John Ervin: GIBSON DEFUNCT

In the fall of 2000, during the production of my feature film, 'Vixen Highway', one of the crew people related the good fortune she had the previous summer, when she landed a signficant bit part in 'What Women Want', a romantic comedy shot on location in Chicago. The young lady, who was also an aspiring actress, got a choice role as one of many women whose thoughts are heard by the lead character, a sexist ad agency executive who is struck by a bout of extra sensory perception that causes him to know what nearby women are thinking and leads him to respect them, or something. That character, as filmgoers should remember, was played by the once venerated, now verminous, Mel Gibson. It was during the production of this otherwise innocuous film that the actress/crew person witnessed what she thought was a charming eccentricity, but which, when she told me about it, I regarded as exhibiting one of many horrifying characteristics of this deranged star - that he loved to kill time between takes by regaling nearby personnel with impressions of his comedy heroes, The Three Stooges!

Before 'The Passion of the Christ' would expose its director and financier as a moron who wanted to bring the Catholic Church back to its medievel, Vatican I routes thanks to his deep-seated hatred of Jews; and long before a DUI arrest on July 27, 2006 would inspire him to confirm that very hatred to the arresting officer, and also exposed his distinct lack of extra sensory perception about women by snarling to a female cop at the station house he was booked at, 'What do you think you're looking at, sugar tits?' ... before all that, I hated Mel Gibson.

It was not always so. After a promising start in the 'Mad Max' films and A-list dramas like 'Gallipoli', 'The Year of Living Dangerously' and 'The Bounty' (which featured the best performance ever by Anthony Hopkins, as a Captain Bligh who would scare the prison jump suit off Hannibal Lechter) this fairly talented and 'unfairly handsome' superhunk went Hollywood in the worst way, with 1987's 'Lethal Weapon.' From that point on, through that insufferably cutesy buddy-cop movie's three even more unspeakable sequels, through dunderheaded action flicks like 'Tequlia Sunrise' and 'Payback' and ego-stroking historical pageants like 'Braveheart' and 'The Patriot', The Gibber exhibited a consistent tendency to flare his nostrils, roll his eyes, slap his face, perform slapstick and mug like a beefcake Jerry Lewis. It was no surprise, then, that Mel felt such attachment to Moe, Larry and Curly, so much so that he was an executive producer of a TV movie about his intellectual idols.

At the same time, it really should be a surprise that this proud anti-Semite - whose recent outburst makes one wonder if he is siding with Hezbollah in the current Israel-Lebanon crisis - would feel so much affection for a show biz trio made up of members of the tribe that has, for some mysterious reason, caused him so much intestinal distress. After all, the very 'gutter religion' that Louis 'Larry' Feinberg and Harry 'Moe' and Jerome 'Curly' Howard came from is, according to their most famous admirer's sloshed testimony to the officer he accused of chronic Judaism, 'responsible for all the wars in the world.' From the beginning of civilization, in fact, these 'Hebes', according to Prophet Gibson's slightly less tippled screenplay for 'The Passion', have been money-grubbing whoremongers who not only gaily sent their self-proclaimed King, Our Lord, to his blood-drenched crucifixion, but liked to parade around their palaces in veils worthy of a Babylonian drag revue while their subjects starved in the streets.

This latter depiction leads to the other irony in Gibbo's embrace of The Stooge Way - the widespread knowledge that Larry Fine, the curly-haired, Professorial member, was gay. Like every good bigot, Mel regards the GLBT community, whose members he has probably worked with on nearly every theatrical and cinematic production (including, yes, 'The Passion') in his thirty-year career. with even less affection than the 'Shylocks' who backed many of those productions (including, yes ... well, maybe not) and helped make him the pampered, overpaid shithead he is today.

It was this tendency that caused me to drive the second nail of hatred into Mel Gibson, Superstar's cross, following news of an interview he gave with the Spanish magazine El Pais in 1992. Provoked by what must have been a humorous questioning of Mel's manhood, the actor expressed concern over the possibility that many fans might assume that, because he belongs to a profession occupied by many homosexuals, he might be regarded as - dear me! - one, himself. To prove to the interviewer that this thespian was no damn queer, he proceeded to plant his hands on his buttocks (his own, not the reporter's) and proclaim 'this is for shit!' and that, therefore, gays must be perverts 'cuz they 'take it up the ass!' To drive home his thoughtful point, he then asked the presumably stunned interviewer, 'Do I sound like a homosexual? Do I talk like them? Do I move like them?'

