Gonzo Genius

Hunter S. Thompson fans (some of whom I know hang out on this blog) are no doubt going to be thrilled to hear about a new documentary of author's life, Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson. It won't make the local cinema circuit : (Nudity/Adult Language/Profanity/Sexual Situations/Drug Content) but I hope a copy finds it's way into my hands somehow.

Jason Buchanan of All Movie Guide says of it :

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room director Alex Gibney turns his attentions from corporate scandal to Gonzo journalism with this tribute to the libido-driven, Wild Turkey-swilling writer who never knew the meaning of the word "excess." Comprised largely of never-before-seen archival materials, Gibney's film focuses on the years between 1965 and 1975, when Thompson was truly firing on all cylinders. Rare home movies, audiotapes, and excerpts from unpublished manuscripts combine to paint an affectionate portrait to the wild-eyed father of Gonzo journalism.

James Rocchi reviews it at Cinematical, and David Carr in The New York Times. The astonishingly tasty Johnny Depp (who you will remember financed Thompson's very appropriate funeral) reads the author's words, and many other famous political figures and authors are interviewed.

Here's the trailer and if that's not enough, more snippets can be found here :



(Picture at top taken from Cinematical.)

Gonzo Travelogue

A drug-fuelled road trip to
America's gonzo heart
While loathing Vegas.

You did guess this haikued book, of course?! (The bad poetry's all mine this time, I'm afraid!)

I threatened to read Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas a little while back when Hunter S. Thompson's remains got propelled into the upper atmosphere. I felt embarrassingly ignorant because the book had completely slipped beneath my biblioradar. (How sad that it takes a suicide and a rocket-fuelled exit to make some folks aware of your writing.)

It is a book very well worth reading, if you haven't already discovered it - I found parts laugh out loud funny (that hitchhiker! the shortcut across the airport runway!). Thompson is an engaging writer even if you are justifiably horrified at the subject matter (drugs, drugs, drugs and more drugs ... oh, and did I mention drugs?).

Never mind, it's fine to live a little vicariously, and Thompson's prose very quickly intoxicates without the need for illegal substances.

Thompson describes a journey to Las Vegas made with his attorney friend, Dr. Gonzo (pictured above in one of Ralph Steadman's terrific illustrations). In the boot of the convertible they load industrial quantities of just about every illegal substance known to man:

... two bags of grass, seventy-five pellets of mescaline, five sheets of high-powered blotter acid, a salt shaker half-full of cocaine and a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, screamers, laughers ... A quart of tequila, a quart of rum, a case of Budweiser, a pint of raw ether and two dozen amyls ...

and set out to find their own version of the American dream while consuming the lot.

Thompson (travelling under the pseudonym Raoul Duke) is ostensibly on assignment to cover a biker's race in the Nevada desert, but somehow fails to get the story. His attorney then proposes that they should attend a conference for drug-enforcement officers. The irony is, of course, deeply relished.

Thompson's Las Vegas is a million miles from Narayan's Malgudi (also visited this week). How great that reading stamps your passport.

Football Season is Over

"No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun -- for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax -- This won't hurt."

That was Hunter S. Thompson's suicide note to his wife, Anita, written in black felt-tip five days before he shot himself. The note was published in Rolling Stone, according to CNN.

The author was in pain from hip-replacement surgery, and depressed about the failing state of his health. The last straw was indicated by the title of the note: "Football season is over". He was an avid football fan and it would be months before another game.

Thompson was known as the godfather of gonzo journalism, which blurred the distinction between fiction and non-fiction, reporter and subject. His most famous work is Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas which has been called the "best book on the dope decade".

On August 20th, in accordance with his wishes, Thompson's ashes were blasted from a 153ft cannon of his own design (in the shape of a double-thumbed fist) into the night sky of Woody Creek, Colorado, while fireworks popped and Bob Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man played. Johnny Depp apparently finaced the funeral.

Now that's closing the book in style.