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TRUE STORIES: A REPORT FROM IMAGINARIUM 2007 | |
| by Mike Hertenstein |
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DEPENDING ON HOW YOU SLICE IT, this was
either the twelfth anniversary of the first Imaginarium, or the thirteenth
Imaginarium at Cornerstone
Festival — a lucky number, from our perspective, unless you
consider that there are now teenagers running around who weren't even born
when we got into this weird business! 2007 was also the 50th anniversary of the
'57 Chevy and the 30th anniversary of Elvis' death: and so we observed this
portentous alignment of the stars with a program of 50s nostalgia filtered
through our own special Imaginarium 3D glasses. The mix can be seen in this
year's cover art, a loving spoof of Famous
Monsters of Filmland magazine, one of the most indispensible of
influences upon the Imaginarium. The Undead Elvis painting was
executed (heh heh) by our good friend Jason
Seiler, the caricature world's Next Big Thing and a fellow fan of
FM cover-artist Basil
Gogos, whose classic style he emulated. Paul
Leggett, our keynote speaker this year, will tell you with very
little provocation about how as a wee lad he purchased the first issue of
Famous Monsters right off the newsstand, in New Jersey, in a snow
storm, in the actual 50s. That's the kind of street cred (you might say
Maple Street -cred) we brought to a seminar and theme we called "Monsters on
Maple Street" — after a famous Twilight Zone episode in which the
"monsters" turn out to be close to home indeed. The sublimated anxieties of
the postwar era birthed a whole menagerie of creatures as cultural fears sent
imaginations running wild in the streets, for good or ill, and sometimes for
good reason — for there really were scary Others beating against that
shiny-clean 50s facade, both from Out There and the dark depths
beneath...
Elvis Himselvis, for
example — though, of course, the difference between Elvis and an Elvis
impersonator is nearly as great as that between the genuinely Dionysian Elvis at the start of his story
and the bloated post- "Vegas Elvis" at the tragi-comic end.
The thing is, people were genuinely touched during our phony Elvis's
rendition of the classic hymn "How Great Thou Art" at the climax of his
opening night concert in the Imaginarium. Just as there'd been a whole lotta
genuine shakin' goin' on during his "Jailhouse Rock." And a mob of
teddy-bear crazed kids genuinely mobbed our special guest as he distributed
the last of his trademark teddy bears before exiting the festival. Thus it was
that this most central American Icon — in all his multifaceted (even
whiplashing) complexity — became the integrating image of Imaginarium
2007. Speaker Erika Doss (new
Chair of the American Studies Department at Notre Dame) sketched the vast
duck-tailed and sequined landscape that is Elvis (or our images of
him) in her seminar, tracing a
trajectory that went from genuinely cool to genuinely kitsch, bringing
together contradictory elements that necessarily collide and coalesce in
these postmodern times in mysterious ways — not least in the Imaginarium
itself.
For we all know the Imaginarium is a quantum experience, both
particle and wave, a program for grown-ups and kids and vice versa.
That is to say, the Imaginarium has become known as a place to connect and
re-connect with certain aspects of reality in such a way as to provoke talk
of "wonder" and "childlike innocence" — and yet we all know its more
complicated than that. For, inevitably, we find ourselves gathering eagerly
around cultural artifacts "so bad they're good" in a very self-conscious way.
B-movies, for example, or rubber chickens, whose scandalous nakedness somehow
remind us of the awkward, kitschy-ness (as Lint Hatcher noted in his seminar — now a
podcast) of our very
human condition.
In short, the Imaginarium has always served up — along with drafts of
pure childlike wonder — the piquant bouquet that is irony. Like
the "double-faced fullness" of carnival, irony is paradoxical: it grips the
world with the protective hotpads of quote marks, yet simultaneously, it can
tear down walls between people who then bond in the community of
imperfection, Lint's "aisle of misfit toys." It all depends upon a very delicate balance.
We aimed for this balance all week. For Thursday night's activity, we
transformed our space into a combination art studio and playground as kids
and grownups on all sides of the tent splashed out pure and deep
self-expressions onto foam boards around the tent. Earlier, we'd imported
fantastic works of art from the afternoon kids' program, Imagin' Dat, huge
childlike representations of the deadly sins (my favorite: "Bob the
Stealer"). Just as we'd suspected, it was the kids who tapped most directly
into the vision of the childlike Howard
Finster, whose sacred art was our inspiration for an evening's
artmaking. Typically, Howard covered boards and found objects with figures
of angels, devils and even Elvis, along with Bible verses and sayings.
