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Red Lobster, White Trash, & the Blue Lagoon: Joe Queenan's America (1998)

by Joe Queenan

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298887,366 (3.41)8
For fourteen years, critic Joe Queenan walked past the Winter Garden Theater in New York City without once even dreaming of venturing inside to see Cats. One fateful afternoon in March 1996, however, having grown weary of his hopelessly elitist lifestyle, he decided to buy a half-price ticket and check out Andrew Lloyd Webber's record-breaking juggernaut. No, he did not expect the musical to be any good, but surely there were limits to how bad it could be. Here, Queenan was tragically mistaken. Cats, what Grease would look like if all the cast members were dressed up like KISS, was infinitely more idiotic than he had ever imagined. Yet now the Rubicon had been crossed. Queenan had involuntarily launched himself on a harrowing personal oddyssey: an 18-month descent into the abyss of American popular culture. At first, Queenan found things to be every bit as atrocious as he expected. John Tesh defiling the temple of Carnegie Hall reminded him of Adolf Hitler goose-stepping in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The Celestine Prophecy and The Horse Whisperer proved to be prodigiously cretinous. And the sight of senior citizens forking over their hard-earned nickels and dimes to watch Joe Pesci in Gone Fishin' so moved Queenan that he began standing outside the theater issuing refunds to exiting patrons. But then something strange happened. Queenan started enjoying Barry Manilow concerts. He went to see Julie Andrews and Liza Minnelli and Raquel Welch in Victor/Victoria. He said nice things about Larry King and Charles Grodin in his weekly TV Guide column. He spent hours planted in front of the television, transfixed by special, two-hour episodes of Walker: Texas Ranger. He actually ordered the dreaded zuppa toscana at the Olive Garden. Most frightening of all, he shook hands with Geraldo Rivera. How Queenan finally escaped from the cultural Hot Zone and returned to civilization is an epic tale as heart-warming, awe-inspiring, and life-affirming as Robinson Crusoe, The Adventures of Marco Polo, Gulliver's Travels, and Swiss Family Robinson. Well, almost.… (more)
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Showing 1-5 of 8 (next | show all)
A funny book, but dated. Probably just my age but it induced more nostalgia than hilarity. The narration of his trip to Branson, Missouri was the best - "Bayreuth for bozos", indeed. ( )
  dhaxton | Apr 19, 2023 |
One man's very funny journey through the pop culture morass. Queenan takes us through the wasteland of Red Lobster, Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals, Billy Joel concerts, mediocre movies, and the like.

It's a cynical, fun ride through middle-America's taste for mediocrity. (That sounded snobbish, didn't it? I confess to having attended quite a few Billy Joel concerts in my life, and we've been to Red Lobster more than once - there...that's better. I'm a resident of Podunk too...) ( )
  TommyHousworth | Feb 5, 2022 |
critic immerses self in pop culture and finds most of it as scholcky as he expects, but oddly compelling
  ritaer | Jun 8, 2021 |
When I started reading "America: Red lobster, white trash and blue lagoon" I did not possibly think that Joe Queenan would be praising Barry Manilow. But here we are.

Queenan decides to experience first hand the worst in entertainment America has to offer, and goes into great detail his experiences, good, bad and horrendous, with each foray into suckiness. In addition to praising the aforementioned Manilow, Queenan gets stuck into Racquel Welch, mafia weddings and John Tesh, often hilariously. ( )
  MiaCulpa | Mar 20, 2018 |
Hilarious cultural critique from Queenan. I love his snark, but find that it gets a bit thin by the last half of the book.

Perfect for elitist snob-heads like me, though. ( )
  satyridae | Apr 5, 2013 |
Showing 1-5 of 8 (next | show all)
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To my father
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When I was coming of age in the late 1960s, most of my generation was involved in a heroic effort to depose Bob Hope, John Wayne, Lawrence Welk, Sammy Davis, Jr., and all the other cultural icons who ruled American society with an iron fist.
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For fourteen years, critic Joe Queenan walked past the Winter Garden Theater in New York City without once even dreaming of venturing inside to see Cats. One fateful afternoon in March 1996, however, having grown weary of his hopelessly elitist lifestyle, he decided to buy a half-price ticket and check out Andrew Lloyd Webber's record-breaking juggernaut. No, he did not expect the musical to be any good, but surely there were limits to how bad it could be. Here, Queenan was tragically mistaken. Cats, what Grease would look like if all the cast members were dressed up like KISS, was infinitely more idiotic than he had ever imagined. Yet now the Rubicon had been crossed. Queenan had involuntarily launched himself on a harrowing personal oddyssey: an 18-month descent into the abyss of American popular culture. At first, Queenan found things to be every bit as atrocious as he expected. John Tesh defiling the temple of Carnegie Hall reminded him of Adolf Hitler goose-stepping in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. The Celestine Prophecy and The Horse Whisperer proved to be prodigiously cretinous. And the sight of senior citizens forking over their hard-earned nickels and dimes to watch Joe Pesci in Gone Fishin' so moved Queenan that he began standing outside the theater issuing refunds to exiting patrons. But then something strange happened. Queenan started enjoying Barry Manilow concerts. He went to see Julie Andrews and Liza Minnelli and Raquel Welch in Victor/Victoria. He said nice things about Larry King and Charles Grodin in his weekly TV Guide column. He spent hours planted in front of the television, transfixed by special, two-hour episodes of Walker: Texas Ranger. He actually ordered the dreaded zuppa toscana at the Olive Garden. Most frightening of all, he shook hands with Geraldo Rivera. How Queenan finally escaped from the cultural Hot Zone and returned to civilization is an epic tale as heart-warming, awe-inspiring, and life-affirming as Robinson Crusoe, The Adventures of Marco Polo, Gulliver's Travels, and Swiss Family Robinson. Well, almost.

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