Skip to main content

The Beetle Blues

Lester “Beetlejuice” Green is categorically one of the best comedians in the world, as far as I'm concerned he's right up there with Rodney Dangerfield and Norm Macdonald. And that's not a joke, I'm not a funny guy, unlike Beetlejuice. Once in a blue moon I like to think I manage to come up with a funny thing or two, sure, who doesn't? But Beetle is constantly firing on all cylinders, when he's on a roll he simply will not stop, even to point where you absolutely have to rewatch his little sets more than once to get the full extent of his comedy genius. The way his mind work is just fascinating, random to the point of being kinda surreal and all too impossible to predict. And if a proper joke is based on the element of surprise, then you simply can't ask for a better comedian. In all these things, Beetle is a master. He's way, way funnier than a ton of mainstream comedians who, though hard they try, they can't avoid being anything but generic, predictable or just plain boring. And while Beetle's act can perhaps create a mean-spirited reaction from the audience, or maybe more so from some of his unfortunate and unfunny cohorts, you soon find yourself laughing, not at Beetle, never at Beetle, but entirely with him... And when he's sad, you're sad with him too.


Beetlejuice Speaks Spanish has got to be one of the greatest acts by any comedian ever. It's roughly forty minutes of non-stop comedy, with Beetle in full force, as confident any man can be. He walks in like he owns the place, he manhandles his buddies, he loudly and repeatedly asserts his status as the boss, and he takes call after call, firing back at every single insult with some great ones of his own, such as implying he considers the caller's mother to be a mere masturbation tool, while some of his other insults and comebacks can be downright surreal such as mentioning the caller's niece having adulterous lesbian sex at a football game... And Beetle does all this while standing in the middle of the room, refusing to sit for the entire show, thereby owning the place, overcrowding it with his large presence. I could go on and on, and my wish would even be to write down a list detailing his jokes and reactions, because having rewatched that set a thousand times now, I still keep finding new bits to laugh at. Because I'm not kidding when I say you don't get Beetle's humor right away, it follows you for days and days until a moment comes when you find yourself alone, you hear his voice echoing in your mind and only then do you remember this or that little interaction that slipped you by, and only then do you find it damn hilarious... So if Hollyweird Squares was one of the funniest bits in television history, then this epic appearance by Beetle has got to be very closely tied to it.

Still, when you discover Beet you realize it's not always fun and games, you realize at times he's just not in the mood to perform. In fact, we saw him sad quite a few times. On one of those times he was even tearing up and denying it, childishly saying his tears were just water, on another we saw him giving short and blunt answers while constantly chugging back water in an effort to hold back the tears, and on yet another occasion, the infamous leather jacket and orange beanie appearance, he was in such a dark place he even mentioned suicide... I suppose then we're talking about a man of extremes, a man who, when he feels good, enjoys being the center of attention, giving off such a commanding aura and absolutely shattering any and all boring conversations, a man of such confidence to the point of exaggerating his stories with no concern for his listeners, having been described once or twice as the most lovable compulsive liar ever. But on the other extreme he's also a man for whom sadness hits like a truck. As far as I know, on the second occasion I mentioned he was upset due to his grandmother's death, forcefully deflecting any attempt to be cheered up except when his little nephew called and only then did Beet lighten up so as to not worry him, like a proper, stoic man should. On the third occasion I mentioned it was due to his brother Sean's untimely death, the man who discovered how funny Beet could be and launched his career, but even then Beet tearfully ended his sad appearance with a very heartbreaking – I'll be fine...

So then Beetle is a small man, but with a huge heart. Also a huge penis but that's not as important for now... You can clearly see how he wears his heart on his sleeve, even to the point of at times being openly mocked by some of his fellow comedians, and I use that last term loosely, either because Beetle kept his feelings locked up and they just didn't know, which may be understandable, or just because some of those other people were total pricks, which means they oughta take stock of their own lives and learn to cherish Beetle like he cherishes them. Either way, in those instances we completely feel for Beet, we share his sorrow and immediately take to his side. Indeed it is a bit sad at times because he's not a comedian quite like any other, in some cases he can't or simply won't defend himself in the same way, and he feels so down he just allows the abuse, he positively turns the other cheek... But those are the moments that make him, more than a great comedian, they make him a great guy, because we don't just love to laugh with him when he's happy, we willingly show him true compassion when he's suffering.

And just what is suffering? For Beetle it's nothing, with him even going so far as to get shocked at the idea of receiving abuse for being a little person, one of the many details I noticed in the aforementioned epic set. That's because he's the boss and ain't nobody gonna mess with him. In so many ways Beet strikes me as an openly happy person, which is not to say he don't get sad, he does, even in some deep sorrow. But being the boss is all about powering through and finding happiness on the other side, because while Beet's lows can be really low, his highs are really high. And though he may so often say he don't give a care, that's not at all true. We know he's a good guy, a funny guy, a confident guy, and a happy guy, all things that every one of us can decidedly envy, at least I sure do. In being who he is, in being so completely true to himself, Beetle made one hell of a career, starting off somewhat controversially I suppose, but soon finding his home with all of us. I guess more than a comedian what he really is is an entertainer because in all things he's incredibly entertaining, either when he's owning rude callers trying to mess with him or when he's at a buffet, softly and elegantly plating his food.

