"Beast of Burden, Chapter 8: Try Walking a Mile with My Paws"

The following is an excerpt from my forthcoming memoir "BEAST OF BURDEN".
Available from Babylon Zoo Publishing in Q3 2025.

Rin Tin Tin pretends to answer his own fan mail.

Chapter 8 : "TRY WALKING A MILE WITH MY PAWS"

After getting everyone's souls back in the correct bodies I gave up my treasure hunting career, packed up my metaphorical bindle, and headed west to Hollywood to seek my fortune. Not the first, not the last, as I say. Seeking your fortune isn't exactly shooting fish in a barrel, of course. I needed to take the bull by the horns and find work to make ends meet. That's how I ended up behind the bar four nights a week at a dive called The Cat's Pajamas that had a reputation for being "where the real animals went". I thought this meant rowdy crowds and tough customers, and while there were those too, I learned that in this case "real animals" frequently meant real animals.

The Pajamas was an unassuming little place in the shadows of the major studio lots, and, in addition to handfuls of your average oddballs, all the animal actors--anyone who was anyone, as they say--came there to wet their beaks. In the first couple of weeks, I learned the ropes: the good and bad tippers, who gets a tab and who doesn't, but most of all to keep quiet as a mouse about what went on there. It was nothing illegal, mostly, but any gossip could be the straw that broke the camel's back for our clientele's careers.

Orangey the cat--who would go on to some acclaim with my help--spent some of their time as Minerva, their drag persona that performed at clandestine burlesque houses in the area. Morris--the 9Lives cat food spokescat, and not to be confused with Morris the alligator--were in a relationship, but no one could know about it. Rin Tin Tin--German shepherd immigrant turned bonafide movie star--had hired Jimmy the Crow--star of over a hundred films, and actually a raven--to help him respond to his mountains of fan mail, which at first I thought was a kindness, before learning he was working Jimmy like a dog, ironically, and for peanuts. I won't name names, but let's say a little bird told me that Rinty couldn't get his paws to stop shaking long enough to sign correspondence without at least a bottle of schnapps.

But it wasn't all monkey business. The lion's share of regulars were sweethearts. Terry--Toto from The Wizard of Oz--introduced himself to me on my first day to reassure me that any little people who came in and dropped his name could drink on his tab. He'd been paid three times what they were on that picture, knew that wasn't right, and was trying to pay it forward. Frances the Talking Mule did what made him famous: talking. A lot. Told me his whole story; about how he came over from Mexico and took the talkies by storm before being priced out by the competition at rival studios--like Mr. Ed, that scumbag (¹). Regardless, Francis and I became close and he invited me to a poker game with many of the aforementioned patrons and they came to like me too; I laughed easily, lost more than I won, kept the drinks flowing, and kept my mouth shut.

(¹) - My lawyers have advised me that I am to make it abundantly clear that Mr. Ed is only a scumbag in my own humble, personal opinion, and that I do not have, and I quote, "tons of dirt on him, enough to bury him deeper than a groundhog’s graveyard."

My brush with the silver screen came one day when some gopher from Paramount poked his head in saying Blake Edwards needed Orangey back on set for reshoots. Problem was, Orangey was well into their cups for the evening and in no condition to perform. Next thing I knew, I'm on the set of a big Hollywood production, hundreds of gallons of movie magic raining cats and dogs on me, soaking me to my skin. That's right, in the climactic rain scene of Breakfast at Tiffany's, any time Cat isn't in close-up? That's me.

Thus began my career standing-in and stunt-doubling for some of the most famous critters in Hollywood. I was busy as a beaver; very quickly in demand. Union rules limited the hours an animal performer could work in a given day, but as a human, they could work me like a rented mule. The Lone Ranger rode me off a bridge into a river; I pointed to that damnable well Timmy had fallen into; I shared the big screen with Johnny Weissmüller and Rex Harrison; I was riding high on the hog.

It couldn't last however. I blew out my hip which put me on the shelf for 8 months and limited what I was able to do, physically, thereafter. Worse, during my convalescence, Variety did a profile on me called "Beast of Burden" which unfortunately painted me as the leader of the pack for a wave of human actors bent on replacing animals in all films. I returned to The Pajamas as a black sheep. Most of my former poker buddies and more recently co-workers assumed I'd been a snake in the grass the whole time and they turned their backs on me.

I was heartbroken. With the benefit of hindsight, I'm ashamed to admit that instead of addressing the elephant in the room, I tucked my tail between my legs and headed back east like a bat out of Hell. I'll always think of those times, and those people, fondly, but clearly the cows had come home and that chapter of my life was finished.

