Book Review: The Joke's Over
Book Review
The Joke’s Over: Bruised Memories, Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson, and Me
Author: Ralph Steadman
Reveiw By: Grant Catton
Ralph Steadman’s memoir about his lifelong friendship and artistic partnership with Hunter S. Thompson will be a must-read for any true Hunter S. Thompson fanatic. Those readers with only a passing knowledge of Thompson or his work may not find it as easy to plow through the book’s 380-odd pages of anecdotes and letters between two eccentric artists. This is not a primer on Thompson, nor is it a biography of the man. It is, however, a detailed and highly personal look at one of the most gifted figures in 20th century American letters, through the eyes of a close friend and collaborator. It is only 18 months since Thompson committed suicide, and the next decade or so will prove crucial in cementing the man’s legacy and in forming the channels by which that legacy will be studied. It is book’s such as Steadman’s, therefore, which will become pieces of that puzzle–one which may or may not prove possible to assemble.
The Steadman-Thompson relationship began as an artistic collaboration which seemed made in heaven. Steadman’s crazed, cartoon-style illustrations captured the chaos, the violence, the jarring social criticism, in Thompson’s writing with haunting accuracy. Steadman’s illustrations accompanied numerous articles of Thompson’s work, most notably the book Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas (Fear and Loathing). In the early 70s, Steadman joined Thompson on the adventure which was the genesis of Thompson’s baby, Gonzo Journalism. From that first meeting, Steadman became a friend and foil to the eccentric author for the next 35-or-so odd years. It is therefore with great authority, compassion and frankness that Steadman pens this tribute. It is obvious that the two spent a great deal of time together over the years, and that Steadman cared deeply about Thompson as a friend, even if he never could be sure whether that concern was returned. However, in 389 pages, Steadman is able to do little more than relate fond memories and personal feelings about his friend, and comes imperceptibly closer than anyone has so far to understanding what made him tick. He remains, to Steadman, an unconventional, uncontrollable, sensitive and often-cruel enigma.
Steadman, a Welshman, landed in the U.S. for the first time in May 1970, when he was in his 30s, to cover the Kentucky Derby with Thompson for a now-defunct magazine called Scanlan’s. He tells the story of that first meeting, which, to Thompson fans, will be a fascinating, behind-the-scenes look at a well-known fiasco that produced a brilliantly funny story. The derby fiasco set the stage for the birth of Gonzo Journalism, a style of reportage practiced thereafter by, and only by, Thompson. However, Steadman notes that Gonzo was truly born on his next trip with Thompson, in September of the same year, to cover the America’s Cup yacht race.
“That trip, possibly more than any other, established a pattern of journalism, if that is what it was, that cemented my friendship with Hunter and laid the ground-plan for future assignments which, by their very nature, could only be classed as pure Gonzo.” pg. 62
Steadman, it appears, is partly correct. The two did become collaborators on a number of successful and failed projects that kept them each busy over the next 35 years. Those adventures included a handful of films, from documentaries to features, as well as a trip to Hawaii to cover a marathon, which resulted in Thompson’s little-known novel, The Curse of Lono. The Kentucky Derby and America’s Cup trips, as it turns out, were the first and most successful Steadman-Thompson collaborations in which they both physically and artistically participated.
The remaining projects, with a vast exception made for Fear and Loathing, have drifted into the minutiae of the Thompson legend or never got off the ground at all, mostly because of Thompson’s incorrigible nature and, so it a appears, a certain sense of half-baked motivation. At one point, Steadman describes Thompson’s plans for the duo to cover time-honored events all over the world and come back with Gonzo pieces. Gonzo, however, seems to be elusive and, like Thompson himself, impossible to coordinate. Gonzo “on-demand” does not seem to have taken off.
Gonzo did, however, become the backdrop of one of the classics of American letters, Fear and Loathing, which Thompson wrote and Steadman illustrated. It was, perhaps, the pinnacle of Gonzo journalism; a Gonzo-style reporting piece of novel-length, spawned by two alcohol and drug-fueled road trips that Thompson took to Las Vegas. Steadman, who was not even in the country at the time, drew the illustrations after having read the story, which started out as a two-part article for Rolling Stone magazine, drawing upon his previous Gonzo experiences with Thompson. The result is a virtuoso pairing of words and illustrations, which seem so well matched that Thompson (as Steadman has claimed in half-jest) sometimes gets credited as the illustrator. It is no wonder, as the illustrations seem as though they could onlyhave leapt from the same berserk mind that created the prose.