Now, we may all have love for Beetle, but the proof of the love he has for us can be found way back in 1999, on Beet's first ever TV appearance when he was beside his brother Sean, who kept laughing in disbelief that it was really happening, that Beet really was on TV and that surprisingly enough he was being the mature one in the entire discussion. And when the host asked about Beet's unusual job of being tossed for a living as part of his overall entertainment skills, Beet answered with the simplest and most beautiful phrase of all when he said – It don't make no difference but I do it anyway, you know, I make people happy.

After that I got nothing more to add. At the end of the day I just hope Beet knows how happy he made all of his fans, and I just wish that in his saddest moments he could laugh as heartily as in his happy moments he has made me laugh... So all hail king Beetle, long live the king!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Minha Interpretação Pessoal de “Às Vezes, em Sonho Triste” de Fernando Pessoa

Já há muito tempo que não lia nada que o Fernando Pessoa escreveu, e talvez por esse motivo, mas principalmente porque buscava ideias sobre as quais escrever aqui, decidi folhear um livro de poemas dele. E enquanto o fiz, tomei especial nota das marcas que apontei na margem de algumas páginas, significando alguns poemas que gostei quando os li pela primeira vez, há cerca de sete anos atrás. Poderia ter escolhido um poema mais nostálgico ou até mais famoso, mas ao folhear por todo o livro foi este o poema que me fez mais sentido escolher. Agora leio e releio estes versos e comprometo-me a tecer algo que não me atreverei a chamar de análise, porque não sou poeta nem crítico de poesia. Mas como qualquer outro estudante português, fui leitor de Fernando Pessoa e, ainda que talvez mais a uns Fernandos Pessoas do que a outros, devo a este homem um bom pedaço dos frutos da minha escrita, que até à data são poucos ou nenhuns. Mas enfim, estou a divagar... O que queria dizer a jeito de introduç...

Meditations on The Caretaker's “Everywhere at the End of Time”

I have always been sentimental about memory. Nostalgia was surely one of the first big boy words I learned. And all throughout my life I sort of developed a strong attachment memory, and subsequently to things, which became an obsession almost. I never wanted to see them go, even if they had lost any and all useful purpose, because they still retained a strong emotional attachment to me. I had a memory forever entwined with those old things, so I never wanted to see them go. However, in my late teens I realized I was being stupid, I realized there was no memory within the object itself, it was only in me. So I started to throw a bunch of stuff out, I went from a borderline hoarder to a borderline minimalist, and it was pretty good. I came to the realization that all things were inherently temporary. No matter how long I held on to them, eventually I would lose them one way or another, and if someone or some thing were to forcefully take them from me, I would be heartbroken beyond repai...

10 Atheist Arguments I No Longer Defend

I don't believe in God, I don't follow any religion. And yet, there was a time in my life when I could have said to be more of an atheist than I am now. In some ways I contributed to the new atheism movement, and in fact, for a little while there, Christopher Hitchens was my lord and savior. I greatly admired his extensive literary knowledge, his eloquence, his wit and his bravery. But now I've come to realize his eloquence was his double-edged sword, and because he criticized religion mostly from an ethics standpoint, greatly enhanced by his journalism background, some of the more philosophical questions and their implications were somewhat forgotten, or even dealt with in a little bit of sophistry. And now it's sad that he died... I for one would have loved to know what he would have said in these times when atheism seems to have gained territory, and yet people are deeply craving meaning and direction in their lives. In a nutshell, I think Hitchens versus Peterson wo...

Mármore

Dá-me a mão e vem comigo. Temos tantos lugares para ver. Era assim que escrevia o Bernardo numa página à parte, em pleno contraste com tantas outras páginas soltas e enamoradas de ilustrações coloridas, nas quais eram inteligíveis as suas várias tentativas de idealizar uma rapariga de cabelo castanho-claro, ou talvez vermelho, e com uns olhos grandes que pareciam evocar uma aura de mistério e de aventura, e com os braços estendidos na sua frente, terminando em mãos delicadas que se enlaçavam uma à outra, como se as suas palmas fossem uma concha do mar que guarda uma pérola imperfeita, como se cuidasse de um pássaro caído que tem pena de libertar, como se desafiasse um gesto tímido... Mas tal criação ficava sempre aquém daquilo que o Bernardo visualizava na sua mente. Na verdade não passava sequer de um protótipo mas havia algo ali, uma intenção, uma faísca com tanto potencial para deflagrar no escuro da página branca... se porventura ele fosse melhor artista. E embora a obra carecesse ...