Hunter is an author of some renown.
Just because you may not reknow who he is doesn't change that.
Facts is facts.

This piece originally ran in the MovieJawn Summer 2025 print zine, under the title Stunt Animal.
It is all 100% true. Like, so true that you don't even need to check. Why waste your time?

"Without memory, there can be no retribution" : POPCORN (1991) and How the Past Informs the Horror Genre

"Without Memory, There Can Be No Retribution" :
Popcorn (1991) and How the Past Informs the Horror Genre 

by "Doc" Hunter Bush, contributor and podcast czar

Popcorn (1991) is a love letter to the horror genre on both textual and metatextual levels. The plot involves an all night horror-thon, the setting is a classic movie house scheduled for demolition, and the killer utilizes movie magic to do his nasty work. But there’s a deeper appreciation for horror’s history on display as well.

Aspiring filmmaker Maggie (Jill Schoelen) and her pals put on the horror-thon to raise money for their high school film department. With the help of film historian Dr. Mnesyne (Ray Walston), they're screening three (fake) classic cult b-movies that all have their own gimmicks. The giant mutant bug attack film Mosquito is being presented in project-o-vision (which means a huge remote controlled mosquito on wires will fly out above the audience at key moments), something called The Stench presented in aroma-rama (where packets of powder are dissolved in water and the resulting scented fog is filtered into the theater), and The Amazing Electrified Man about a death row inmate who survives the electric chair, presented in shock-o-scope (where the theater seats are electrified in order to give shocks to the audience).

This being the Slashers issue of MovieJawn, there are obviously some murders afoot! A short film called Possessor is found mixed in with the film spools and gimmick materials, and screened shortly thereafter. The short is surreal, and bears resemblance to some spooky dreams Maggie has been having, and once the horror-thon kicks off, she begins to think that the man from Possessor is haunting the theater, killing her friends off one by one! The man operating the RC mosquito gets impaled on its huge proboscis; the guy operating the shock-o-scope board is tied to his seat and terminally zapped; one of the kids is locked in a bathroom stall and gassed with toxic aroma-rama pellets (why he doesn't just flush I'll never know) and the audience is in danger of meeting the same fate.

Popcorn taps into a reverence for the past that runs through a lot of the horror genre, while also paying homage to William Castle, one of the greatest carnies to ever work in film. Without going into too much detail, some of the gimmicks in this directly correlate to some of Castle's ideas to drum up audience interest. Look up Castle's films The House on Haunted Hill, The Tingler, 13 Ghosts, Macabre, Mr. Sardonicus, Homicidal, and probably others - and their associated promotional tricks, if you're unfamiliar. They're very fun. You'll thank me.

Beyond that, horror has a rich history of paying homage to what's come before. Things like meta-casting genre mainstays, naming characters after actors or directors from earlier eras, to giving small shout-outs within the films. For instance, there's a torn poster for Wes Craven's The Hills Have Eyes (1977) in the basement of the cabin in Sam Raimi's The Evil Dead (1981). Craven responded by having the character Glen (Johnny Depp) watching The Evil Dead on TV before being killed in an appropriately Evil Dead-y, messy fashion by Freddy Kruger in A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). Raimi then had a replica of Freddy's glove hanging above the doorway of the cabin in Evil Dead II (1987).

Sometimes these nods are shout outs, broadcasting a love and respect for an inspirational work. Sometimes they're call outs, telling audiences "If you thought that was scary, wait until you see this". Sometimes they hint at some shared horror DNA that audiences might not be instinctually aware of. In John Carpenter's Halloween (1978) for instance, the kids are watching The Thing From Another World (1951) on TV at one point, underlying the it-could-be-anyone paranoia of his film's masked killer.

By adopting parodies of William Castle -style gimmicks onto pastiches of '50s and '60s cheapie b-movies, the filmmakers are more than just tipping their hat to film history. Mosquito, The Amazing Electrified Man, and The Stench aren't purely wallpaper for the events of the film. The promotional gags and equipment are what is used to rack up the majority of the film's bodycount. Popcorn is saying in no uncertain terms, that these ideas, these genres, these concepts, though having fallen out of fashion, are still valid. Still vibrant. Still killers.

