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icepixieThe Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers Murder Case, by George Baxt. MST3K'ed by Becca.
Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. On a plot level, this is, so far, about as bad as I thought it would be. On a sentence and paragraph level, it is FAR, FAR WORSE.
The basic plot is that in 1953, five years after their last movie together, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are to reunite for a television special with some Russian ballet stars. The CIA gets involved, because they think some members of the ballet company are KGB spies. Fred and Ginger are pressed into service as counter-spies, or at least into service keeping eyes peeled and ears sharp for any suspicious activity. There's some kind of subplot developing with Ginger's psychiatrist, who is himself a Russian émigré. I can't imagine how it can get dumber than that setup, but after reading fifty-five pages of the author's prose, I am confident it will do exactly that.
George Baxt appears to have written this under the assumption that his audience is composed entirely of gibbering morons. For example, he has this sentence on the second page:
[Impresario Sol Hurok] had captured the legendary Baronovitch Ballet for a long tour of the Americas, North, South, and Central, now that they were able to secure exit visas since the death that year of the despotic Soviet leader, Stalin. (2)
Because no one reading this would know who Stalin was. Nor how many Americas there are, nor what they are called. Granted, we aren't known for geographical or historical knowledge, but I think we can safely assume that most Americans know these facts.
Hurok is apparently given to malapropisms ("extinguished personalities," etc.) and has an assistant who habitually corrects him. This grows tiresome about three pages into the book.
rows of cedars of Lebanon trees (3)
OMG, I had no idea a cedar was a tree!
She [Adele Astaire] liked Ginger but did not care much for Ginger's ever-present mother, Lela, whom Adele had nicknamed "Lethal," a nickname that was even more appropriate as far as Adele was concerned since Lela had volunteered an appearance before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) in Washington, D.C., branding actors and writers and directors as communists ("Them rotten commies!"), which amazingly enough did not ruin her daughter's career. (4)
I'd like to buy a period, please. And also take away this man's parentheses. Also, Lela shows up in the next chapter and actually says "Them rotten commies!", because she is a walking stereotype. More dialogue madness is coming soon.
It was never known what Ginger thought of her mother's perfidy, as most of Hollywood assumed Ginger wasn't given much to thought. They were quite wrong, however, as at the age of forty-two, Ginger was constantly giving thought to her recently acquired younger husband, Jacques Bergerac, an actor by definition rather than by qualification. He was also gorgeous, and at forty-two that counted for a lot with Ginger. (4)
First of all, he actually used the word "perfidy" seriously. Wow.
The Ginger-as-aging-bubblehead is, sadly, a theme that continues throughout the portion I've read so far.
"It sounds so exciting, so romantic. 'Fled the Soviet Union.' Boy, that's nothing to 'flying the coop,' which I have done on many an occasion." (5)
You think that dialogue is bad. It gets worse.
She went to the wall mirror and began fixing her luxurious mane of blond hair. (8)
"George Baxt sat down at a computer and revealed with this sentence that he is actually a thirteen-year-old fanfic writer. One who thinks Ginger Rogers is a horse."
Lela had literally thrown herself on the altars of the gods bargaining for Ginger's success. (9)
Ignoring the horribleness of that sentence as a complete entity, let's concentrate on the misuse of "literally," which happens at least five more times in the next forty pages. THAT WORD. I DO NOT THINK IT MEANS WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.
And then he makes it out like Fred Astaire had never choreographed anything in his life. In 1953. Dude, you obviously inhaled several reference works on the two of them, because you spout out facts about their personal lives all over the place, and yet you miss this? Seriously?
Oh, and then Fred is all, "Yay, I get to choreograph a ballet!" Uhhhh, you realize he didn't actually like ballet, right? And the ballet is going to be the chorus parts of a tap pas de deux between Rasputin and Empress Alexandra, which pretty much makes me go D: D: D: .
"Unless, of course, we catch [the Communists] red-handed--no pun intended--with a hand in the cookie jar." (14)
The puns just get worse.
