The ballad of Cat Ballou.

“I think half of this belongs to a horse somewhere out in the valley.”
–Lee Marvin, upon accepting the Academy Award for Best Actor in 1965

Cat Ballou (Jane Fonda), a naive schoolteacher turned vigilante, sits in jail awaiting her execution by hanging. As a duo of singing cowboy minstrels (Nat King Cole and Stubby Kaye) wonder aloud how such a girl got into such a mess, we flash back to the beginning of Cat’s story. After graduating from a teacher’s college, Cat heads west by train to visit her father, Frankie (John Marley), in Wyoming. The train is also transporting the recently captured Clay Boone (Michael Callan), and Cat is instantly attracted to the criminal (and vice versa). Clay’s uncle, Jed (Dwayne Hickman), poses as a preacher and helps free Clay from custody. While Dwayne safely jumps from the train–after an “encouraging” push from his nephew–Clay ends up ducking into Cat’s berth to hide from the sheriff, and against her better judgment, Cat covers for him … and is rewarded with a big kiss before Clay himself manages to jump.

When Cat arrives at her father’s homestead, she’s shocked to discover that the place has gone downhill in her absence. Frankie’s Sioux ranch hand, Jackson (Tom Nardini) tells her that a new development company intent on building up Wolf City has tried to secure her father’s water rights. Cat’s homecoming is interrupted by the arrival of “Silvernose” Tim Strawn (Lee Marvin), whose literal “silver nose” disturbs Cat. Frankie orders the man off the property, and Jackson tells Cat that Silvernose is a hired killer. Though Cat is frightened, Frankie assures her that he is unafraid.

Soon after, at a square dance, Cat discovers that the sheriff intends to do nothing about the troubles the company has caused her father. Jackson suggests that since the company has a gunslinger, she needs one, too, and tells her to contact Kid Shelleen (Marvin, in a dual role), a famous gunfighter, to help defend Frankie’s property. Later, when Jed and Clay crash the dance (and it dissolves into a free-for-all), Cat invites them to come home with her as added protection.

When Kid Shelleen arrives in town, he’s severely hungover and unable to function without a snort of whiskey. Although he demonstrates a keen hand with a gun when he wants to, his drunkenness ultimately gets the best of him. Shelleen decides to stay on to earn his pay, though he reacts with dismay when he learns that his opponent is none other than Tim Strawn.

The next day, Strawn shoots Frankie (while Shelleen sleeps through the entire thing). Cat chases Strawn to town on horseback, but when she arrives soon behind him and accuses the gunman of murder, the sheriff refuses to acknowledge Strawn’s guilt, claiming that Silvernose had been in town during the shooting. The development company lays claim to Frankie’s land, and a grieving Cat resolves to find her own justice. Forming a gang with Clay, Jed, Jackson, and the incapacitated Shelleen, she devises a plan to get revenge on the development company.

Events quickly spiral out of control as Cat plots to rob the train carrying the development company’s payroll, Shelleen (who is enamored of Cat, despite her love for Clay) finally forces himself to sober up enough to go after Strawn (about whom Shelleen knows more than he lets on), and Cat confronts Sir Harry Percival (Reginald Denny), the owner of the development company who hired Strawn, resulting in Percival’s death and her conviction for murder. Can Cat’s gang come together and save her from the hangman’s noose in time?

Released in 1965, Cat Ballou is an engaging mash-up of drama, romance, Westerns, and slapstick comedy, and certain elements of the film parody Western tropes quite effectively. Though Cat Ballou doesn’t go to quite the same satirical lengths, in many ways, its comedic-Western blend can be seen as a precursor to the 1974 Mel Brooks-helmed Blazing Saddles. And its influence can still be seen in some latter-day comedies such as There’s Something About Mary (1998), directed by self-professed Cat Ballou fans the Farrelly Brothers (who recently helmed this spring’s big-screen revival of The Three Stooges); Mary borrows the paired narrators/Greek chorus device from Cat Ballou, and uses it in a similar manner as the earlier film, to move the plot along.