I've been a big fan of Popcorn since I first saw it (only a few years ago!) because, on top of being a fun and lively flick, I enthusiastically agree. Too many filmmakers seem to drop references in their work more as a sign of their own bona fides, designed to say more about how cool or knowledgable the filmmaker is than to say anything about the works they're nested into. But horror history is jam packed with great ideas worth interrogating, and concepts worth dragging into the light in front of new eyes. As Toby (Tom Villard) says in Popcorn: “Without memory, there can be no retribution”, which I interpret as horror’s version of “Those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it”. Someone has to show the audiences everything they’ve been missing.

"To God, there is no zero": THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN (1957) and social anxieties

To God, There is No Zero:
The Incredible Shrinking Man (1957) and the persistence of societal anxiety

by "Doc" Hunter Bush, contributor and Podcast Czar

1957's The Incredible Shrinking Man opens with Scott Carey (Grant Williams), an ostensibly normal American man, vacationing on a boat with his wife Louise (Randy Staurt). While Louise is below decks fetching beers, a strange radioactive mist passes, covering Scott in glitter. Six months later, Scott begins to notice that he is shrinking. Doctors initially disbelieve him - perhaps every time you've ever had your height taken before now was wrong? - before eventually subjecting him to a myriad of tests, ultimately deciding that the cloud was radioactive and, in conjunction with some otherwise harmless pesticides Scott had previously been exposed to, was to blame for his current condition.

Before long, Scott has become a public figure, being harassed to the degree that Louise reaches out to secure them an unlisted number. Trapped in his home, continually shrinking, Scott takes to living in a dollhouse until his cat Butch mistakes him for prey, driving Scott out of his to-scale home, eventually leaving him stranded in the basement. The final act of The Incredible Shrinking Man becomes akin to a John Carter of Mars story, with Scott in a harsh, barren landscape, scrounging for food, shelter, and a means to defend himself from the monstrous local fauna before the film ends on a shockingly philosophical note.

The screenplay was based on the Richard Matheson novel The Shrinking Man, Matheson having sold the rights to Universal on the condition that he be allowed to adapt it. The novel and screenplay both share Matheson's central concerns, involving post-WWII nuclear anxieties, and the redefining of masculinity in postwar suburban America. Matheson himself was struggling with what were seen as traditionally masculine concerns, notably providing for his family as a freelance writer.

These anxieties are as thoroughly ingrained into the film as the radiation & pesticide are into Scott. The mist is a tangible metaphor for fears about radioactivity, the fact that it comes along and interrupts not an ordinary day, but a blissful vacation day only calls these fears into sharper contrast. Once home and aware of his condition, Scott begins feeling increasingly emasculated. The fact that a doctor dismisses his medical concerns offhand at first - an all too common event for women, the elderly, bipoc, and plus-sized individuals - only adds a more current framework to Scott's emotional journey.

Scott eventually begins taking his frustrations out on Louise, a shockingly matter-of-fact dissection of toxic masculinity and another surprisingly modern lens through which to view aspects of the film: "Every day it was worse. Every day a little smaller, and every day I became more tyrannical, more monstrous in my domination of Louise." By the time Scott is small enough to inhabit a Barbie Dream House, he's snapping at Louise (in an amusingly tiny voice) about how loudly she speaks and how her footfalls shake his home. In other words: things she has very little control over.

The bittersweet turn of The Incredible Shrinking Man is that, after all that, Scott has passed beyond the desire for food. Smaller than he's ever been, he exits the basement by climbing out through a ventilation grate cover that he'd been too large to get through just a few hours earlier. He takes in the alien expanse of his back yard under moonlight and ruminates about the universe: "So close, the infinitesimal and the infinite. The unbelievably small and the inconceivably vast eventually meet like two ends of the same circle."

He has finally accepted that his size doesn't matter, he still exists and that very existence justifies itself. He matters just as much as anything else. It's a surprising tone to end the film on. Not because of the existentially terrifying concept of shrinking out of known existence, but because our hero, after enduring one indignity after another, after losing everything that was familiar to him, after all that he seems to find peace; acceptance.

There's something to be said for Matheson that he chose to end his screenplay addressing perhaps the greatest, most persistent hum of anxiety - death - with tranquility. It's a beautiful place, emotionally, to end an otherwise very tense tale. That final, untroubled note really drew the previous events into focus for me, calling Scott's fears and the film's underlying worries into greater relief (no pun intended), while also offering a little advice: You can't let your fears change you. Scott's penultimate line is the title of this piece, as I think it is the keystone to understanding this advice: "To God, there is no zero", followed by "I still exist!". Theism aside, God in this case represents the only opinion that matters. Why not let it be yours?