"We trade spies all the time. You know, we'll give you such and such for so and so and no questions asked. Of course often ours are returned slightly damaged. Cigarette burns unpleasantly made to nipples and/or genitals, you know, the sort of thing that brings a song to a sadist's lips." (14)
The dialogue. What is this I don't even O.O
"The prima ballerina is Nina Valgorski, a very well preserved [sic] forty or more." (15)
Because her age matters so much. And only because she's female, obviously. I can't help but notice that you've given all the ladies nearly-exact ages and left us to decide for ourselves how old all the men are, Mr. Baxt.
"I mean Fred and Ginger are a big deal with the company because their films only reached the Soviet Union about five years ago. I mean there are parts of the country where they go berserk when they hear 'Flying Down to Rio.' And let me tell you, it's no easy chore playing that one on the balalaika." (16)
*facepalm*
Just about every star in Hollywood thought it their right to appropriate something from one of the sets of their pictures, though Greer Garson went too far when she 'adopted' an antique spinet and harp from Pride and Prejudice. (23)
The whole book is filled with pointless little asides like this. Congratulations, Baxt, you haunted the Fine Arts section of your local public library. We're all so proud. You don't have to demonstrate it repeatedly.
There is a party announcing the impending collaboration, and at it, there is a buffet. It is described thusly: Bowls of chopped eggplant decorated with lemon curlicues were cheek by jowl with huge blocks of Russian halvah of varied flavors. [I NEVER KNEW EGGPLANTS HAD CHEEKS OR JOWLS!] There were trays of the sickeningly sweet Russian pasty baklava, and of course a chopped liver sculpture that represented the czar and czarina. (32)
...of course. What else would you have a chopped liver sculpture represent? I mean, really.
"My my," my-myed Ginger. (35)
Making "my, my" into a verb is bad enough. Making it into a verb AFTER YOU HAVE ALREADY QUOTED SAID PHRASE is unforgivable.
[Russian ballet dancer Gregor Sukov] had enjoyed almost all the cities of the tour but Los Angeles as not to his taste. Los Angeles had much bigger and more famous stars than he was and he missed the adulation that he knew was his due. He missed the women falling all over him in the rush to give him their phone numbers. (36)
The saving grace of this passage is that I'm pretty sure Baxt means it to be satiric. However, it's satiric in the same way that we all thought we were being so funny when we "satirized" as fourteen-year-old fanfic-writers. Baxt is really a teenaged girl writing RPF, isn't he?
For weeks Sukov wondered who was this celebrated Brillo and would not ask anyone for elucidation as he was loath to display what would certainly be considered his ignorance. (36)
Awww, Baxt got a Word-a-Day calendar for his birthday! And I know he never would've come up with a word like "elucidate" on his own, because this is the same man who wrote "unfavorite person" a few pages earlier.
She knew better than to attempt to compete with the soignee Nina, who, being the older of the two and a prima ballerina for more than twenty years, wore around her neck a very classy-looking silver whistle, which Luba assumed contained an emergency jigger of vodka. (37)
And here was where Baxt started smoking crack, apparently. Well, more crack than he'd already consumed, anyway. Can you picture a piece of jewelry suitable for use with an evening gown that looks like a whistle? Didn't think so. She can't just stick a flask in her garter?
Jim Mallory dined on her with his eyes. (41)
I'm currently imagining little eye-sized silverware, operated by eyelashes.
Their taps were like machine guns exploding (47)
Because why have machine guns just shoot bullets when the guns themselves can EXPLODE in syncopated rhythm!
They danced their way to the center of the floor, while above them the multicolored glass orbs spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope. (47)
I think he means the ballroom is equipped with disco balls, but the adjectives are doing a very good job of disguising exactly what the hell is actually going on in that sentence.
Cary Grant shows up, and Mae wondered why somebody was banging on a drum until she realized it was the passionate beating of her heart. (48-9).
Perhaps you should get that looked at. I think if my heart ever started beating loudly enough that I confused it with a drum, I would head for the ER tout suite.
Sam Goldwyn was wondering if audiences were sophisticated enough to buy an all-white Porgy and Bess. Then Ginger could tap dance Bess and Fred would be a perfect Sporting Life. He couldn't do Porgy because Porgy has no legs, unless they used dream sequences and you couldn't get away with too many of them. (49)
D: D: D:
"You look like you're in a trance. The way Ann Miller looks when she's trying to do a crossword puzzle." (52)
*facepalm*
"I've already worked out our duet, our big one. Where Rasputin convinces the czarina he can cure the czarevitch of his hemophilia. Hemophiliacs, in case you didn't know, are bleeders." (53)
I HAD NO IDEA!!!11!!1!
