Vasco da Gama, episode #14 (or, “The (Un)making of Vasco”)

     Happy New Year, everybody.

     Good—that oughta hold you all for the next 364 days or so. If it sounds like I’m marking time with that one—well, marking time is a big part of what this episode of Vasco is about. Hot on the heels of the sitcom cliché of the Christmas episode, we opened a new calendar year (1994, I think…yeah, that sounds about right) with another cliché—the fake ‘making of’ episode. Looking back, I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to give the Vasco listeners (both of them, and their friend who sat through half an episode once when he was visiting one of them from out of town) a glimpse at how the actual show was put together, instead of something about the fictional “Vasco” sitcom that it revolves around.

     Now I can rectify that situation (somewhat). Here, in as much detail as I care to go into, and more than you care to read, is a breakdown of what went into the making of an episode of Vasco da Gama. The first thing that you need to know is that the show originally aired every other week, on Friday. Our studio time was on Wednesday evenings, starting at 7 PM; we used one week’s session to record the script, and the next to edit the vocals down, and add sound effects, music, and whatever else we needed to add.

     So far, so good. Here’s what our bi-weekly schedule looked like:

WEDNESDAY #1

7:00-8:30 PM—The Vasco team slowly filters into the studio. Sometime in here, a read-through of the script occurs. Or it doesn’t.

8:30-10:00 PM (generally speaking)—The episode is recorded, usually in sequence, with stops and starts for retakes. The frequency of stops and starts has little to do with whether there was a read-through of the script.

10:00 PM(ish)—Some of us go home; the rest of us decide to get an early start on the editing for next week.

10:10 PM(ish)—After listening to the first few minutes of what we’ve recorded, we decide to call it a night and make a fresh start on the editing next week. 

WEDNESDAY #2

7:00-9:00 PM—The group that had the studio booked before us is running late, or has just shown up, or needs to have something ready for first thing tomorrow, or something. Sometimes whoever’s in the studio hasn’t even booked it. It doesn’t matter: they can’t be budged, so off we all go to the pub downstairs until they’re gone.

9:30 PM (maybe)—We’ve given that other bunch an extra half an hour, just to be on the safe side. They’re finally gone, so the editing can begin.

9:45 PM—The first snafu of the editing session. As usual, it’s a doozy. Off to the pub again to clear our heads and figure out what to do about it.

10:30 PM—Empty glasses, a sense of guilt at leaving a job unfinished, and a sense of frustration at being given the cold shoulder (yet again) by cute servers at the pub sends us back into the studio to finish editing the vocals.

12:30 AM (on a good night)—The vocal tracks aren’t quite edited, but it’s almost last call. Back to the pub.

1:00 AM, 1:30…who knows at this point?—Back to the studio to finish the vocal editing. There’s only a minute or so of the show left. How long could that take?

3:45 AM—Well, now we know.

3:45 AM ‘til sometime after dawn—What goes on at this time is basically a blur. Sound effects get made, or recorded, or both, or something; music gets selected, and recorded, or edited, or something; more snafus happen; eventually, all of that, plus the vocals, gets mixed down into something. Whoever’s still awake by this point sleepwalks home to face a day that’s already half begun. Every now and then, one of us gets halfway home with the finished tape of the show before remembering that it has to be back at the station if it’s going to be broadcast.

     Guess making a fake “making of” was a better idea, after all. Anyway, now at least you know you’re better off by clicking on the link and listening to… 

 

Vasco da Gama, episode #14

 

 

 

 



Okay, Chrismuss is two days over already, so ya got no excuse fer not payin’ attenshun ta th’ real world again. I kin say that, cuz, as a fickshunal character, I get kinda tired’a all’a you so-call’d “real” people workin’ my side’a th’ street.

So here’s yer post-Chrismuss reality check, courtesy’a me, Sparky. I don’ hafta ask any’a ya if ya got one er two things fer Chrismuss that made ya wanna fly a squadron’a drones over th’ North Pole an’ carpet-bomb Santa outta bizness. It’s a sad fact’a life that th’ joys’a Chrismuss is inevitibbly tempurred by th’ despair’a getting crappy Chrismuss prezzunts. Th’ main problem is, whaddaya do with ‘em? A lot of ‘em’ll be given to ya by people ya like, an’ they may not necessarily join ya in watchin’ a rented steamroller flatten th’ rejects from yer Chrismuss gift pile in quite th’ festive spirit ya’d anticipated. Take it frum th’ voice of experience here.

So, as a public service, but mostly ‘cuz someone left a computer unguarded, I’m gonna give ya a few friendly hints an’ tips as ta whut ta do with and/or about whut Uncle Fun refers to as “Yuletide detritus”. I think that means “crappy gifts”, but I also heard him say it while we wuz watchin’ the 87,031st rerun’a It’s a Wonderful Life on TV, so it may have multiple connatashuns.