FILW Trios Championship recap (March 2023)

Flickering Image League Wrestling
Trios Tag Team Championship Match

Crimes of Passion pay-per-view recap

By Hunter Bush & Bryan Bierman

It was a result few wanted, but it’s the one we got.

Monsters Inc. have captured the FILW Trios Tag Titles from the grasping hands of The Three Amigos last night at the Crimes of Passion pay-per-view event in Mahoning, PA, after a hard-fought and bloody match. After largely being kept out of action on the ring apron, Nacho headed up a tenacious offense that rallied the crowd and his stable mates, but was ultimately outgunned by their hard-hitting opponents and pinned. Many in attendance voiced their displeasure and a rain of half-empty soda and nacho cheese cups fell upon the celebrating trio.

The FILW Trios Tag Championship belts had been held for 267 days by the Mega Mountain faction composed of Thunderlips, Rip Thomas, and Sean Armstrong. After claiming them at the Judgement Night ppv (Augusta, GA) in June 2022, the trio cut a bloody swath through the competition, frequently ending matches with their trademark three-man powerbomb, High Noon at Mega Mountain. Unfortunately, injuries suffered at the Tuff Turf ppv (Boston, MA) in the beginning of this year required the titles to be vacated. An eight team iron man elimination tournament was held at last month’s Rumble in the Bronx ppv (New York, NY), setting the card for last night’s match.

Monsters Inc. formed in 2022 when former singles wrestler Bonesaw McGraw joined the imposing but rarely dominant tag team of the Revolting Blob and Captain Insano, then known as Better Off Dead. Taking the name Monsters Inc., the injection of new blood revitalized and refocused the former BOD, and the trio actually challenged for the Trios belts but were soundly beaten by Mega Mountain. This led them down a dark path and every victory they have accrued since has been marred by underhanded tactics and copious cheating.

The Three Amigos had each individually been languishing on the singles circuit before forming as a surprise entry into the elimination bracket at Rumble in the Bronx. Randy the Ram was a near-superstar in the 1980s but a string of injuries and a spotty attendance record had robbed him of his glory in the intervening years. Jimmy King was much more recently a champion but hadn’t held a title since the 2000s. The lucha libre wrestler Nacho, a comparative newcomer, has quickly become a fan favorite but still hadn’t managed to make much headway as a singles competitor. Somehow, at Rumble in the Bronx, their multigenerational mix of styles and talents allowed them to persevere throughout the night and emerge as the favored team to take the titles.

Randy the Ram and Bonesaw opened last night’s match, drawing on their brief history in the mid-’90s at another promotion, the highlight being Randy delivering his signature Ram Jam diving headbutt from the top rope that sent Bonesaw into the opposite corner. Jimmy King and the Revolting Blob engaged in a decent if unremarkable stretch of technical wrestling before King failed to connect with his Crown maneuver (a double axe handle strike). Tagging in, Capt. Insano showed no mercy, opening up a can whoop-ass on King with his giant fists, leaving King bloodied and gassed in the center of the ring.

Bonesaw baited Randy to the top of the ramp and the Blob kept Nacho busy, pulling him down off of the ring apron and sitting on his head at the moment that King was able to rally enough to attempt the tag. Eventually the tag was made and the crowd popped to their feet. The David vs Goliath visual of Nacho squaring off against Insano, the smallest and largest of the six men respectively, is quite a sight. Nacho held his own, wearing Insano down and allowing King to catch his breath before the two men tagged and traded opponents, with Nacho diving majestically down on the Blob, still on the outside, and a bloodied, screaming King delivering the Crown to Insano.

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, but short-lived as Insano used his massive form to block the view of the referee while Bonesaw and Blob double teamed Nacho before dragging him and a badly battered Randy back into the ring and delivering their version of Mega Mountain’s triple powerbomb finisher. King ate the pin and the new Trios Champions were presented with their belts.

With Wrestlevania looming in the near future (June 6th, 6 PM at Philadelphia PA’s 2300 Arena; tickets still available), it’s interesting to see where things stand with the titles. Monsters Inc. ending the match with Mega Mountain’s finisher is an obvious taunt, and could lead to the former champions returning to reclaim their titles as underdogs. It’ll be interesting to see what, if anything happens with the Three Amigos. They’re obvious fan favorites but it’s unclear if they’ll even remain a team. I guess we’ll see at the Wild at Heart ppv in April (Missoula, MT; tickets still available).

_____________________________________________

This piece was written for MovieJawn, a fabulous site where you can find tons of other excellent movie-centric writings, a shop where you can subscribe to the quarterly physical zine, or listen to me on the  Hate Watch/Great Watch  podcast! Support the MovieJawn Patreon here!