It's bad enough that that's in there at all. That it's in dialogue just makes it worse.
"He laid everything but carpets." (54)
OMG.
He reminded Ginger of Howard Hughes, who had pursued her romantically for years and might have been successful had he bathed at least occasionally. (55)
ZING!
Okay, so this is at least not taking itself terribly seriously, unlike some other unintentionally hilarious books I could name *coughTWILIGHTcough*, but there is definitely still some unintentional hilarity going on here. I've got about 150 pages left to go, so I anticipate three more parts before this is over. My, my.
Oh, dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear. On a plot level, this is, so far, about as bad as I thought it would be. On a sentence and paragraph level, it is FAR, FAR WORSE.
The basic plot is that in 1953, five years after their last movie together, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers are to reunite for a television special with some Russian ballet stars. The CIA gets involved, because they think some members of the ballet company are KGB spies. Fred and Ginger are pressed into service as counter-spies, or at least into service keeping eyes peeled and ears sharp for any suspicious activity. There's some kind of subplot developing with Ginger's psychiatrist, who is himself a Russian émigré. I can't imagine how it can get dumber than that setup, but after reading fifty-five pages of the author's prose, I am confident it will do exactly that.
George Baxt appears to have written this under the assumption that his audience is composed entirely of gibbering morons. For example, he has this sentence on the second page:
[Impresario Sol Hurok] had captured the legendary Baronovitch Ballet for a long tour of the Americas, North, South, and Central, now that they were able to secure exit visas since the death that year of the despotic Soviet leader, Stalin. (2)
Because no one reading this would know who Stalin was. Nor how many Americas there are, nor what they are called. Granted, we aren't known for geographical or historical knowledge, but I think we can safely assume that most Americans know these facts.
Hurok is apparently given to malapropisms ("extinguished personalities," etc.) and has an assistant who habitually corrects him. This grows tiresome about three pages into the book.
rows of cedars of Lebanon trees (3)
OMG, I had no idea a cedar was a tree!
She [Adele Astaire] liked Ginger but did not care much for Ginger's ever-present mother, Lela, whom Adele had nicknamed "Lethal," a nickname that was even more appropriate as far as Adele was concerned since Lela had volunteered an appearance before the House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) in Washington, D.C., branding actors and writers and directors as communists ("Them rotten commies!"), which amazingly enough did not ruin her daughter's career. (4)
I'd like to buy a period, please. And also take away this man's parentheses. Also, Lela shows up in the next chapter and actually says "Them rotten commies!", because she is a walking stereotype. More dialogue madness is coming soon.
It was never known what Ginger thought of her mother's perfidy, as most of Hollywood assumed Ginger wasn't given much to thought. They were quite wrong, however, as at the age of forty-two, Ginger was constantly giving thought to her recently acquired younger husband, Jacques Bergerac, an actor by definition rather than by qualification. He was also gorgeous, and at forty-two that counted for a lot with Ginger. (4)
First of all, he actually used the word "perfidy" seriously. Wow.
The Ginger-as-aging-bubblehead is, sadly, a theme that continues throughout the portion I've read so far.
"It sounds so exciting, so romantic. 'Fled the Soviet Union.' Boy, that's nothing to 'flying the coop,' which I have done on many an occasion." (5)
You think that dialogue is bad. It gets worse.
She went to the wall mirror and began fixing her luxurious mane of blond hair. (8)
"George Baxt sat down at a computer and revealed with this sentence that he is actually a thirteen-year-old fanfic writer. One who thinks Ginger Rogers is a horse."
Lela had literally thrown herself on the altars of the gods bargaining for Ginger's success. (9)
Ignoring the horribleness of that sentence as a complete entity, let's concentrate on the misuse of "literally," which happens at least five more times in the next forty pages. THAT WORD. I DO NOT THINK IT MEANS WHAT YOU THINK IT MEANS.