Steadman devotes only about 10 pages to Fear and Loathing, which seems a bit lean considering that book is arguably the keystone in the popular impression of Thompson and by extension, Steadman’s art. He also reveals the direct origin of the term Gonzo, as having been uttered in reference to Thompson’s derby piece by a fellow journalist, when Thompson was hard at work trying to write F&L.
Steadman somehow manages to be frank and bitter about his contribution to the Gonzo legend as it was cemented with Fear and Loathing, as is evinced by this somewhat ambiguous line.
“Since our lucky bull’s-eye in Kentucky, I was along for the ride, but I knew instinctively that my images, when I produced them, put Hunter’s words into a truly legitimate scenario.” pg. 68
Steadman reveals a barely perceptible jealousy about Thompson getting the spotlight; a jealousy that has undoubtedly mellowed over the years, and surely since his friends death. That jealousy would seem righteous on both a level of critical and monetary recognition. Steadman reveals that he was unfairly cut out of any but the most nominal royalties from the book. In a monetary sense, he profited nothing from the book that his art undoubtedly helped push into the popular mind. It is a minor miracle the two stayed friends, which may be more of a statement about Thompson’s magnetism and Steadman’s recognition that he needed Thompson, rather a statement on the strength of their friendship.
Steadman’s observations on Americans and American culture throughout the book are a treat and he makes the early 1970s seem eerily like the mid-2000s, with the U.S. mired in an unpopular war and with a president in office who seems to be losing support by the hour. He is perpetually in awe of what he views as a charmingly innocent vigor, and sometimes rudeness, displayed by Americans. His passage on the reasons for the popularity of football toward the end of the book is a piece of cultural anthropology which could take years and PhD’s to prove, but seems to ring true after having spent nearly 400 pages with the man.
Perhaps the most intriguing parts of the book are Steadman’s observations on Thompson’s personality and his friendship with the man. These reveal perhaps more about Steadman than Thompson, but present a side of Thompson which he himself rarely revealed, and which will always seem to be lost in the drugs, violence and insanity legend that will surround the man forever.
That side is of a gentle, highly-intelligent and gregarious man who emphatically refused to follow any drummer but his own, often at great monetary and emotional expense to others. Thompson could be cruel at times, as Steadman seems to attest, and Steadman even reveals serious doubts about their friendship which seem almost incongruous with the theme of the book; that the two were close friends and mutually respected one another.
“When I began [The Joke’s Over] I thought it was going to be a journey of pleasure and warm memories, but as I write I feel more the icy winds of rejection that were probably there from the beginning. There is a point at which nothing was ever worth the effort, nothing given and nothing taken away. My involvement was nothing more than my own ambition. Quite by chance I became a part of this man’s life, more as an infection than as a friend. I fooled myself that there was something in me that he found important.” pg. 144
This seems, however, to be a moment of sentimental self-pity, as Steadman relates dozens of anecdotes and memories shared with Thompson and his family that could only have happened among friends. Steadman, however, leaves no doubt that Thompson was a difficult man to understand and be close to. Steadman does leave us with one gem, one of the core elements of the Thompson persona, which perhaps we all know deep inside, but which Thompson articulates to Steadman in the final year or so of his life. He reveals his motivation for his errant behavior through the years and for his resistence to any authority, and the effect of fear on his psyche. Steadman slips this insight in as the book wanes, so that it could perhaps be missed. However, from one Thompson fanatic to any others who may be reading, it is worth reading the book for this revelation alone.
Steadman is a writer in his own right, and he sheds whatever light he can shed on one of the beloved characters of American letters, and will perhaps always be mentioned, if not in the same breath then a few breaths later, with Thompson. As time wears on, it is possible Steadman will be known solely for his collaborations with Thompson, but by that time, it is anyone’s guess. Steadman seems to understand and accept this as the tacit agreement of their professional and personal relationship, the line between the two, as with Thompson’s professional and personal lives, was ever blurry.
