Leave it to Mel, the Beaver and the Shark

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From the only reliable source of news on the net, the Onion.  Wait, no, that’s not right!  The above video certainly seems like a creation from the warped minds at the Onion, but even they would have a hard time dreaming this one up:  Actor with alcohol, anger and fidelity “issues”, portrays deranged husband and father who gets back in touch with his family by using a beaver hand puppet.   It would take a heart of stone not to laugh endlessly at the sheer lunacy of it all.  I wouldn’t be surprised if the film makes a huge amount of money, at least from audiences who enjoy truly dark comedy and perhaps from the select few who love the irony of it all.




Mel said that he took an axe to his marriage, so perhaps this is all some bizarre attempt at redemption in the eyes of the public at least, if not in the eyes of his ex-wife and kids.  What this film does establish beyond question is that Mel Gibson truly is one strange character.  I say this as someone who enjoyed most of his films dating back to his road warrior days, and who defended him on blogs for years, especially against the shameful charge that his masterpiece, The Passion of the Christ, was, in any way, anti-Semitic.  Alas, someone can be a fine artist, and still be a man with massive flaws and that is the case with Mel.  Through  alcohol abuse, adultery, and out of control rants, the actor many Catholics pointed to with pride, revealed himself to have very common Hollywood failings.

One could say this has all the elements of a Greek tragedy, but with the film The Beaver, we instead have a comic play by Aristophanes.  I truly wish for the sake of Mr. Gibson that, like all comedies, his life has a happy ending.  We shall see.  In the meantime, I suggest that Mel might adopt as his theme song, a song about a relative of the beaver:

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  1. Hollywood elites have the cures for all your ills.

    Quick! Someone send one of them hand puppets to the White House.


  2. As Leslie Nielsen would have said, “Nice beaver!” Poor Mel, descending from Passion of the Christ to this tripe. Looks like another paycheck movie for Jodie, too.

  3. I stopped reading biographies of my favorite writers and artists many years ago, although I loved reading biographies when I was a teen. All too often I found out that the men and women whose work I so admired were complete jerks. I will always honor James Joyce for the final paragraphs of “The Dead” which are the among the loveliest sentences ever penned in English. When I read them in high school, I was simply swept away by their beauty. But Joyce himself? A sponger who was cruel to his mother and had a way of using his friends as doormats. (He certainly also had his good and generous moments.) But then, Paul Johnson recently wrote that the reason Chesterton does not attract biographers is because he seemed to have no shadows. Much more fun to write about Byron….

    Perhaps the reason those with artistic talent are so frequently glaringly imperfect when it comes to their personal lives is because if they were all tremendously gifted and paragons of virtue as well, they’d appear the rest of us to be almost god-like. As it is, they create – and sometimes create amazingly beautiful things – but are clearly not the Creator.

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