A Synopsis Breakdown of “The Wandering King”

A collection of eight different short stories set in a world where the malignant and omniscient presence of the Wandering King is felt throughout, leading its inhabitants down a spiral of violence, paranoia and madness. That is my book's brief synopsis. And that is just how I like to keep it – brief and vague. I for one find that plot-oriented synopses often ruin the whole reading, or viewing, experience. For example, if you were to describe The Godfather as the story of an aging mafia don who, upon suffering a violent attempt on his life, is forced to transfer control of his crime family to his mild-mannered son, you have already spoiled half the movie. You have given away that Sollozzo is far more dangerous than he appears to be, you have given away that the Don survives the attempt, and you have given away that Michael is the one who will succeed him... Now, it could well be that some stories cannot be, or should not be, captured within a vague description. It could also be t...

Martha, You've Been on My Mind

Perhaps it is the color of this gray rainy sky at the end of spring, this cold but soothing day I hoped would be warm, bright and the end of something I gotta carry on. Or maybe it's that I'm thinking of old days to while away the time until new days come along. Perhaps it's all that or it's nothing at all, but Martha, you've been on my mind. I wouldn't dare to try and find you or even write to you, so instead I write about you, about who I think you are, because in truth I don't really know you. To me you're just a memory, a good memory though, and more importantly, you're the very first crossroads in my life. I had no free will before I saw you and chose what I chose... Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, you would have led me down one, and yet I chose the other. But I never stopped looking down your chosen path for as long as I could, and for a fleeting moment I could have sworn I saw you standing there, and then you just faded, almost as if you ...

In Defense of Ang Lee's “Hulk”

This movie isn't particularly well-liked, that much is no secret. People seem to dislike how odd and bizarrely subdued it is, especially considering the explosive nature of its titular superhero. In a nutshell, people find this movie boring. The criticism I most often hear is that it is essentially a very pretentious take on the Incredible Hulk, an ego-driven attempt to come up with some deep psychological meaning behind a green giant who smashes things. And it's tempting to agree, in a sense it's tempting to brush it off as pretentious and conclude that a film about the Hulk that fails to deliver two action-packed hours is an automatic failure. But of course, I disagree. Even when I was a kid and went into the cinema with my limited knowledge, but great appreciation, of the comics, I never saw the Hulk as a jolly green giant. At one point, the character was seen as a mere physical manifestation of Bruce Banner's repressed anger awakened by gamma radiation, but eventual...

A Minha Interpretação Pessoal de “Sou um Guardador de Rebanhos” de Alberto Caeiro

Em continuação com o meu artigo anterior, comprometo-me agora a uma interpretação de um outro poema do mesmo poeta... mais ou menos. Porque os vários heterónimos pessoanos são todos iguais e diferentes, e diferentes e iguais. Qualquer leitor encontra temas recorrentes nos vários poemas porque de certa forma todos estes poetas se propuseram a resolver as mesmas questões que tanto atormentavam o poeta original. Mas a solução encontrada por Alberto Caeiro é algo diferente na medida em que é quase invejável ao próprio Fernando Pessoa, ainda que talvez não seja invejável aos outros heterónimos. Por outro lado, talvez eu esteja a projetar porque em tempos esta poesia foi deveras invejável para mim. Ao contrário do poema anterior, do qual nem sequer tinha memória de ter lido e apenas sei que o li porque anotei marcas e sublinhados na margem da página, este poema é um que li, que gostei e que apresentei numa aula qualquer num dia que me vem agora à memória como idílico. Mas em típico estilo d...

The Gospel According to Dragline

Yeah, well... sometimes the Gospel can be a real cool book. I'm of course referencing the 1967 classic Cool Hand Luke, one of my favorite films of all time. And, as it is often the case with me, this is a film I didn't really care for upon first viewing. Now I obviously think differently. In many ways, this is a movie made beautiful by it's simplicity. It is made visually striking by its backdrop of natural southern beauty in the US – the everlasting summer, the seemingly abandoned train tracks and the long dirt roads, almost fully deserted were it not for the prisoners working by the fields... It almost gives off the impression that there is no world beyond that road. And maybe as part of that isolation, the story doesn't shy away from grit. It is dirty, grimy and hence, it is real. Some modern movies seem to have an obsession with polishing every pixel of every frame, thus giving off a distinct sense of falsehood. The movie then becomes too colorful, too vibrant, it...

Meditações sobre “Em Busca do Tempo Perdido I – Do Lado de Swann”

Estou a ler Marcel Proust pela segunda vez... Há quem diga que é comum da parte dos seus leitores iniciarem uma segunda leitura logo após a tortura que é a primeira. Quanto a mim posso dizer que seja esse o caso. Quando li este primeiro volume pela primeira vez decidi que não tinha interesse em ler os outros seis, mas depois mudei de ideias e li-os. Mas li quase como que só para poder dizer ter lido. Então o objetivo seria não mais pensar no livro mas isso afigurou-se estranhamente impossível. Surgia uma crescente curiosidade em ler sínteses ou resumos e ficava-me sempre aquela surpresa depois de ler sobre um acontecimento do qual já não tinha memória. Por isso é que me proponho agora a uma segunda e muito, muito mais demorada leitura, para que possa compreender o livro pelo menos o suficiente para dizer qualquer coisa interessante sobre ele. Em relação ao título deste artigo, do qual planeio fazer uma série, decidi usar o termo que usei porque nenhum outro me pareceu mais correto. Nã...