It may be called Cat Ballou, but there is no question that the movie ultimately belongs to Lee Marvin … and his horse. In the dual role as the wastrel Kid Shelleen and his evil brother, “Silvernose,” Marvin is sheer perfection, adding just the right touch of pathos and menace to each character as he convincingly stumbles through the film. The role in Cat Ballou marked something of a turning point in Marvin’s career, which up until then had been defined by more villainous or dramatic supporting roles. But his performance in this film revealed Marvin’s abilities as a leading man and a comedian, paving the way for such notable parts as Major John Reisman in The Dirty Dozen (1967) and the odd Western musical Paint Your Wagon (1969). [Side note: whenever I think of that last film, I always think of the episode of The Simpsons where they parody Wagon, and Homer and Bart are horrified to discover it's a musical. Homer: "Wait, wait, wait--here comes Lee Marvin. Thank God! He's always drunk and violent." Cut to Homer and Bart's horrified expressions when Marvin bursts into song.]

And let’s just talk about that horse. The movie–as per any Western–is overrun with horses. But this one is just something else. In one of the final scenes of the film, Shelleen and his horse sleep off a bender. Leaning against a brick wall, head lowered, front legs crossed, the horse looks just as inebriated as his barely-coherent rider. It’s an iconic, hilarious image, and the one that is perhaps most associated with Cat Ballou. Marvin’s Oscar acceptance speech may have poked fun at the amount of attention the horse received, but the animal was an award-winning “actor” in his own right: in 1966, Smoky the horse received the Craven Award from the American Humane Association. The award, part of the annual PATSY (Picture Animal Top Star of the Year) Awards that were given to animal stars from the 1950s through the mid-1980s, recognized animal performers who were not regular “actors” in film. Smoky joined a long line of horsey winners when he was given the prize for his role in Cat Ballou. But the horse’s performance was far from effortless. According to the IMDb entry on the film, the director, Elliot Silverstein, gave the horse trainer an hour to get Smoky to cross his legs for his big scene, and it took a lot of sugar cubes to make the horse finally willing to cooperate!

In spite of the attention-grabbing performances of Marvin and his horse, which virtually steal the movie, Cat Ballou should also be noted as the film that made Jane Fonda a full-fledged star. Though she had been acting since the early 1960s, and had scored some level of success with films such as Period of Adjustment (1962) and Sunday in New York (1963), it was not until she took on the title role in this film that Fonda was able to fully step out from beneath the shadow of her famous father, Henry, and be declared a formidable actress in her own right. Cat Ballou was the first in a series of high-profile roles for Fonda, culminating in seven Academy Award nominations in the 1970s-1980s (and two wins, for 1971′s Klute and 1978′s Coming Home).

As famed as she was as an actress, however, Fonda’s political and social activism drew much more attention during the heyday of her career. Her anti-war activities during the Vietnam War made her an infamous figure, particularly in the wake of the “Hanoi Jane” incident in which Fonda was photographed sitting on an anti-aircraft gun, an action that was seen as a slap in the face to American soldiers who had been targeted by such machinery during the conflict. In the aftermath of that photograph’s publication, still shots from the hanging scene in Cat Ballou were doctored and used to encourage anti-Fonda sentiment amid calls for charges of treason against the actress. [On another side note: my high-school U.S. history teacher LOATHED Jane Fonda with a passion. I will never forget the day she stood at her podium in front of our class and launched a thirty-minute diatribe about how much of a traitor Fonda was to this country. It was, to say the least, a surreal moment, and one that always comes to mind every time I see a Fonda film!]

It’s also worth mentioning the great supporting cast, including Dwayne Hickman (television’s Dobie Gillis), John Marley (who would have an infamous horsey encounter of his own in 1972′s The Godfather, as the movie producer who ends up with a horse’s head in his bed), character actor Reginald Denny, and last but not least, Nat King Cole and Stubby Kaye as the singers who function as the narrators of the film. Cole was in the midst of an ongoing battle with lung cancer while making Cat Ballou. It would be his final film, as he sadly died before its release.

Cat Ballou may not be your typical Western, but in my book, that’s a good thing. It’s a great “gateway” film for those (like me) who are unfamiliar with the genre or who are otherwise reluctant to embrace Westerns–the comedy makes it much more accessible–and much more enjoyable!–for us “tenderfoots.”

This post is my contribution to the Horseathon, hosted by our friend Page of My Love of Old Hollywood. Make tracks to her blog to see all of the equine-friendly entries on tap this weekend!

“Um…Dasher…Dancer…Prancer…Nixon…Comet…Cupid…Donna Dixon?”

