time ago, so the perpetrator wouldn't be eligible for this year’s award. I wanted to lower Charlotte’s expectations without telling her about the real favourite: an Ohio woman who allows a squirrel to reside between her breasts. One shouldn’t put such ideas into the head of an impressionable TV naturalist.
So what about this woman from Ohio? Apparently, the first person to find out about her furry tenant was a police detective. He was interviewing her about an unrelated felony when the bushy-tailed rodent popped out of its hiding place and tried to escape. Less nervous creatures than a squirrel have cracked under the strain of a dogged interrogation. The woman promptly reassured the animal and put it back into its cosy refuge. They obviously had a relationship based on mutual trust and affection – bosom buddies, so to speak.
Now on the face of it, this woman showed great hospitality in allowing Little Nutkin to nestle between her norks. It has all the appearance of a selfless act carried out by a true lover of furry creatures. However, a breast boffin called Cathinka Chandler claims that parting the chest cleavage is actually good for the boobs, preventing them from wrinkling and sagging. She has invented a device called The Kush which is essentially a glorified titty-separator. She claims that women who sleep with one lodged between their baps will wake up in the morning with a bust to be proud of.
All of which suggests that the woman from Ohio had a selfish motive for her squirrel-friendly behaviour. That’s typically human, isn’t it? You think they’re doing something out of generosity of spirit, when in reality they have an ulterior motive. Let’s hope the judges can see through her wiles.
Labels: Apes, Breasts, Charlotte Uhlenbroek, The Kush