Anyway, here goes. Getcher pencils an’ papers whut’cha found under th’ tree instead’a sumpin’ funner, an’ prepare ta take notes:

• Most lit’rutt folks like me loves books, but not all of us gets th’ books we wants fer Chrismuss (did I see 101 Ways to Tunnel into Fort Knox and Out Again wit’ a bow an’ my name tag on it this year? No). Not all’a yer unwanted Chrismuss books is useful in a doorstop er a proppin’ up a table leg kinda way, either. Those are yer bathroom books. The right place fer th’ right thing, I say. Havin’ a book ya don’ really wanna read in th’ bathroom is extra incentive ta finish up an’ get on wit’ the rest’a yer day. An’, once they’ve outlived their usefulness, ya kin take ‘em ta other people’s bathrooms. Er public washrooms, even. Be civic-minded, I say—share th’ Chrismuss joy. B’sides, yer doin’ everyone a favour if th’ stall ya leave th’ book in runs outta paper.
• If someone gave ya a DVD that’cha ain’t so fond of, ya don’ hafta repurpose it as a coaster, er take up skeet shootin’ ta dispose of it. Jus’ put ‘er in, hit th’ mute button, crank up th’ play speed ta sumpin’ like 8 er 16 times fast, an’ have a infinutt loop’a “Yakety Sax” by Boots Randolph goin’ in th’ background. Trust me—ain’t no form’a entertainment so unentertainin’ that turnin’ it inta Benny Hill can’t make it at least a li’l better.
• Evrybuddy knows that Chrismuss is th’ time fer people ta pass off inedible foods as gifts. B’fore ya clog up th’ composter wit’ all those frootcakes, plum puddin’s, mince pies, an’ other globular blobs’a guck, why not see if mixin’ ‘em all tagether makes ‘em palatable? Th’ worst that kin happen is you’ll need ta add “new blender” ta yer Chrismuss wish list fer next year. 
• R’lated ta th’ food thing is ugly Chrismuss clothing. You know, th’ kind made’a all kinds’a clashy colours’a itchy wool that feels like it was sheared offa sheep who turned nudist, then took ta wearin’ overcoats made’a Brillo pads ta keep out th’ cold. Yer gonna git yer share of it, but ya kin cut yer losses by gettin’ a friend wit’ th’ prerekwissit skills ta knit it all up inta one monstrosity instead’a severull. If nothin’ else, ya’ll have a conversashun-starter when ya wear yer brand new Chrismuss scarf-an’-mittens-socks-an’-sweater-hat.
• Along wit’ puke-inducin’ food an’ rash-inducin’ woolens, Chrismuss is first an’ foremost a time fer fun novelty items. Th’ av’rage person gits approximittly 650,000 er so’a these in their stockin’ durin’ a lifetime’a Chrismusses. A lot of ‘em do make th’ effort’a unwrappin’ ‘em basick’ly worthwhile, but more of a share of ‘em than is fair wooden’a bin novel to a caveman, an’ have about as much fun to ‘em as getting a combination colonoscopy-an’-tax-audit. Whatcha wanna do with these is take a page outta th’ book’a a Germun named Kurt Schwitters (this is one book not ta leave inna public washroom). Get yerself a vat’a hot-melt glue, slap ‘em up on th’ walls’a yer house, an’ call it art. Better yet, glue ‘em up on the walls’a someone else’s house…on th’ outside. Friend er foe, it duzzent matter—ya don’ even haftya know ‘em. Nobuddy ever said life wuz gonna be fair ta them any more’n they did ta you an’ me. Mebbe this kinda objeck lesson will make one person take a cold sober second look at any Chrismuss novelty fun items b’fore they haul off an’ buy ‘em fer their next unsuspectin’ victim.

Well, there ya have it—that’s my after-Chrismuss prezzent ta you. Do with it whatcha want. I won’t be offended if ya rent a steamroller. Jus’ save me a good seat, is all I ask.

Sparky

 

Vasco da Gama, episode #13 (or, “Deep and crisp and Vasco”)

     Not every series has to do a Christmas episode. But, it’s a good way of getting an episode out of the way without having to spend too much time thinking up a plot for it. Basically, every Christmas episode of every series ever has something to do with The True Meaning of Christmas. The wonderful thing about The True Meaning of Christmas is that there are as many true meanings as there are people who want to tell you What It Is. For the participants in the first one, The True Meaning of Christmas was Affordable Family Accommodation with an En Suite Hayloft. I suppose I really could have cheated and let the Vasco gang pass a mike around and tell everybody what they thought The True Meaning of Christmas was, while I went down to the pub, but I guess I figured that writing something wouldn’t be as much of a hassle as editing all that chitchat down.