“Aw, come on, Dad. This could be the miracle that saves the Simpsons’ Christmas. If TV has taught me anything, it’s that miracles always happen to poor kids at Christmas. It happened to Tiny Tim, it happened to Charlie Brown, it happened to the Smurfs, and it’s going to happen to us!” –Bart Simpson

This month marks the twenty-second anniversary of the debut of The Simpsons, forever and always one of my very favorite television shows. When I tell you I can quote entire blocks of dialogue from this show, I’m not joking. I tend to pepper random conversations with bon mots from the show. And just last night, I popped in a DVD from season eight and annoyed the folks around me by speaking along with the characters as we watched.

The two-decades-long-and-growing legacy of the yellow cartoon family started with a television special in 1989 called “Simpsons Roasting On an Open Fire.” As the title (and the month of its debut) indicates, it is a Christmas special centering around the family’s adoption of its beloved pooch, Santa’s Little Helper. “Roasting” was actually not intended to be the series premiere;  creator Matt Groening, along with fellow producers Sam Simon and James L. Brooks, were displeased with the animation of the intended first episode, “Some Enchanted Evening,” and thus “Roasting” was aired first.

In the end, though, this episode turned out to be the perfect introduction to the Simpson family. Though some viewers had already been exposed to Groening’s characters through a series of animated shorts on The Tracy Ullman Show, giving the family its own show allowed the characters to be fully fleshed-out as viable, entertaining, and ultimately relatable figures.

“Roasting” opens with a school pageant, where both Bart and Lisa perform (and Bart gets yanked off stage for substituting his own irreverent lyrics for “Jingle Bells”). On a shopping trip to the mall, Bart sneaks away to get a tattoo, and Marge must spend the Christmas fund to get it removed. When Homer finds out he’s not getting a Christmas bonus, and subsequently discovers that the family will have no money to spend on presents, he secretly takes a job as a mall Santa to earn money for the holidays, but doesn’t earn quite as much as he expected. A desperate, last-minute stop at the greyhound racing track provides the family with an unexpected yet delightfully appropriate gift.

The episode establishes many of the tropes that have recurred throughout the series’ run: Homer’s rivalry with and disdain for his neighbor, Ned Flanders; Mr. Burns’ greed; Bart’s mischievousness and unadulterated love for television; Lisa’s cautious, eight-year-old cynicism (juxtaposed with her constant desire for a pony); Marge’s trusting nature; Patty and Selma’s dislike of Homer; and Grandpa’s sometimes-pathetic, sometimes-hilarious senility. There are, of course, some distinct differences between this early adventure and the show’s more polished later episodes: Moe’s bar is a little cheerier than it would soon become, the rough edges of the animation are still evident here, and some of the iconic character voices have yet to be determined (most notably, Dan Castellaneta was still voicing Homer as a gravelly Walter Matthau-type at this early juncture), but the hallmarks for the show are well-established in this episode.

There is a sweet sentimentality to this episode, which is not to say that there are not some elements of the show’s trademark acerbic wit. Still, while “Roasting” is not nearly as satirically incisive as some subsequent episodes of the show (particularly during what I would argue is The Simpsons’ “golden age,” from season three through season eight), it certainly sets the proper mood for the series.

These days, nearly five hundred episodes later, The Simpsons catches a lot of flack for supposedly not being as “good” as it was during the 1990s. And though it may be true that the show has become … well, a little lazy in recent years, there is still enjoyment to be found in the adventures of the many denizens of Springfield.

“Simpsons Roasting On an Open Fire” can be found on the first disc of the Season One DVD (complete with commentary from creator Matt Groening, executive producer James L. Brooks, and the episode’s director, David Silverman), and was also included on the Simpsons Christmas DVD along with other classic episodes like “Mr. Plow” and “Miracle on Evergreen Terrace.”

We’re off on the road to Rhode Island.

Sometimes incisive, sometimes irreverent, and sometimes ridiculously stupid, Family Guy is a great source of modern social commentary. For all the flack the show receives for its reliance on cutaway gags or for being a purported knock-off of The Simpsons (which, incidentally, is one of my favorite television shows of all time), creator Seth MacFarlane’s flagship show has its moments of sheer brilliance.

For me, one of the joys of watching the show is the constant stream of film references. In any given episode, you may find yourself watching an homage (or twelve) to a wide range of movies, from Back to the Future to Indiana Jones, The Ten Commandments to Annie Hall, and everything in between. In particular, within the past couple of years the series’ recreations of the original Star Wars trilogy have shown the best of what Family Guy has to offer, combining sincere tribute and gentle (and sometimes not-so-gentle) skewering.