Realizing that he might have not made his manhood clear to the folks back home, he told the Dallas Morning News in an interview the following year that it was his conviction that ' ... gay people will burn in hell. Their way of life goes completely against God's plan for procreation.' Ten years later, he would give a similarly kindhearted reason to Time Magazine for his favoring of the Vatican I flavor of Catholicism: 'Vatican II corrupted the institution of the church. Look at the main fruits: dwindling numbers and pedophilia.' Gee, Mel, what other 'fruits' could you be talking about?

Of course, the main reason His Gibsoness didn't cotton to Vatican II was its recognition that the Jews were not responsible for Christ's death and therefore not damned to the same hell as those poodle-walking, purse-swinging panty-waists who liked taking it up where the sun don't shine. Similarly, when the New-York-born Mel was ten, his father, Hutton Gibson, took advantage of the money he won on Jeopardy! to move his future movie star son and his nine other children out of the 'Hymie'-dominated environs they were trapped in to the pure purlieus of Australia, where the only non-white, non-Christian population, the Aboriginals, didn't make trouble for their Boags-swilling, Quala-hunting oppressors. Such a setting also inspired Dad, a conspiracy buff, to try and prove that the Holocaust was a lie as fat as an overcooked bagel. Sonny has, of course, come to Pops' defence with the correction that Gibson père never said the murder of the Yids, er, Jews, didn't happen at all, only that most of the six million were actually shipped out of Europe to a secret place called, presumably, 'Jewland!' While the apple's defence of the tree he fell from is to be expected, what is not so Kosher is his defense of Ann Catherine Emerich, a 19th-century Augistinian nun who espoused visions of Christ's crucifixion by the Jews that were incorporated into the philosophy of Hitler's approach to 'The Jewish Problem.' According to our scholar, who carries a piece of Sister Ann's habit as a relic: 'Why are they calling her a Nazi? Because modern secular Judaism wants to blame the Holocaust on the Catholic Church. And it's revisionism. And they've been working on that one for a while.' According to ADL National Director Abraham Foxman, the above statement by Mighty Mel to the New Yorker in 2003 was 'classic anti-Semitism.'

Classic anti-Semitism, ringed with the salt of classic bar room brawl-ism, surely drove Mel to respond in the characteristically mature way he did to Jewish New York Times media critic Frank Rich, when Rich first broke the news on the many gross depictions of Jews featured in 'The Passion of the Christ' and also accused Mel's handlers of using 'PR spin to defend a Holocaust denier (Hutton Gibson).' As much of the world may remember, Mel snarled, in regards to the man who is my idol in the world of political and entertainment commentary: 'I want to kill him! I want his intestines on a stick! I want to kill his dog!' While the culinary appeal of Frank Rich's guts as a Minnesota State Fair treat is open to investigation, the columnist did render Mel's threat partially in vain by responding, 'I don't have a dog!'

This oversight on Gibber's part is typical of his shoot-first-get-educated-never approach not only to critics but to basic matters of life and society. Take, for instance, evolution, which, as our academic told Playboy in 1995 is '... shit. If it isn't, why are they (monkeys and apes) still around? How come apes aren't people yet?' Congratulations, Mel, you have proven DEVO's theory of de-evolution, by proving that some people are apes!

In that same interview, the philosopher expounded on another pet theory of his, that Bill Clinton and other politicians who had won Rhodes Scholarships were part of a 'stealth trend' of Rhodes Scholars becoming major figures in politics in order to implement a 'New World Order.' Similarly, the assasinations of Lincoln and Kennedy and attempts on the lives of other Presidents were related to actions they took regarding the Federal Reserve, which is being manipulated and drained from the bank accounts of hardworking Americans by ... well, you know who. Considering the amazing roster of near-criminal rants by this Archie-Bunker-on-steroids over the past twenty-odd years, not to mention his status as the only movie star (at least, the only one to win an Oscar) to have his views profiled in the quarterly newsletter of the Southern Poverty Law Center, a non-profit organization which monitors hate groups in America, it is surprising it took a mundane night of tequila guzzling at Moonshadows Bar and weaving his car through Malibu to finally wake America up to this jerkoff's true colors.

