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"THE MANCHURIAN MUMBLES" by Chris Miller Back in my fraternity days - in Delta House, if you will - we had a guy known sometimes as "Mumbles" and sometimes as "Crazy Al." He greatly preferred the former, believing that the latter was sort of redundant, in that any fool could plainly see he was crazy. In fact, Al was one of the great prototypes of the "wild and crazy guy" later codified by Saturday Night Live. My God, what didn't he do in our college era, which compared to now was like comparing modern times to the Wild West. There was, for instance, the time he decided, having been thrown out of school for a couple of terms as a consequence of earlier malfeasances, to visit his Delta brothers one weekend and, picking up a few six-packs for the road trip, hopped in his car and headed for, well, call it Faber College. After an hour or two and 8 or 9 beers, a delightful idea occurred to him. Al had always loved and gotten along well with dogs. So every time he saw one, as he wove his way north, he stopped, jumped out, grabbed the pooch and put it in the car with him. Some hours later, he reached Faber and screeched the car to a halt in the Delta House front yard, where several brothers, including Otter, Pinto, Troll, Snot, Doberman and Rhesus Monkey, were enjoying a few beers on the fraternity front steps. Al honked the horn and threw open the car doors. Seventeen dogs of all sizes and descriptions tore out happily, barking and cavorting. It was definitely one of the best Delta entrances ever. Since, when the weekend ended and Al returned home to complete his exile, he didn't bother to round up the dogs, the descendents of those canines romp about the dorms and quads of Faber College to this day, where they are known as the Delta Dogs. Now that you have been introduced to Al, let us make a large leap to John Frankenheimer, the esteemed film director. Frankenheimer, who died two weeks ago, did not go to Delta - he was a Williams's man. He was also among the great twentieth century directors, not just of swell movies like Birdman of Alcatraz, The Train, Seven Days in May, The Young Savages, Seconds, and French Connection II, among many others, but of early TV standouts like Playhouse 90 and You Are There, and even of TV commercials. He was also a hotshot tennis player, served in the Air Force during the Korean War, and was close pals with Bobby Kennedy. Though he never won an Oscar (he did win an Emmy), all his films had a special quality and in his large body of work, there were very few dogs. Which brings us back to Crazy Al. Al, like everyone else I knew in 1962 (year when Animal House is set), went nuts over the movie that will be the one Frankenheimer is most remembered for - The Manchurian Candidate. What a trip that movie was! And still is - if you've never seen it, shame on you, rent it at once. It was years ahead, it's politics are right on, it features the first karate fight ever seen in an American film, it was prescient regarding the soon-to-arrive assassinations of the sixties, and Janet Leigh looks bitchin' in it. For those who missed it, allow me to tell you a story element that will not ruin any surprises in the picture for you. Lawrence Harvey, a smarmy star who had his fifteen minutes back in those days, plays an Army captain who is brainwashed by Chinese Communists, as we then called them, during the Korean War. They program him to become their tool, to fall into a passive state and follow any order he is given, once he is triggered. And the way he is triggered is by someone saying to him "Why don't you pass the time by playing a nice game of Solitaire?" The captain immediately begins playing Solitaire and continues until he turns up a queen of diamonds. Seeing this, he goes into his trance state and if, as in the picture, someone says, "Go jump in a lake," he will go jump in a lake. Al was fascinated by this brainwashing bit. Loved it. There then came a time when, due to some act of drunken madness, Al was injured and wound up in a bed at the local hospital. And what do you know - a nurse said to him "Why don't you pass the time by playing a nice game of Solitaire?" Al was elated! He took the proffered deck of cards and began laying out a game of Klondike. Soon he turned over a Queen of Diamonds and, chortling inwardly, fell into a trance state, arms at his sides, staring vacantly into space, waiting for someone to tell him something to do. And waiting. And waiting. Shit, this was quickly losing its appeal - he'd done his part, why wouldn't someone give him a command? Just then, who should walk into Al's room but Pinto and Rhesus Monkey, come to visit Brother Al and smuggle in a six-pack to him. "Hi, Al," they said. Al made no reply. Just stared into space. Pinto and Rhesus Monkey looked at each other in puzzlement. Pinto gave it another try. "Hey, Alby, we brought you some delicious golden fluid," he said teasingly. Al stared into space. After all, no one had given him a command. "Hey, Al," said Rhesus Monkey. "What's the matter?" No response. Pinto was beginning to get burned. "Al, for Chrissake, we cut a class to come see you, we brought you beers, what the hell's the matter with you?" Al did not move. "Well, this sucks," observed Rhesus Monkey. "I'm getting out of here." "Me, too," said Pinto. "Hey, Al? F#%k you!" "At last!" screamed Al in jubilation. Throwing off the covers, he whipped down his pajama pants and began madly beating off. Wonder how John Frankenheimer would have liked that? ______________________________________________________________ Chris Miller is legendary for his short stories that appeared in the National Lampoon. He co-authored the film 'Animal House' and has written several successful screenplays. The Review is honored to have Miller as a new contributor.
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