Just like my first name is not really “Magic,” spelled “Majik,” and pronounced like a seductive French woman would say it, “MAA-zheek,” so too my last name is not really “Christian.”
“Majik (MAA-zheek) Christian” is just my “nom de plume,” as a seductive French woman would say.
“What’s with this seeming obsession with ‘a seductive French woman?’” you might ask.
Hold that thought, I’ll get there too . . . eventually.
Anyway, none of my younger readers know about “The Magic Christian,” a novel published in 1959 as a satire about America’s obsession with bigness, toughness, money, tv, guns, and sex, nor the 1969 film made from that book starring Ringo Starr, Peter Sellers, Raquel Welch, John Cleese, Graham Chapman, and Sir Richard Attenborough, with music written by Paul McCartney of the Beatles and performed by Badfinger, the band groomed by the Beatles and their Apple Records company to become “the next Beatles,” which they never did succeed in doing.
“WHO?” now ask the younger readers, basically anyone under 50 years of age.
“Oh, gawd,” I moan, “WHATEVER DO they teach in school these days?”
The premise of “The Magic Christian,” both in book and film, was that “Everyone has their price!”
To be honest, I never read the book, but I did see the movie as a young, impressionable youth, but all I remember from the movie was the scene in the end where a middle-aged Peter Sellers playing a multibillionaire takes Ringo Starr, his young adopted son whom he rescued from homeless poverty on the streets of swinging late 1960s London, into the hold of a luxury ocean liner that the billionaire built and on which the wealthiest and most privileged of the world debase themselves in cruel practical jokes the rich man plays on them while they all sail across the sea. The billionaire does this to show his heir that even the wealthiest and most normally genteel of people are as brutish and money grubbing as any poor, suffering wretch living in the world’s slums.
In the hold of the ocean liner are row upon row of topless beautiful young women all rowing the ship while chained to their oars like it was an ancient Greek or Roman slave galley. A young voluptuous Raquel Welch is the galley master attired in a kind of armored bikini and cracking a whip over her equally voluptuous slaves.
Quite frankly, I can barely remember even this scene very well. All I do remember are the breasts, row upon row of beautiful young women’s breasts.
And really . . . I can’t even visualize them now anymore. I think that all I have left upstairs is just the IDEA of breasts . . . and lots of them.
Did I mention that ALL men are bastards? We may as well include women now too, huh?
Are you starting to detect a theme here?
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