The Joke’s Over: Bruised Memories, Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson, and Me
Author: Ralph Steadman
Reveiw By: Grant Catton
Ralph Steadman’s memoir about his lifelong friendship and artistic partnership with Hunter S. Thompson will be a must-read for any true Hunter S. Thompson fanatic. Those readers with only a passing knowledge of Thompson or his work may not find it as easy to plow through the book’s 380-odd pages of anecdotes and letters between two eccentric artists. This is not a primer on Thompson, nor is it a biography of the man. It is, however, a detailed and highly personal look at one of the most gifted figures in 20th century American letters, through the eyes of a close friend and collaborator. It is only 18 months since Thompson committed suicide, and the next decade or so will prove crucial in cementing the man’s legacy and in forming the channels by which that legacy will be studied. It is book’s such as Steadman’s, therefore, which will become pieces of that puzzle–one which may or may not prove possible to assemble.
The Steadman-Thompson relationship began as an artistic collaboration which seemed made in heaven. Steadman’s crazed, cartoon-style illustrations captured the chaos, the violence, the jarring social criticism, in Thompson’s writing with haunting accuracy. Steadman’s illustrations accompanied numerous articles of Thompson’s work, most notably the book Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas (Fear and Loathing). In the early 70s, Steadman joined Thompson on the adventure which was the genesis of Thompson’s baby, Gonzo Journalism. From that first meeting, Steadman became a friend and foil to the eccentric author for the next 35-or-so odd years. It is therefore with great authority, compassion and frankness that Steadman pens this tribute. It is obvious that the two spent a great deal of time together over the years, and that Steadman cared deeply about Thompson as a friend, even if he never could be sure whether that concern was returned. However, in 389 pages, Steadman is able to do little more than relate fond memories and personal feelings about his friend, and comes imperceptibly closer than anyone has so far to understanding what made him tick. He remains, to Steadman, an unconventional, uncontrollable, sensitive and often-cruel enigma.
Steadman, a Welshman, landed in the U.S. for the first time in May 1970, when he was in his 30s, to cover the Kentucky Derby with Thompson for a now-defunct magazine called Scanlan’s. He tells the story of that first meeting, which, to Thompson fans, will be a fascinating, behind-the-scenes look at a well-known fiasco that produced a brilliantly funny story. The derby fiasco set the stage for the birth of Gonzo Journalism, a style of reportage practiced thereafter by, and only by, Thompson. However, Steadman notes that Gonzo was truly born on his next trip with Thompson, in September of the same year, to cover the America’s Cup yacht race.
“That trip, possibly more than any other, established a pattern of journalism, if that is what it was, that cemented my friendship with Hunter and laid the ground-plan for future assignments which, by their very nature, could only be classed as pure Gonzo.” pg. 62
Steadman, it appears, is partly correct. The two did become collaborators on a number of successful and failed projects that kept them each busy over the next 35 years. Those adventures included a handful of films, from documentaries to features, as well as a trip to Hawaii to cover a marathon, which resulted in Thompson’s little-known novel, The Curse of Lono. The Kentucky Derby and America’s Cup trips, as it turns out, were the first and most successful Steadman-Thompson collaborations in which they both physically and artistically participated.
The remaining projects, with a vast exception made for Fear and Loathing, have drifted into the minutiae of the Thompson legend or never got off the ground at all, mostly because of Thompson’s incorrigible nature and, so it a appears, a certain sense of half-baked motivation. At one point, Steadman describes Thompson’s plans for the duo to cover time-honored events all over the world and come back with Gonzo pieces. Gonzo, however, seems to be elusive and, like Thompson himself, impossible to coordinate. Gonzo “on-demand” does not seem to have taken off.
Gonzo did, however, become the backdrop of one of the classics of American letters, Fear and Loathing, which Thompson wrote and Steadman illustrated. It was, perhaps, the pinnacle of Gonzo journalism; a Gonzo-style reporting piece of novel-length, spawned by two alcohol and drug-fueled road trips that Thompson took to Las Vegas. Steadman, who was not even in the country at the time, drew the illustrations after having read the story, which started out as a two-part article for Rolling Stone magazine, drawing upon his previous Gonzo experiences with Thompson. The result is a virtuoso pairing of words and illustrations, which seem so well matched that Thompson (as Steadman has claimed in half-jest) sometimes gets credited as the illustrator. It is no wonder, as the illustrations seem as though they could onlyhave leapt from the same berserk mind that created the prose.