By America, I should say, right wing - especially, Christian right wing - America, who have defended the beauty, majesty, and lack of any kind of prejudice, imparted by 'The Passion of the Christ' and who disregarded the furor over Mel's past comments as mere knee-jerk liberalism. Even after the scuffle outside Moonshadows (whose name could have been inspired by the hit song by Cat Stevens, who would convert to Islam and call for, among other things, the destruction of Israel ... hmmm) many right-wing commentators blew off his hate screed as 'just the booze talking.' Even Jewish right-monger David Horowitz told Fox News storm trooper Sean Hannity, 'People deserve compassion when they are in trouble like this.' Similar calls for letting Mel undergo treatment in peace, hold town hall meetings at synogogues and conduct the obligatory face-serving interview with Larry Zeiger, er, King have been made by the fundamentalist flaks, most notably Reverend Jesse Lee Peterson, who capped his plea to cut Mad Max some slack by crying, 'Where's the humanity?'

Such hypocrisy is typical of the right. They hounded Bill Clinton during his entire Presidency with one bogus charge after another and almost drove him out of office for enjoying pizza and cigars while playing 'Hide the Salami' with an intern. They were all too happy, during the last Presidential election, to spread even more obviously specious claims about John Kerry killing innocent civilians and abandoning his U-Boat crew in Vietnam, while their boy, George, spent his tour of duty stateside nearly killing innocent civilians with the vehicles he drove after benders on - and mostly off - his National Guard bases. They are even happier, to this day, to use every opportunity - including the one discussed here - to bring up Ted Kennedy's own inability to handle the wheel of a car at Chappaqudic (a despicable and cowardly act on Ted's part for which he has partly redeemed himself by becoming an effective, and sober, administrator and the biggest pain in the right's butt). But when one of their number, even an openly Jew-baiting, woman-hating dumb ass like Mel Gibson, says things that are unheard of by even the worst movie star substance abusers - even Mel's longtime friend, Robert Downey, Jr. - it's time to 'let the healing begin.'

Well, Red State Windbags - and those of you who hang on their every bilious word - no amount of 'healing' can balm the injury caused by this icon of 'Christian values' whose sick, Nazi-minded nature was seen by most of us on the left, and should have been seen you fans of his on the right, years ago. As for that love of the very Jewish Three Stooges that begat this article, Gibber probably, without knowing it even, sees them as emblematic of the 'Kikes' his father taught him to despise so much - in much the same way that the 'Mammies', 'Bucks', 'Squantos' and 'Fu Manchus' of films from that same era reconfirmed most whites' derogatory take on people of color. As for this proud breeder's possible feelings about that Fine Stooge's sexual orientation - well, I guess that's what Mel meant when he insisted to the El Pais journalist that he did not 'talk' or 'move' like 'them.'

Except, of course, between takes on movie sets!

About that young lady on the set of 'Vixen Highway' who revealed this least offensive but still unsettling character trait of our subject, I will not make her name public lest she decide to scratch 'What Women Want' off her resume. I should hope, at the very least, that she no longer expresses fond reminiscences of the Ultimate Right Wing Stooge and his one non-bigoted, non-boozing pasttime, and joins the ever growing number of members of the film industry who want nothing to do with this asswipe. Rob Schneider, a spiritual heir to Moe, Larry and Curly whose movies aren't exactly on my must-see list, has now encouraged me to buy a ticket to the next installment of 'Deuce Bigalow' thanks to his taking an ad out in Variety swearing he will never work with the star (and this is no idle threat, for he has appeared in two films with Mel's action-movie rival Sylvester Stallone!). Powerhouse agents Ari Emmaneul and Bernie Brillstein have called for a boycott of Gibson in the talent representation industry. A group of Los Angeles residents is trying, so far with little success (but hope remains), to post a billboard with Big Mel's mug and the word 'No' over it. And then there is the Minneapolis based band Mel Gibson and the Pants. Though they have not made any statement on the vermin who inspired part of their name, I hope they will consider a change of eponym - not only to avoid any guilt by association, but also because it's one of the stupidest names for a music combo I have ever heard of.

It's also a safe bet that legions of former fans, even those who flocked to see 'The Passion of The Christ' will also say 'No' to another film starring, directed by, produced by or even featuring pants worn by Mel Gibson (including his latest directorial effort, 'Apocalypto,' which Disney seems to be doing everything possible to avoid releasing outside of White Supremacist Film Festivals). So many people, at least of a sensible, thoughtful and liberal persuasion, are inclined now to run from what was once the most likable visage in Hollywood, that were I to bump into my former crew member, and were I to be slimy enough to use the vernacular of Mel Columcille Girard Gibson (and considering the movie I, myself, was directing at the time, I wouldn't blame people for thinking it so) I might be inclined to ask, 'Et tu, sugar tits?'