By Joel Thurtell
Censorship wears many guises. Sometimes, it masquerades as a beneficent desire to save a writer from his or her own poor judgment. So it happened that Mark Twain long ago submitted his work to his wife for her critiques. Somehow, though, he forgot to show Olivia his opus called “1601,” about a fictitious farting contest in the court of Queen Elizabeth I. How he managed to evade the censor’s scissors, I don’t know.
Couple years ago, when I was still a reporter with the Free Press, I wrote an article about the sacred subject of intestinal air relative to the actor-playwright Jeff Daniels. In the interest of “saving Joel from Joel,” friends stopped that article from going to the printer.
Still suffering from the same poor judgment that drove me to write such a wanton and obnoxious essay, and noting that Jeff Daniels is now playing his one-man “Unplugged” show at Ann Arbor’s Michigan Theater, I feel compelled to submit the previously-censored essay, written in 2007, to the editor of joelontheroad.com. I am sure that person, imbued with a sense of humor identical to my own, will feel compelled to publish this long-delayed piece in the annals of JOTR.
— JT
Okay, I plead guilty: I’m the guy who put “fart” in the Free Press.
If you don’t believe me, get a whiff of “Sales soar once readers get wind of new book,” in the Jan. 24 1992 Free Press. It’s a review of a book about farting called “It’s a Gas,” by two University of Michigan profs. The bad word’s in there. Twice. In quotes. The challenge today is to get the word in print without quotation marks. Let’s see how it goes.
Some people might think I was trying for an encore, a blast from the past, when I called the Purple Rose Theater and asked to talk to its founder, actor Jeff Daniels, about this area of personal dissonance. I’d already left messages on the voice mails of the two Jeff Danielses with phone listings in the area of Chelsea, where I’m told Jeff Daniels lives and where I’ve seen his plays at the Purple Rose.
I wanted to tell him about my concern with this new theater they’re setting up in Northville, called The Tipping Point. I mean, Northville is a ways from Chelsea, but it’s not that far away. It’s downwind, you know.
Here’s my concern. Tell me if I’m off base. I saw Daniels’ movie, “Escanaba in da Moonlight.” I did. I paid money to see that incredibly long scene in which people, human beings, mind you, regale each other with the mouth that speaks without teeth. I’d say it went on endlessly, except several ends were very much in play. I mean, that was one amazingly long scene with every conceivable sort of fart – oops, flatulence – and it seemed never to end. Who needs plot when you can spin a tale with gas?
Hey, it made me laugh. Lowbrow? It’s great. When I heard about the sequel at the Purple Rose – “Escanaba in Love” – I expected a good long, raucous fart scene. I was disappointed. The scene was there, but it lacked the dynamism I’d come to expect from Jeff Daniels.
It’s a worry. Standards. Quality. If they’ve loosened up at the Purple Rose, what can we expect from the new stage in Northville?
Well, Jeff didn’t call back. So I dialed the Purple Rose. Talked with the managing director, Alan Ribant. Not likely that Jeff would have time to talk to me, Ribant said. He’s packing his bags, heading for New York. Got a part in an Off Broadway play. In fact, Ribant confided, the Free Press theater critic, Marty Kohn, had tried two hours earlier to get an interview with Jeff. Even Marty, who’s a REAL theater critic, had been put off.
Okay, so I’m not a REAL theater critic. But in my little niche, or maybe I should say UP my little niche, I’m an expert. I know good flatus from bad. Anyway, I explained, this interview will be tongue in cheek. Ha ha. “I’ve seen ‘Escanaba in da Moonlight’ and ‘Escanaba in Love’, and my worry is whether a new theater would be able to maintain the high standard of flatulence achieved by Jeff Daniels and the Purple Rose Theater.”
Silence.
My little gag went over like a you-know-what in church. Radio people call it “dead air.” At last, he spoke: “This is the difference of whether you’re talking about flatulence jokes, no, I mean, it depends on the focus of what you want to do with the story. Is this off the record? You were mentioning flatulence, and I couldn’t –“
“I was kidding.”
“I mean, I mean, I don’t know if Jeff, I know Jeff is getting ready to do an Off Broadway play in New York and he’s even delayed doing an interview with Marty, and whether he’s available to do any kind of sidebar…”
Doggonit, you’d think the people who churn out longwinded fart scenes could take a reporter’s little joke.
Anyway, I spelled my name and gave the managing director my phone number.
Maybe Jeff will call me. I hope he shares my concern. That second Escanaba play had a decidedly inferior fart scene. Maybe this Northville company will raise the bar.
Just then, the phone rang: “This is Jeff Daniels.”
“I don’t believe it!”
“Well it’s not the Jeff Daniels you want. You wouldn’t believe the people trying to get ahold of him. He lives about 10 miles west of me.”
Drop me a line at joelthurtell(at)gmail.com
The benefit of retirement is there is nobody to save you from yourself!
lol @ “I am sure that person, imbued with a sense of humor identical to my own…”