But I, for one, have always been impressed by Family Guy’s frequent, generally loving attention to classic cinema. It’s obvious that MacFarlane and company have a great deal of respect for the films of ye olde Hollywood. From musicals to screwball comedies, drama to silent films, practically every episode of the show contains obvious (and not-so-obvious) references to some of the best films in cinematic history.

MacFarlane has a great voice, and it sometimes seems that the writers stretch themselves to find excuses to utilize it. I’m not complaining, though–I could listen to MacFarlane sing all day. The show’s creator voices several of the main characters, including Peter, Quagmire, Brian, and Stewie, and the latter two characters especially have frequent musical moments throughout the series. Many of these moments are drawn from classic musicals:

  • “Make ‘Em Laugh” from 1952′s Singin’ in the Rain is performed in two separate episodes: once by Quagmire, who changes the lyrics to befit the momentary setting (a sex toy shop), and once by Peter, Quagmire, Stewie, and Joe (voice by Patrick Warburton), with the lyrics unchanged.
  • In the segment “Stewie B. Goode” from the straight-to-DVD release Stewie Griffin: The Untold Story, Stewie channels Maria Von Trapp (from 1965′s The Sound of Music) as he strides down the sidewalk singing “I Have Confidence.”
  • The  episode “Wasted Talent” amusingly alters the lyrics of “Pure Imagination” from 1971′s Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, creating a beer-soaked tribute to “Pure Inebriation.”

Some of the most enduringly popular segments of the show are found in the “Road” episodes, which take their cue, by and large, from the series of Road to… films featuring Bob Hope and Bing Crosby. The first such episode, “Road to Rhode Island,” even features a tune that borrows heavily from the title tune of 1942′s Road to Morocco. Ultimately, it’s fitting that the show pays such frequent tribute to the “Road” films, seeing as how those movies’ self-referential Hollywood in-jokes are a precursor to the same self-parodying elements that make Family Guy a sometimes guilty pleasure.

“Road to Rupert,” the third episode of that milieu, contains my hands-down favorite moment from the entire series. As Brian and Stewie attempt to track down Stewie’s stuffed bear, Rupert, whom Brian accidentally sold in a yard sale, they find themselves in Colorado and attempt to rent a helicopter in order to cross the mountains into Aspen. The rental agreement says that they can forego a deposit in exchange for a “jaunty tune,” which leads Stewie into a dance with none other than the master himself, Gene Kelly.

Gene Kelly’s cameo comes courtesy of 1945′s Anchors Aweigh, in which Kelly originally danced with Jerry Mouse. The clip above shows both versions of the dance side-by-side. As you can see, the Family Guy crew (thankfully) maintained the spirit of the original throughout the entirety of the segment. It makes for a silly, fun moment that never fails to bring a smile to my face.

Another inspired moment, in the controversial episode “Extra-Large Medium” (which drew ire from political pundit Sarah Palin for its depiction of a girl with Down Syndrome), is a brief recreation of the classic Abbott and Costello routine “Who’s on First.” Peter channels Lou Costello as he tries to “psychically” locate a man who has been buried with a bomb strapped to his chest:

Peter: All right, what’s the name of the guy we’re looking for?
Joe: Well, he’s an Asian fella–Melvin Hu.
Peter: That’s what I want to find out.
Joe: What?
Peter: The name of the guy.
Joe: Melvin Hu.
Peter: Are you a cop?
Joe: Yeah.
Peter: You handling this case?
Joe: Yeah.
Peter: Then what’s the name of the guy?
Joe: Hu.
Peter: The guy we’re looking for.
Joe: Hu.
Peter: The guy who’s buried.
Joe: Hu.
Peter: The guy with the bomb.
Joe: Hu.
Peter: What street does he live on?
Joe: First.
[The bomb explodes in the distance.]

Some of the more satirical bon mots are saved for the Disney canon. From Peter’s brief turn as Mary Poppins (in which he lands on–and subsequently crushes–his charges) to Peter’s fervent wish upon a star for a Jewish accountant to help with his taxes (“I Need a Jew“), Disney films–and Walt Disney himself–are skewered sometimes mercilessly.

And yet another “Road” episode, “Road to the Multiverse,” features an insanely funny parody of the Disney song canon. In the episode, Brian and Stewie travel through a series of increasingly absurd universes, one of which is designed with the traditional hand-drawn animated look of classic Disney films.

