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CINEMA SEEN - "Papa 'Bares' All!" By William Margold And so it was Labor Day, 2005. And there was a film playing that I had been saving for the holiday, which besides needing to be reviewed, was essentially a family (blood and soul) duty for me to see---GRIZZLY MAN (Lions Gate Films)---for I am known in many circles (and some squares) as “Papa Bear.” What a truly un-“bear”-able experience! Werner Herzog’s tragically dull documentary about Timothy Treadwell, who stayed TOO long among the bears in Alaska’s Katmai National Park, and wound up (with his girlfriend) becoming meals for one of the furr-ocious, simply proves that some of life’s paths are foolishly chosen, and can, in fact, become “dead ends.” And now, with my responsibility to Cinema Seen handled, I would like to relate some of my own adventures with assorted bears. (To illustrate this very special page, I’ve managed to gather a collection of shots that reflect some of my involvements with bears of all sizes and shapes. The regular sized teddy bear is the legendary Mr. Stubbs, who was given to me by my dear departed friend and writing partner Mark Weiss back in 1983, and who, just for the fun of mocking the establishment---under B. Stubbs--- used to have his own phone number.) From the bears who were delighted to see me in the San Diego zoo (1960), to making a couple of Pandas wake up and do a few tricks at the Washington D.C. zoo (1882), to the grand old fellow who conveyed to me that he wasn’t feeling very good in the San Francisco zoo (1983), and from hugging a pretty big one in the old Hustler Studio parking lot in Culver City (1979), to being bitten by a pretty small one in my office (1984), to the silver one that I’ve worn around my neck since Viper gave it to me in 1986, and the fact that a teddy bear is the symbol of Protecting Adult Welfare (http://www.pawfoundation.org), there has been a symbiosis between the cuddly and not-so-cuddly creatures and me for well over four decades that truly needs to be “bared.” It all began innocently during my first visit to the glorious San Diego zoo in 1960. As I stood looking at the Brown bears wandering restlessly about their concrete confines, a zookeeper sensed that I would be a perfect person for him to show how to make the bears “do some tricks.” This, of course, was back in the day when you could “feed the animals.” With some quickly learned gesticulations, which the perpetually hungry bears had no trouble seeing, I could induce them to “show their paws,” “roll over” and even “rear up.” And for each action, of course, they would be rewarded with a piece of white bread. ‘They trust you,” the zookeeper said. And that was all I needed to start padding down a road to becoming the Ultimate Ursine. Disappointed that the Pandas were sleeping when I arrived at their cage in Washington D.C., I stamped my feet hard enough to annoy them just enough so that they stumbled groggily forth and tumble about while the quickly forming crowd “ohh’d and “ahh’d.” The bear in San Francisco had seen many, many, MANY better days. I told his keeper that he expressed, through sorrow-filled eyes, that he was unhappy. A few weeks later, I received a letter advising me that the bear had passed away…”peacefully.” The Brown bear I met in Hustler’s parking lot was well over 200 pounds. He had been raised with a Lion who was posing with a naked lady inside the studio. We exchanged paw pats, made similar noises, and I was given a chance to hug him, which resulted in destroying my shirt and pants, because bears are sort of oily. And they really smell don’t all that good, either. But my true moment of joy came on May 28, 1984, when Drea, who made interesting bear noises when we “rolled around”---arranged for a cub to be brought to my office at 6912 Hollywood Blvd as a present---in honor of our second wedding anniversary. (For the record, we separated well before out third anniversary.) For over an hour, the cub and I “rolled around” on the floor, and communicated…on many levels. Then I fed him a bottle of food, he grunted, burped, and went to sleep. Realizing that my time with him was growing short, I proceeded to nip him on the nose. He awoke, with the fire of our ancestors blazing in his excited eyes, and instinctually returned the display of affection…on the corner of my chin…ripping right through my skin…creating a sound of teeth grazing bone…that’ll I’ll never forget…and that thrilled me beyond almost any other single moment of my entire life. Only thing is, while I do have what I refer to as “my bear-inflicted Heidelberg scar”---I thought the whole adventure was a great deal gorier. Perhaps Master Herzog should make a documentary about me, and it could end with the cub tearing my head off. end NOTE: Originally published in LA Xpress, October 6, 2005 issue. |