'A GRAND GUY: THE ART AND LIFE OF TERRY SOUTHERN' | A review 'Dr. Strangelove' author had a good run
The common theme of Southern's work was his desire to hold the establishment's feet to the fire.
By ROB STOUT
SPECIAL TO THE VINDICATOR
"A Grand Guy: The Art and Life of Terry Southern," by Lee Hill (HarperCollins, $27.50).
Deep within the crowd that graces the album cover of the Beatles' "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," there is one face noticeably obscured by dark sunglasses. Behind those ubiquitous shades is the writer Terry Southern, standing just to the left of his literary hero Edgar Allan Poe, as they are both immortalized in one of the pivotal pop moments of the decade.
Judging by the various icons pictured on this counterculture yearbook, it is no surprise that Southern was selected. From 50's beatnik to 60's hipster, he was a master Zelig, turning up everywhere and always turning on to something, usually in the presence of the movers and shakers of the period. And as its title suggests, biographer Lee Hill is to be commended for sifting through the hefty cultural luggage Southern left behind to complete this comprehensive first biography.
Only through a brief association with Southern before his death in 1995, and later "complete and unmediated access" to his papers, has Hill managed to assemble a social history of his subject's short time under the spotlight, one that is evenly balanced with analysis of Southern's literary art.
Brilliant madman: While other names are more quickly associated with the pop literature underground, the credits Southern chocked up over just a few short years serve as the best clue to his reputation as one of the most bawdy, brilliant multimedia madmen of all time. Splendidly twisted, his uncanny feel for the Zeitgeist was nothing short of natural, and the resulting no-holds-barred style became a precursor to the gonzo prose of Hunter Thompson and Tom Wolfe's New Journalism.
Not a bad legacy from a slightly bookish but otherwise normal boy born in rural East Texas where his father was the town pharmacist (exposure that would serve Southern well in later life). Stifled by the parochial surroundings, he made the most of his situation by joining the Army in 1943, surviving the war, then returning to study in post-war Paris under the GI Bill at the Sorbonne.
After four frenzied years of bebop jazz, hash and bad French philosophy, Southern had all the credentials of an officially seasoned bohemian. But with the few short stories he had managed to complete, his new hipster ethos saw their publication more an act of dubious achievement than artistic progress.
Short fiction: Then came The Paris Review in 1952, run by an assembly of well turned out Ivy Leaguers who viewed Southern as a genuine and original talent. Their warm acceptance of his short fiction gave him more confidence to pursue writing and the ability to overcome certain aspects of his otherwise self-defeating hipster ideas.
Southern returned to New York, where much of the American beat movement was forming. Burroughs, Kerouac and Ginsberg were all in the Village by now and it was here that he could refine his sensibilities, as well as build upon his material from The Paris Review.
Beginning in 1958, three successive novels would bring Southern a small, but influential following: & quot;Flash and Filigree, & quot; the vaguely autobiographical & quot;The Magic Christian' and the raunchy & quot;Candy & quot; (the only English language title ever to be banned in France).
Sellers: & quot;The Magic Christian & quot; wound up in the hands of actor Peter Sellers, who in turn gave it to director Stanley Kubrick during the screen production of Peter George's otherwise serious "Red Alert." Southern seemed a natural for the ironic subject matter Kubrick envisioned, and the two turned the renamed "Doctor Strangelove" into a burlesque look at the last hours of earth before a nuclear holocaust.
After the & quot;Strangelove & quot; screenplay was nominated for an Oscar, Southern began a string of screenplays including "The Cincinnati Kid," "Barbarella" and "Easy Rider," earning him a second Oscar nomination along with co-creators Dennis Hopper and Peter Fonda.
The 70s should have been a continuation of the Terry Southern show that started with the publication of & quot;Candy." Instead, "the great mystery of the post-60's is why Southern had such difficulty getting work into production," writes Hill. "As the new decade would begin, Southern would enter a frustrating, puzzling 25-year stretch of grand possibilities and dead ends."
12 productive years: Only speculation is given by the author and surviving family members as to this fate. But between 1958 and 1970, Terry Southern had a nice run: seven screen plays, three novels and a celebrated collection of journalism and short stories.
A single theme runs through all of this work. Like Guy Grand, the eccentric hero of "The Magic Christian," Southern wanted to hold the establishment's feet to the fire, to make things a little hotter for them. Until now, his critics could only agree to disagree on whether he was a wonderful failure or a terrible success. Hill's biography will certainly answer some persistent questions, but it will also add to this continual debate.