The Family Guy characters are depicted as popular Disney characters ranging from Ursula in The Little Mermaid (poor Meg) to Flower the Skunk from Bambi (Cleveland). As they all sing a song, waxing rhapsodic about the joys of pie, it seems idyllic to Brian and Stewie … at least until the other characters attack their Jewish neighbor, Mort (a reference to Walt’s supposed antisemitism). Innocence dissolving into shocking chaos–the hallmark of the Family Guy sensibility, if there is one.

If you’ve never seen the show, it’s worth a look. After all, what other modern shows can you think of that routinely make references to classic film figures like Fatty Arbuckle, Gregory Peck, Robert Mitchum, Karl Malden, Mickey Rooney, Lucille Ball … I could easily keep going here …?

At the very least, picking out the pop culture references sprinkled throughout each episode is a fun game within itself. I’m sure there’s some kind of drinking game associated with the show in that respect, although you should expect to get drunk off your ass should you participate. You may be offended at times, or disgusted at times (seriously, there’s a big reliance on vomit humor in a couple of episodes that I could do without), or shocked at times, but if you’re a classic film fan, you’ll also be delighted when you recognize even the most obscure movie references.

So kudos to Seth MacFarlane, from one classic film fan to another. The Simpsons may have done it first, but these days, Family Guy is arguably doing it better.

SUtS: Clint Eastwood

Our choice: Paint Your Wagon (1969)

Airing at 7:45AM EST

So, we’re just going to go ahead and say the thing you’re not really supposed to admit out loud: Brandie and I aren’t exactly Clint Eastwood fans. Important? Yes. Iconic? Doubtless. But we really just can’t get into the films. Sorry, Mr. Eastwood. I congratulate you on your success, but the films don’t do much for me. I may watch a few of them, just for culture.

(Brandie: “That picture above, though, is kinda changing my mind. Maybe I can force myself to sit through a couple of those early Westerns …”)

We picked Paint Your Wagon because the notion of Clint Eastwood doing this film is hilarious for anyone who has been around and paid any attention to film or popular culture ever. It’s a musical. It’s silly. I mean, Paint Your Wagon? It’s a long way from Dirty Harry. That’s funny. And I give Clint Eastwood props for versatility. I applaud you.

Plus, any time The Simpsons chooses to parody your film, it only makes us appreciate it more.

The other draw for me here (other than the fact that I enjoy musicals- why, yes, I am a geek) is Lee Marvin. I like Lee Marvin. I can’t see him without thinking of Cat Ballou, though. I haven’t reviewed Cat Ballou, but I’m sure I will before too long. For Lee Marvin fans, it’s the film where he finally got his more-than-deserved Oscar and dedicated the award to an intoxicated horse. (Yeah, you want to see it now, don’t you?)

So, I’ll probably DVR Paint Your Wagon, even though it doesn’t have an inebriated equine to speak of.

It’s a mad, mad, mad, mad world. Really.

I love introducing people to classic film, particularly younger people. Hook ‘em young, I always say. Okay, so I don’t always say that. But I should. And so it’s now my new motto.

Getting back to the point …

Last night, I introduced Jamie, my friend Michelle’s seventeen-year-old son, to the uber-hilarious 1963 farce, It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World. Now, I’ve had my experiences with introducing non-classic fans to some of my favorite older movies. Some of these attempts have been successful, and some of them have been less so–for example, attempting to get Michelle, who loved The Tudors with a passion, to sit through the amazingly awesome 1968 classic The Lion in Winter was like trying to get Mike Tyson to control his anger without anti-psychotic medication. So I wasn’t sure what to expect when Jamie and I sat down in front of the television and fired up the DVR.

The result was rewarding and highly amusing–watching Jamie roll around in the recliner, holding his sides from laughing so hard, made me laugh even harder (and louder) than normal. Which, unfortunately, resulted in waking up the other two members of the household, who were taking naps at the time. But that’s the price you pay when a movie is as riotously funny as this one.