And then he makes it out like Fred Astaire had never choreographed anything in his life. In 1953. Dude, you obviously inhaled several reference works on the two of them, because you spout out facts about their personal lives all over the place, and yet you miss this? Seriously?
Oh, and then Fred is all, "Yay, I get to choreograph a ballet!" Uhhhh, you realize he didn't actually like ballet, right? And the ballet is going to be the chorus parts of a tap pas de deux between Rasputin and Empress Alexandra, which pretty much makes me go D: D: D: .
"Unless, of course, we catch [the Communists] red-handed--no pun intended--with a hand in the cookie jar." (14)
The puns just get worse.
"We trade spies all the time. You know, we'll give you such and such for so and so and no questions asked. Of course often ours are returned slightly damaged. Cigarette burns unpleasantly made to nipples and/or genitals, you know, the sort of thing that brings a song to a sadist's lips." (14)
The dialogue. What is this I don't even O.O
"The prima ballerina is Nina Valgorski, a very well preserved [sic] forty or more." (15)
Because her age matters so much. And only because she's female, obviously. I can't help but notice that you've given all the ladies nearly-exact ages and left us to decide for ourselves how old all the men are, Mr. Baxt.
"I mean Fred and Ginger are a big deal with the company because their films only reached the Soviet Union about five years ago. I mean there are parts of the country where they go berserk when they hear 'Flying Down to Rio.' And let me tell you, it's no easy chore playing that one on the balalaika." (16)
*facepalm*
Just about every star in Hollywood thought it their right to appropriate something from one of the sets of their pictures, though Greer Garson went too far when she 'adopted' an antique spinet and harp from Pride and Prejudice. (23)
The whole book is filled with pointless little asides like this. Congratulations, Baxt, you haunted the Fine Arts section of your local public library. We're all so proud. You don't have to demonstrate it repeatedly.
There is a party announcing the impending collaboration, and at it, there is a buffet. It is described thusly: Bowls of chopped eggplant decorated with lemon curlicues were cheek by jowl with huge blocks of Russian halvah of varied flavors. [I NEVER KNEW EGGPLANTS HAD CHEEKS OR JOWLS!] There were trays of the sickeningly sweet Russian pasty baklava, and of course a chopped liver sculpture that represented the czar and czarina. (32)
...of course. What else would you have a chopped liver sculpture represent? I mean, really.
"My my," my-myed Ginger. (35)
Making "my, my" into a verb is bad enough. Making it into a verb AFTER YOU HAVE ALREADY QUOTED SAID PHRASE is unforgivable.
[Russian ballet dancer Gregor Sukov] had enjoyed almost all the cities of the tour but Los Angeles as not to his taste. Los Angeles had much bigger and more famous stars than he was and he missed the adulation that he knew was his due. He missed the women falling all over him in the rush to give him their phone numbers. (36)
The saving grace of this passage is that I'm pretty sure Baxt means it to be satiric. However, it's satiric in the same way that we all thought we were being so funny when we "satirized" as fourteen-year-old fanfic-writers. Baxt is really a teenaged girl writing RPF, isn't he?
For weeks Sukov wondered who was this celebrated Brillo and would not ask anyone for elucidation as he was loath to display what would certainly be considered his ignorance. (36)
Awww, Baxt got a Word-a-Day calendar for his birthday! And I know he never would've come up with a word like "elucidate" on his own, because this is the same man who wrote "unfavorite person" a few pages earlier.
She knew better than to attempt to compete with the soignee Nina, who, being the older of the two and a prima ballerina for more than twenty years, wore around her neck a very classy-looking silver whistle, which Luba assumed contained an emergency jigger of vodka. (37)
And here was where Baxt started smoking crack, apparently. Well, more crack than he'd already consumed, anyway. Can you picture a piece of jewelry suitable for use with an evening gown that looks like a whistle? Didn't think so. She can't just stick a flask in her garter?
Jim Mallory dined on her with his eyes. (41)
I'm currently imagining little eye-sized silverware, operated by eyelashes.
Their taps were like machine guns exploding (47)
Because why have machine guns just shoot bullets when the guns themselves can EXPLODE in syncopated rhythm!