      So, the Christmas episode of Vasco is about The True Meaning of Christmas. This much you’ve figured out so far. And (no surprise to anyone), it means that Lovably Cynical Fictional Rob gets stuck with being the guy who has to Find the True Meaning of Christmas. Fortunately, that’s pretty easy, because, for L.C.F.R., The True Meaning of Christmas is pretty much like the true meaning of any other day—it’s all about finding a way to get away from other people and have some peace and quiet.

     The upshot of this is that Lovably Cynical Fictional Rob isn’t even in the final scene of the show. He’s found his peace and quiet. The rest of you are on your own. As for me, The True Meaning of Christmas seems to have something to do with making fun of everything to do with Christmas. I don’t know why it is, but when the coloured lights and tinsel start coming out, I get to feeling like a kid with an AK-47 in a shooting gallery. It’s has to be genetic. I’m pretty sure my baby daughter’s winding up for a right hook in her first picture with a mall Santa.

    That’s probably as much wrapping as this stocking stuffer needs. It’s Christmas, after all, and the best Christmas presents are always a surprise. I’ll let you get back to your families and your loved ones. Um, I mean, your loved ones and your families. Um…no…there is no good way of rearranging those words, is there? Says a lot about Christmas, really, when you think about it. Ah, humbug. Click on the link, already, and listen. Pour yourself a cup of eggnog. Then pour it down the drain, if you know what’s good for you.

Vasco da Gama, episode #13

 

 

 

 

 

P.S. One joke that I regret not working in to the Christmas shopping scene in this one was a crack about “A Mall and the Night Visitors”. Not that anybody would have got it—but, hey, it’s Christmas, so I deserve to give myself the cheap gift of a strained culture-vulture pun. Plus, it would have been better than the oblique reference I did make to the Gian Carlo Menotti opera in question.

 

 

 

 

 

     If you haven’t planned ahead for Christmas like Sparky has (“planned a head”? Get it? Oh, never mind), it’s still not too late to make up for lost time. this year, as always, the Uncle Fun and Sparky Holiday Clearing House and Discount Factory Outlet is the place to go for all your last-minute Christmas gift ideas. (It’s also the place to go if you want to buy a discount factory, but that’s another story.)

     Before we move on to this year’s hot holiday items, I’d like to put in a word for one of our newest suppliers, Bob’s Fine Wines and Small Engine Repair of Funsville. It’s a relatively new business, but one which is already garnering renown for their work on lawn mowers, mopeds, and rototillers, as well as their unique blends of the choicest vintages of Chardonnay, Moscato, and Valvoline. Bob tells me that there’s been a run on his own private label, Chateau Intake Manifold. Apparently, they can’t keep it on the shelves. That may have more to do with the quality of the carpentry in Bob’s storeroom than the quality of the wine, though.

     Now that I’ve swapped that cheap plug for a case of Venezuelan Riesling, on to some gifts that are sure to bring joyful exultation (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) to all those who receive them this Christmas. Here we go, then—On, Dasher! On, Dancer! On, Discounts! On, Bargains!

 -And, for starters, on the general principle that anyone who’d follow a star over hill and dale just to see a baby in a bale of hay isn’t exactly among the upper intelligentsia, we bring you Stooge Manger.

 

This charming nativity scene features all the usual cast of characters—and, front and centre as the Three Wise Men, Larry, Moe, and your choice of Curly, Shemp, Joe Besser, or Curly Joe DeRita.

-Those who prefer their cinema a little more on the intellectual side will appreciate our newest holiday goodie: Candy Citizen Kanes. Like the film that inspired them, they take a bit of getting used to—some people aren’t too keen on the whole idea of licking Orson Welles, and others are put off by the strong aftertaste of rosebud.

-Speaking of edibles…if you like Christmas, and you enjoy the wholesome goodness of frozen French fries, you’re sure to love Kringle Cut Potatoes. These tasty tater treats come in the shapes of all your favourite North Pole personages—elves, reindeer, Mrs. Claus, and of course, jolly old St. Nick himself. Heat up a batch on Christmas Eve; leave a plate of them out for Santa; make them for Christmas dinner; stuff the turkey with them. They’re a great after-Christmas snack, too—if you didn’t get all the presents you were hoping for, you can get even with Santa by biting his head off.

-A truly special holiday gift item designed by (and for) my darling M’Dear is Jiggle Bells. They’re like those tassels worn by exotic dancers, only…well, if you know what I’m talking about, you know what I’m talking about. If you don’t, ask a friend.

-Not everyone experiences the joy (?) of celebrating Christmas in a cold, snowy climate. Many of our fair-weather friends are also interested in conserving the planet’s precious natural resources. This Christmas, they can do both, thanks to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Rain Barrel.