_____________________________________________

 

The Triplets of Belleville

"The Triplets of Belleville"

By: Hunter Bush

I've been struggling to get my head into this article. I think the issue is that I have no really strong "take" on The Triplets of Belleville. I just really like it. In an era where far too much animation feels homogeneous, the idiosyncrasies in director Sylvain Chomet's caricatures are profoundly charming, the instances of computer-augmented images feel deliberate and carefully chosen. The story is similarly impressive, what with its unusual central character(s), concepts, style and overall POV, but it's all done is an offhand, non-showy way. It's just really very good. Isn't that enough?

The greater part of Triplets is hand drawn and Chomet's style of caricature is fairly unique to long-form animation. It reminds me a little of Bill Plympton's style, but cleaner and for the most part less cynical/satirical. There are critiques of encroaching modernity and American gluttony, but it feels less meanspirited. There are a few instances of computer generated objects (vehicles, the ocean, elaborate fly-overs) but it's the way I generally like CG: as an ingredient, not the whole meal.

As a director, Chomet is fascinated with turn of the previous century entertainment and culture. Triplets of Belleville opens with a musical number featuring representations of Django Reinhardt & Josephine Baker (among, I'm sure, others with whom I'm less familiar). He also has a segment in the live action film Paris, je t'aime  about mimes falling in love and in The Illusionist (2010) an entire animated feature based on an unproduced screenplay from Jacques Tati about how rock 'n' roll killed vaudeville-era stage magic. Chomet's films are largely dialogue-less, so his captivation with mime makes sense.

His films all also have genuine heart in an adult sense. They're emotionally engaged and nostalgic - making them just the slightest bit sad - and don't shy away from complicated bittersweet feelings. In Triplets, a grandmother has to care for her young grandson after his parents pass away and in an effort to connect with the boy, named Champion, sets him on his way to a world class athlete. Champion only has one photo of his parents, posed around their bicycles, so Grandma gets him a tricycle in the prologue. Once the current timeline of the film sets it, Champion has become a cyclist competing in the Tour du France.

What no one could know is that someone is kidnapping cyclists and transporting them to Belleville (a New York City stand-in) where they'll be doped up with an IV drip of wine and used as the lynchpin of an underground gambling ring. It's really something to see this sinister yet still humorous plan reveal itself because, the film being mostly wordless, you have to just allow it to unfold at its own pace. Chomet balances the admittedly dark subject matter - international kidnapping, doping, gambling, there's even gunplay and explosions - with with his strange character designs and genuine charm, plus Bruno, a very cute fat dog who's as devoted to rescuing Champion as Grandma is.

Grandma is very devoted btw. She's absolutely badass in her determination. Champion is her whole world - she's been his coach presumably since childhood, whistle training him, massaging his muscles, managing his diet, all to help him chase his dream and maintain that connection to his parents. So when Champion goes missing, Grandma uses Bruno's sense of smell to track him to the dock and then rents a paddle boat (20 minute time limit!) and gives chase by *paddling across the ocean* to Belleville and resuming her search! I love Grandma. Watching her cresting the rocky waves in the middle of an ocean storm, Bruno sliding around the small boat's deck, I was smiling and cheering with tears in my eyes. It's just lovely.

But how unusual is it to have an animated film whose main character is not just female but, conservatively sexagenarian? On top of that, as I said, she's a genuine heroine. In fact, Bruno aside, the rescue party is ultimately made up entirely of old women who it cannot be understated, absolutely hilariously decimate the organized crime syndicate in a hilarious and spectacular low-speed chase in the film's finale.

The movie ends on an emotionally ambiguous note, with a now much older Champion seeming to watch the climax of the film on television at which time he remembers a few of the film's scant lines of dialogue; an exchange from his childhood that apparently translates to

"Is that it? Is it over do you think? What have you got to say to Grandma?"
"Yes I think that's probably it. It's over, Grandma."

It's bittersweet, nostalgic - making it just the slightest bit sad -, and just  really very good. Isn't that enough?

--------------------------------------------------------------

This piece was written for inclusion in the MovieJawn zine, a fabulous publication from a fabulous site where you can find tons of other excellent movie-centric writings, a shop where you can subscribe to the quarterly physical zine, or listen to me on the  Hate Watch / Great Watch  podcast! Support the MovieJawn Patreon here!

--------------------------------------------------------------

You can follow me on twitter, instagram or letterboxd.