Completely over the top satire and parody of wealth - especially American wealth.

Guy Grand has enough money to waste, in lavish, over the top, foolish ways.

The book was funny in part, but mostly crass and ugly - part of the satire, but so far over the top, it was like satire of satire. ( )

This prankish satire was probably a little subversive when it was written in 1959, but some of the sting has been lost, now that all of American public life (mass media, business, professional sports, politics) feels like bad parody. Southern’s best pieces are still brilliant, though. A newspaper dispenses with editorials, comics, and ads and prints only facts, resulting in riots between aggrieved ethnic, religious and socio-economic factions. The bit with quizzical, gawking crowds surrounding a stranger smashing crackers with a sledgehammer is a dead-on metaphor for American culture.

Foolproof Golden Ale
Ithaca Flower Power IPA

Man, what a waste. This book was neither funny nor entertaining. It was like a cruel and unfunny Wodehouse. I'll stick with Bertie and Jeeves. ( )

Guy Grand--"Grand" Guy Grand--is a billionaire, and the dubious protagonist of The Magic Christian, Terry Southern's satire of American culture. Grand Guy is a master of the elaborate, all-out, over-the-top practical joke, a mean-spirited prankster who believes that everyone has his price and who is willing to go any length (and pay any amount of money) to find that price. He thinks of this as "making it hot for people."

Grand Guy's pranks can be ranked on a sliding scale. There is the relatively innocuous--say, offering thousands of dollars to a stranger on the street to eat Grand's parking ticket. There is the grotesque--building a giant vat on a busy Chicago street, filling it with manure and urine from the stockyards (heated, so as to literally "make it hot for people"), stirring in tens of thousands of dollars and posting a sign advertising free money, then sitting back to watch the fun. There are the behavioral--paying off actors in a live television drama to break away during a climactic scene, address the camera directly, then walk off stage, or paying off both parties in a boxing match--the Champ to take a fall in an excessively effeminate manner and his challenger to win in an effeminate manner as well. It's not always clear who or what Southern is sending up--boxing? the people who watch the sport? boxers? gays?--and the pranks are more likely to cause one to squirm uncomfortably than to laugh out loud.

But Grand Guy's most expensive, most elaborate, most unfathomable prank is that which gives title to the book. The Magic Christian is a giant cruise ship which Guy Grand has purchased, refitted as the ultimate in luxury, taken out on her maiden voyage, then orchestrated to...well, one doesn't want to be a spoiler. Suffice to say, it's a voyage that doesn't end well.

Although it's more bizarre than wonderful, more anxiety-producing than hilarious, still, Terry Southern gets the American psyche, both in 1959 when this book was published and possibly even more so now, in this age of Fear Factor and Survivor. The Magic Christian isn't as funny--and certainly not as delightful--as Candy, which Southern co-wrote with the poet Mason Hoffenberg. Still, it's worth a read. And, if you get the chance, check out the movie version, a truly bizarre experience. It stars Peter Sellers as Guy Grand, co-stars Ringo Starr as his adopted son Youngman Grand (a character created for the movie). The screenplay was co-written by Southern, and then re-written by Graham Chapman and John Cleese. ( )

I adore this tiny book. Not because it's a great book (it isn't) but because it's impurely and simply a book comprised of pranks. Beautiful, elaborate, socially conscious, inspired pranks. Mostly lowbrow Borat or Bruno style prank vignettes a la Monty Python, but intelligently, artfully executed nonetheless. It's Punk'D meets a strange, stiff brew of Airplane! and Dr. Strangelove: or, How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb. Absurd, often politically incorrect, ridiculosities. And funny I should mention Dr. Strangelove, as a certain Terry Southern co-wrote the screenplay.

As I earlier alluded, Southern's style in The Magic Christian is nothing to write home about. Which was okay for me since its plot equals pranks and nothing but pranks, and my resulting laughter, since I'm a silly, arguably infantile sucker for pranks, overrode concerning myself too much with Southern's slack style. But I will say that if Pynchon were The Sun all pomo'ers revolve around, Southern, stylistically, would be inhabiting Pluto thereabouts (or mysterious Planet X maybe), assuming of course that David Foster Wallace inhabits Mercury; Don Delillo, Venus; Richard Powers, Mars; and so on and so forth.

I'd never heard of Terry Southern until I saw his name dropped in a book review I don't recall, mentioning him alongside the usual pomo suspects inevitably referenced whenever the next great postmodern alleged masterpiece nears its long anticipated, over-hyped release date, which typically and swiftly metastisizes into a pathetically sad day in the publishing world when all is said and done, a tragic day indeed, involving much unavoidable anti-climax. Not to name names, but The Brief & Wondrous Life of Oscar Who? To me, it meant nada, muchas gracias. In fact, I haven't personally experienced such an embarassing anti-climactic episode since my lovely, well intentioned wife, suggested I try weening myself off Cialis. But I digress. Oops.

So, I saw what was for me at the time the unknown name of Terry Southern listed in the same paragraph with Thomas Pynchon in whatever book review that was, and think, wow(!), holy Shiiite Muslim, how can I not seek out a copy of The Magic Christian? And I'm glad I did. However, since the experience of reading the book differs little from sitting in a movie theatre and watching mostly funny comedy previews one right after the other, I'd hate to reveal the pranks here one by one and thus potentially spoil the best scenes. So, go see it, er, read it. (Actually you could go see it I suppose, the film version starring one of cinema's master thespians, Ringo Starr). Find The Magic Christian used somewhere cheap. Plop down your buck fifty like I did, drive home, or bicycle (think green!) open the first page, and laugh your lowbrow ass off. ( )