Category Archives: Slice of Turkey

Slice of Turkey

Slice of Turkey: Forever Plaid, 1990

One evergreen feature of the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade is to feature the cast of a Broadway musical performing a number from their show. The effect is often weird, since the actors, singers, and dancers are asked to complete a routine in an area a fraction the size of an actual Broadway stage. It’s like asking Michael Phelps to breaststroke across a bathtub. Not to long ago, I wrote about Starlight Express, which is an extreme but representative example of this phenomenon. Starlight Express was bonkers even at its full scale. Reduced to tiny TV dimensions, it was practically suicidal.

I’ve chosen this clip that features the original cast of Forever Plaid for a few reasons. For one thing, it is a rare case where it seems that no reduction in scale was necessary, nor did it endanger anyone’s life. It’s also pretty amusing. I was genuinely impressed by the insane showmanship on display here.

But mostly I chose this clip because it triggered an ancient memory. My freshman year at NYU, one of my roommates was a pleasant enough person with whom I had no problems with at all, except that he loved to belt out songs with wild, unbridled enthusiasm, particularly early in the morning while showering. It bugged me, but I dealt with, because when it comes to putting up with petty annoyances (as opposed to actually confronting their sources), I have Herculean strength. I will exhaust any and all contingencies before asking someone to knock off whatever they’re doing.

My roommate was painfully, blissfully oblivious to how loud he was, until one morning after I’d invited several girls to crash in our room. (Nought but crashing went on; it was, for all intents and purposes, a slumber party. I only mention this to emphasize how awkwardly chaste I still was at age 18.) I was used to my roommate’s performances and just buried my head under a pillow. The girls, however, thought it was the funniest thing they’d ever heard. They all tried to shush each other but couldn’t help breaking out into chortles at his thoroughly earnest crooning.

He eventually emerged from the bathroom, wearing nothing but a towel, to find several girls (who’d escaped his notice before, apparently) sitting up in their sleeping bags, giggling. One told him she liked his voice. She said it sincerely, but he looked mortified. “You could hear me?” he asked, incredulous. I have no idea how he could not have known we could hear him. The whole dorm could.

From thereon out, his singing was far more subdued and infrequent, which was good for sleeping in but bad for my conscience. Annoying though it may have been, I felt awful for making him feel so self conscious about his shower singing. He also became a bit leery of me, suddenly thinking I was this super macho hetero dude because I was bringing over multiple girls to our room. Even I found this to be ridiculously funny, because the most exciting thing that happened that night was watching the “Santa Claus Conquers the Martians” episode of Mystery Science Theater 3000. Regardless of reality, he now saw me very differently, and we were never quite “cool” again.

Before this incident, however, Forever Plaid was in heavy rotation in my roommate’s repertoire. I’ve never seen the show or learned much about it; according to Wikipedia, it seems to be a proto-jukebox musical with an oddly dark premise. On the rare occasions where I hear/see it mentioned, I think of my freshman year roommate and how I accidentally crushed his fragile spirit with my irrepressible manliness.

Slice of Turkey

Slice of Turkey: Jim Henson Tribute, 1990

Jim Henson passed away not too long before the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade of 1990. In one capacity or another, Henson had been associated with the parade for quite some time, whether it was the Kermit balloon or some of his many creations appearing on a float. And so Macy’s saw fit to pay tribute to the late creative genius with a brief montage of some Henson-created moments from parades past.

There are a few unfortunate touches here, such as Willard Scott referring to Miss Piggy as “that shameless pig” (don’t be a dick, Willard). The instrumentation for the backing track of “Rainbow Connection” is also painfully Casio-esque. Even for 1990, the tone is pretty brutal, and I have to think they could have done better.

In aggregate, however, this is an understated but sweet tribute to someone who was taken too soon. Look, I never said all of these posts have to be snotty, okay?

Slice of Turkey

Slice of Turkey: The Joker, 1989

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From the same parade that gave us ALF’s running commentary comes this bizarre artifact. 1989, you may recall, was the year that Tim Burton’s Batman came out. It’s suffered a hit in reputation of late, thanks to the newer, far superior Batman reboots. But if 1989’s Batman doesn’t completely measure up to those high watermarks, it’s still an enjoyable flick. It has requisite Tim Burton dark playfulness and mostly avoids some of his usual crimes, like relying heavily on Johnny Depp. I like Depp and I like Burton. (It’s been a while since he put out something decent, with the possible exception of Sweeney Todd, but I’ll forgive a lot from the man behind Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure and Beetlejuice.). However, if I were teaching them in elementary school, I’d make those two kids sit at different tables for a while.

One of the big reasons for Batman‘s success was Jack Nicholson’s portrayal of The Joker. Now that we also have Heath Ledger’s version, the bite of Jack’s performance is not quite as sharp in comparison, but again, it remains eminently watchable. Wanting to keep pace with the zeitgeist, the Macy’s Thanksgiving Parade thought it would be fun to have a Joker “drop in” on the proceedings. The conceit of this segment is that the Clown Prince of Crime has arrived unannounced to ruin the party. Oh Joker, will you ever learn?

But rather than release toxic chemicals or run people over, The Joker just belts out a very Broadway “bad guy” song called “The Joker.” It comes from a 1964 musical called The Roar of the Greaspaint, The Smell of the Crowd, and was introduced by Athony Newley. So…well, just connect the dots, okay? (Truth be told, my own impressions of Mr. Newley are limited mostly to Tom Servo’s impression of him on Mystery Science Theater 3000. “William Holden’s coming overrrrr…”)

Did I expect The Joker to poison parade goers or shock them with a 20,000 watt joy buzzer? Of course not. But I also didn’t expect him to sing a song with an awful lot of slide whistle (any slide whistle is an awful lot, I’d say), while accentuating dopey lyrics by mannerisms that make Tommy Tune look butch, topped off with some corny jokes at the Caped Crusader’s expense. What are the odds Bruce Vilanch was somehow involved with this? I place the over/under at 117%. In fact, I would not bat an eye if you told me this scene was written and scored by Rip Taylor.

But the weirdest part of all might be the end, when we cut to a studio somewhere and a prerecord bit reveals to us that The Joker is actually comedian Fred Travalena and he wishes us all a happy Thanksgiving. As if we were all in a great deal of suspense wondering about the identity of this fake Joker we met almost two minutes ago. I WAS ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT, NBC. DON’T YOU DRAW REVEALS OUT LIKE THAT!

What is the point, really, of dressing these celebrities in bizarro costumes for no reason if you’re going to say, “Just kidding, folks, this is the real me and I wish you a happy non-Joker holiday” Was Mr. Travalena pulling a diva move and insisting his identity be acknowledged? “Oh no, no way I’m singing this fruity song in white makeup at 8 in the morning when it’s 23 degrees out and go unrecognized. Do you know who you’re dealing with? I’M FRED MOTHERFUCKING TRAVALENA. There better be a hooker in my trailer when I’m done, too.”