Steadman devotes only about 10 pages to Fear and Loathing, which seems a bit lean considering that book is arguably the keystone in the popular impression of Thompson and by extension, Steadman’s art. He also reveals the direct origin of the term Gonzo, as having been uttered in reference to Thompson’s derby piece by a fellow journalist, when Thompson was hard at work trying to write F&L.
Steadman somehow manages to be frank and bitter about his contribution to the Gonzo legend as it was cemented with Fear and Loathing, as is evinced by this somewhat ambiguous line.
“Since our lucky bull’s-eye in Kentucky, I was along for the ride, but I knew instinctively that my images, when I produced them, put Hunter’s words into a truly legitimate scenario.” pg. 68
Steadman reveals a barely perceptible jealousy about Thompson getting the spotlight; a jealousy that has undoubtedly mellowed over the years, and surely since his friends death. That jealousy would seem righteous on both a level of critical and monetary recognition. Steadman reveals that he was unfairly cut out of any but the most nominal royalties from the book. In a monetary sense, he profited nothing from the book that his art undoubtedly helped push into the popular mind. It is a minor miracle the two stayed friends, which may be more of a statement about Thompson’s magnetism and Steadman’s recognition that he needed Thompson, rather a statement on the strength of their friendship.
Steadman’s observations on Americans and American culture throughout the book are a treat and he makes the early 1970s seem eerily like the mid-2000s, with the U.S. mired in an unpopular war and with a president in office who seems to be losing support by the hour. He is perpetually in awe of what he views as a charmingly innocent vigor, and sometimes rudeness, displayed by Americans. His passage on the reasons for the popularity of football toward the end of the book is a piece of cultural anthropology which could take years and PhD’s to prove, but seems to ring true after having spent nearly 400 pages with the man.
Perhaps the most intriguing parts of the book are Steadman’s observations on Thompson’s personality and his friendship with the man. These reveal perhaps more about Steadman than Thompson, but present a side of Thompson which he himself rarely revealed, and which will always seem to be lost in the drugs, violence and insanity legend that will surround the man forever.
That side is of a gentle, highly-intelligent and gregarious man who emphatically refused to follow any drummer but his own, often at great monetary and emotional expense to others. Thompson could be cruel at times, as Steadman seems to attest, and Steadman even reveals serious doubts about their friendship which seem almost incongruous with the theme of the book; that the two were close friends and mutually respected one another.
“When I began [The Joke’s Over] I thought it was going to be a journey of pleasure and warm memories, but as I write I feel more the icy winds of rejection that were probably there from the beginning. There is a point at which nothing was ever worth the effort, nothing given and nothing taken away. My involvement was nothing more than my own ambition. Quite by chance I became a part of this man’s life, more as an infection than as a friend. I fooled myself that there was something in me that he found important.” pg. 144
This seems, however, to be a moment of sentimental self-pity, as Steadman relates dozens of anecdotes and memories shared with Thompson and his family that could only have happened among friends. Steadman, however, leaves no doubt that Thompson was a difficult man to understand and be close to. Steadman does leave us with one gem, one of the core elements of the Thompson persona, which perhaps we all know deep inside, but which Thompson articulates to Steadman in the final year or so of his life. He reveals his motivation for his errant behavior through the years and for his resistence to any authority, and the effect of fear on his psyche. Steadman slips this insight in as the book wanes, so that it could perhaps be missed. However, from one Thompson fanatic to any others who may be reading, it is worth reading the book for this revelation alone.
Steadman is a writer in his own right, and he sheds whatever light he can shed on one of the beloved characters of American letters, and will perhaps always be mentioned, if not in the same breath then a few breaths later, with Thompson. As time wears on, it is possible Steadman will be known solely for his collaborations with Thompson, but by that time, it is anyone’s guess. Steadman seems to understand and accept this as the tacit agreement of their professional and personal relationship, the line between the two, as with Thompson’s professional and personal lives, was ever blurry.
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