They danced their way to the center of the floor, while above them the multicolored glass orbs spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope. (47)
I think he means the ballroom is equipped with disco balls, but the adjectives are doing a very good job of disguising exactly what the hell is actually going on in that sentence.
Cary Grant shows up, and Mae wondered why somebody was banging on a drum until she realized it was the passionate beating of her heart. (48-9).
Perhaps you should get that looked at. I think if my heart ever started beating loudly enough that I confused it with a drum, I would head for the ER tout suite.
Sam Goldwyn was wondering if audiences were sophisticated enough to buy an all-white Porgy and Bess. Then Ginger could tap dance Bess and Fred would be a perfect Sporting Life. He couldn't do Porgy because Porgy has no legs, unless they used dream sequences and you couldn't get away with too many of them. (49)
D: D: D:
"You look like you're in a trance. The way Ann Miller looks when she's trying to do a crossword puzzle." (52)
*facepalm*
"I've already worked out our duet, our big one. Where Rasputin convinces the czarina he can cure the czarevitch of his hemophilia. Hemophiliacs, in case you didn't know, are bleeders." (53)
I HAD NO IDEA!!!11!!1!
It's bad enough that that's in there at all. That it's in dialogue just makes it worse.
"He laid everything but carpets." (54)
OMG.
He reminded Ginger of Howard Hughes, who had pursued her romantically for years and might have been successful had he bathed at least occasionally. (55)
ZING!
Okay, so this is at least not taking itself terribly seriously, unlike some other unintentionally hilarious books I could name *coughTWILIGHTcough*, but there is definitely still some unintentional hilarity going on here. I've got about 150 pages left to go, so I anticipate three more parts before this is over. My, my.
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no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 10:48 am (UTC)Thanks that we got fanfiction and fanfiction writers, those really know how to write about our favourite characters ;)
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 03:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 03:12 pm (UTC)Haha, just with this (and future) posts and the remarks you are improving it a LOT... but of course, we know that it wasn't difficult at all. The only thing that I like from the book is the cover.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 07:52 pm (UTC)Yeah, that's about all I like from it as well. I mean, the concept was never going to be a great one, but it might at least not have been quite so bad.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 03:00 pm (UTC)Do Twilight next! *eg*
And in related news: did you know that the recently published Muppet Show comic book includes a tap-dancing ninja called Ninja Rogers?
no subject
Date: 2009-12-14 03:31 pm (UTC)It is indeed painful. But it's definitely somewhere on the "so bad it's good" scale.
Do Twilight next! *eg*
Oh, man, my friend Ellen did the Twilight mocking to end all Twilight mockings. It is epic. And awesome.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 2.5, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8. Also, Domestic Abuse Checklist.
She's doing New Moon as well.
And in related news: did you know that the recently published Muppet Show comic book includes a tap-dancing ninja called Ninja Rogers?
...That is AWESOME.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-15 01:37 am (UTC)Also, I just saw an ad for this, and immediately thought of you: http://www.amazon.com/Queen-Victoria-Hunter-E-Moorat/dp/0061976016/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1260840544&sr=8-1
no subject
Date: 2009-12-15 03:12 pm (UTC)Also, I just saw an ad for this, and immediately thought of you:
OMG! That must be part of the Pride and Prejudice and Zombies series. WANT WANT WANT.
no subject
Date: 2009-12-15 04:45 am (UTC)"My my," my-myed Ginger.
*coughcoughIkindaloveitcough*
Lela had literally thrown herself on the altars of the gods bargaining for Ginger's success.
Aww, you mean not *literally* literally? Because if that were literal, it would boost the plot up to a whole new level of awesome!
Are you sure this wasn't ghost-written by Stephanie Meyer?
no subject
Date: 2009-12-15 03:14 pm (UTC)I didn't think it was possible, but it was!
*coughcoughIkindaloveitcough*
Verbing it I can sort of see the attraction of. Putting the verb RIGHT AFTER THE QUOTATION makes me want to stab things.
Aww, you mean not *literally* literally? Because if that were literal, it would boost the plot up to a whole new level of awesome!
I know! It would've been halfway decent!
Are you sure this wasn't ghost-written by Stephanie Meyer?
Nah. Too many people actually die, and there's not enough domestic abuse.