Howard's vision has been a balm for many a weary soul, and the backwoods
preacher kept his simple faith even as he was lauded by the art world, doing album
covers the
Talking Heads, among others. Rick
Beerhorst, a professional artist and regular at Burning Brush, told us he was
grateful to the Imaginarium for providing an opportunity and context for
people like him to simply create from his heart — like a child.
Talking Heads' frontman David Byrne frontman has long seemed to be pursuing
some kind of post-modern innocence, going back to his 1986 film, True
Stories. We screened that film — after hosting Friday night our
Imaginarium "Talent (or Not) Show" in its same quirky, affirming spirit.
Once again, we created a quantum space that encompassed both real talent and
peoples' own unique imperfections: it was a joy to applaud everyone just for
being themselves. To the tune of The Talking Heads' "Wild, Wild
Life," we marveled to yo-yo tricks, knee farts, stand-up comedy
(ranging from a Zombie Comic and a Bill Cosby routine).
There was singing: a knockout blues performance, Kurt
belting out an aria from I Pagliacci with genuine authority, and Jim
giving us the Bohemian Rhapsody as the audience helped him remember
the words. We learned early on that Imaginarium attendees aren't content to
sit back and passively spectate. This works out rather well for all of us,
because we sure couldn't pull any of this off without participants. They
show up on the grounds nearly as early as we do — to cut and paint
backdrops, build the movie screen, put up lights and displays. There's
always a couple youth groups that pitch in and we have regular volunteers
among longtime attendees. We're so grateful for you all. We couldn't do this
without you or your uncontestable talents (or your power tools).
AND HOW ABOUT SOME BIG LOVE for Dave
Canfield and all he does to make the Imaginarium THE
IMAGINARIUM? I'll never forget a
couple years ago we were screening Casablanca, and right at
the song showdown in Rick's Café, Dave whips out a full-sized French flag
and gets the crowd on their feet, if not exactly singing the
Marseillaise than at least engaged with revolutionary ferver. This
year Dave passed out giant body-snatcher pods (sewn by wife Harmony,
perfect for throw pillows). "Put this in your basement…" he intoned in
somnambulant monotone. Dave's also responsible for assembling the
Imaginarium's evening program of shorts and clips (this year featuring anti-Communist
propaganda and Duck & Cover
films) along with our annual Dr. Demento-esque soundtrack: for 2007, the
music mix featured a wondrous and/or wretched mashup of Tiny Tim, J-Pop,
Weird Al, and Meet the Brady Bunch. This was also the year Dave
finally rationalized the acquisition of a ghastly new rubber zombie mask
which he wore as much as possible — including when he came out to
introduce one of our more scholarly seminar speakers: "Kim Paffenroth is here to share
his BRAINS…" Dr. Paffenroth seemed a little thrown by the notion that it may
actually be at this Christian music festival that he finally found the core
of his audience for his material. (Note to cstoneXchange staff: always include the word "Zombie" in
seminar titles; it's guaranteed to fill the house). For those who who can't
see the profound relevance of zombies as metaphors for mindless consumption
in mass society, you may need an infusion of BRAINS. For those who wonder if
we should even be talking about zombies at a time like this, click here. And for those can't see the humor in dead
people eating other people, we just can't explain it to you.
Nor can we explain the scene created when Dave burst into the Speaker
Hospitality Trailer and drafted all present to help craft zombie jokes for
the impending Imaginarium Talent Show. Among others, ordinarily respectable
speakers Paul Nethercott, John Morehead (and son),
and Glenn
Kaiser coughed up doozies like this: "Why don't zombies eat clowns?
Because they taste funny!" It was Lint Hatcher who coined what became
the all-purpose zombie punchline to any set-up: just ask a question, and
answer, in an undead stupor: "BRAINS!!" (Some of these jokes you mighta hadta
been there to appreciate.) One of my own festival highlights happened just
after this session, when Glenn motored past me on his golf cart, shouting
(like St. Nicholas, as he drove out of sight) "How many zombies does it take
to stop an escalator…" I never did learn the answer to that one, though I
suspect it was probably... "BRAINS!"
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