At three-plus hours long, Mad definitely requires an investment of your time, but it’s well worth it. The movie begins with a car weaving in and out of traffic on a California highway; it eventually flies off a cliff and crashes, sending the driver, a crook named “Smiler” Grogan (Jimmy Durante), through the windshield. He is found by five passengers of the cars he has just passed: Russell (Milton Berle), who is traveling with his wife (Dorothy Provine) and annoying mother-in-law (Ethel Merman); Melville (Sid Caesar), a dentist traveling with his wife (Edie Adams–side note: Caesar’s part was originally meant for Ernie Kovacs, Adams’ husband, who sadly died in an automobile accident before the movie could be made); Lennie, a truck driver (Jonathan Winters); and comedy writers Dingy and Benjy (Mickey Rooney and Buddy Hackett), who are traveling together. As Smiler dies, he tells the men that he buried $350,000 “under a big W” in the state park about two hundred miles away. When the men depart, following one another down the highway, all of them begin to suspect the others of trying to go for the loot. But after trying–and failing–to negotiate a fair split of the money, it becomes an every-man-for-himself race to the finish line, and the competitors use anything and everything in their arsenals to get ahead, with increasingly frenetic results.

The movie is directed by Stanley Kramer, who up to this point in his career was mainly known for directing a string of heavily dramatic films: The Defiant Ones (1958), On the Beach (1959), Inherit the Wind (1960), and Judgment at Nuremberg (1961). And Mad remained an anomaly on Kramer’s resume–he did not direct another outright comedy in his career. But he demonstrates a deft hand with juggling the numerous stories and characters in this movie (a technique he would reprise somewhat in his next film, 1965′s Ship of Fools).

Mad is a true ensemble piece, with some of the most notable names in comedy in the leading roles and even more of them appearing in small cameos throughout the movie. Almost everyone who was anyone in comedy in the early 1960s is in this film, from Berle to Hackett to Winters (in his first film role) to an as-far-away-from-Andy-Hardy-as-you-can-get Rooney. And the movie pays particular homage to some of the forebears of this younger comedy crop: Buster Keaton, the Three Stooges, Jack Benny, and Durante, among many others, show up in the damnedest places throughout the story.

And as the straight man, we have Spencer Tracy, whose brand of sly, bantering humor doesn’t sparkle as much without an equally sly sparring partner (such as his longtime paramour, Katharine Hepburn). Tracy was in his twilight years while making this film, and reportedly so ill that he only worked a few hours every day and was largely shot via close-up to disguise the extent of his deterioration, which was ultimately due, in large part, to his alcoholism, a not-so-well-kept secret in Hollywood (in fact, Tracy would only make one film after Mad, the 1967 interracial marriage drama Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, incidentally also directed by Kramer). Nevertheless, despite his shortened hours on the set, Tracy was the star around whom all of the comedians gravitated; reportedly, every single one would go out of his way to try to impress Tracy with a gag or a well-timed one-liner, and according to Kramer, Tracy admired each and every one of them in return.

Every type of humor you can imagine is on display in this film: madcap screwball hi-jinks (including my favorite part: Jonathan Winters destroying a garage practically with his bare hands); painful physical comedy (watch Sid Caesar’s expression after he’s thrown from an unstable firetruck ladder); bitingly sarcastic retorts; quick-witted comebacks; and broad, flailing, “look at me!” grabs for attention. There’s even the old slipping-on-the-banana-peel gag. All that’s missing from this film are a couple of pies in the face! Whatever your brand of humor, you’ll find something that tickles your funny bone in this movie.

For me, the real joy in watching this film is to see all of these wonderful funnymen at their frantic best, years before appearing in the roles with which I identified them when I was younger. I mean, when I was growing up, Sid Caesar was the coach from the musical Grease. Mickey Rooney was old Lampie in Pete’s Dragon and Henry in The Black Stallion. Milton Berle was Mad Man Mooney from The Muppet Movie. Jonathan Winters was Mearth on Mork & Mindy. Buddy Hackett was Tennessee in The Love Bug and the unmistakable voice of Scuttle the seagull in The Little Mermaid. The alcoholic pilot (Jim Backus) was the millionaire from Gilligan’s Island. The list goes on and on! So not only do I laugh my fool head off while watching this film, it’s an exercise in nostalgia, recalling those great childhood television and movie memories and really making me appreciate this talented cast anew.

You can find Mad on Amazon for a pretty decent price right now; it will also be airing again on TCM on September 4th at 4:45PM EST, so be sure to set aside a few hours to enjoy it.

Aside: The Simpsons (one of my very favorite shows of all time) features an hysterical homage to Mad in the fifth-season episode “Homer the Vigilante.” For some reason, I can’t get the Hulu clip to post properly (even with Vodpod … grrr), so just click on the photo above to watch, and enjoy all of the references to the original film (note the W palm trees to the left of the big T!).