 

Not only does it help you save up water for…well, whatever it is people save up water for, but Rudolph’s nose lights up when he’s full, to prevent wasteful overflow and spillage.

-Last but not least…(take a deep breath, Uncle Fun—you can make it through this)…Every year, we let Sparky design and test-market a new Christmas toy, and this year is no exception. Sparky’s been concerned about what he perceives to be a distinct lack of edge, or oomph, or what have you, in the traditional Christmas characters and stories. To counteract this, he’s come up with a brand new action figure. This, hot off the drawing board, is the concept sketch for Ebeneasyrider Scrooge.

 

     Hmm…maybe next year will be an exception.

     Merry Christmas to you and yours (and to somebody else’s as well, if you know them) from all of us (and then some),

Uncle Fun

P.S. If th’ Larry, Moe an’ Curly nativity scene goes over big this Chrismuss, next year I’m gonna do The Three Scrooges.

Sparky

 

 



Vasco da Gama, episode #12 (or, “Me, my stick, and my lion”)

     Here’s an early Christmas present for all of you—one of my favourite episodes of Vasco. This episode marks a turning point in the series—not since Episode #6 (“The Maltese Vasco”) had the writing flowed as well for me; this is the episode where I felt like I was finally in some kind of groove, a happy frame of mind which would allow me to braid as much freewheeling silliness as I damn well pleased into a basic (if flexible) structure.

     Make no mistake, this episode is SILLY. It makes no apologies for being silly. And it takes every opportunity to poke fun at how silly it is, thanks to Rob. This is really where I started to get a handle on how to write for Rob Vincent the character, and for Rob Vincent, the actor playing the character. Rob’s more than just a put-upon straight man in the Bud Abbott mould—he incorporates the real Rob’s appreciation of the absurd. Even while grumbling about what an utter waste of time and effort the latest absurdity is, he plays along with it, like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Like kitty’s facsimile rodent, the circumstances at hand aren’t likely to go anywhere, or offer any surprises, unless they’re given a bit of a nudge. Both Robs, real and fictional, know this; when the fictional Rob works best in Vasco, he’s a kibitzer at the crap table of life, making wry remarks on how obviously loaded the dice are, just to see how quickly it makes some sucker go bust trying to prove him wrong.  

     The game in this episode is one called “How to Get Away with Murder”. As in “The Maltese Vasco”, Rob shows up just when the bodies begin to drop. This time around, he’s stumbled into every British murder mystery cliché I could cram into a half-hour…well, I’m pretty sure they’re from British murder mysteries, anyway. Confession time: I like watching British murder mysteries, but I have a hard time staying awake through them. I have a knack of passing out sometime between when Suspect Number Three is introduced and Dead Body Number Two is discovered, and not waking up again until just before the closing credits. I’ve never figured out why this is. It could be that my subconscious latched onto the idea that the explanation you get right at the end of even the best British murder mystery makes the same amount of sense whether you’ve watched any of the rest of it or not. It’s also a fact (insofar as I’ve been able to tell before dozing off) that the victims in British murder mysteries always seem to have it coming. Maybe I find the prospect of the cream of British twitdom being bumped off one by one particularly soothing.

     There’s more to this episode than silly British voices (as if that isn’t enough right there) and Rob making a bid for the Commonwealth record for laconic sleuthing (Laconic? He makes Inspector Lewis look like Jerry Lewis). But that’s enough to go on for now. It is a murder mystery, after all…it wouldn’t do to spoil the suspense.

     I see you haven’t clicked on the link yet. Maybe that’s because I haven’t given it to you. So here it is, already:

Vasco da Gama, episode #12

     I’ll ditch the Master of Suspense act long enough to let you in on a secret about one of the sound effects you’re going to hear. We needed the sound of a basketball being dribbled and shot with an audible lack of expertise, and we needed the sound to sync up (more or less) with the dialogue we’d already recorded. Imagine my surprise to find that no such effect could be found in any catalogue of pre-recorded effects. Our solution was simplicity itself. Just beside the recording studio was (and still is) a poured-concrete stairwell with all the aesthetic charm of a Cold War-era Polish prison. Its lack of visual beauty was (and is) more than made up for by its acoustic properties. Put a microphone in the right place in this stairwell, and you can fake anything from Mammoth Cave to the Grand Canyon. We set the mike up to fake the echo of a school gymnasium, and, guided by the faith that just the right thing would appear because we now needed it to, went in search of the basketball that someone was sure to have left lying around a campus radio station in case someone should ever need to bounce it in a stairwell and record it for posterity.

     I should mention that it was about 3 AM at the time, so this line of thinking made perfect sense—and, if not exactly perfect sense, then at least no less sense than any other line of thinking we were likely to come up with on short notice. Because we were young then and our hearts were pure, our faith was rewarded with…a half-deflated volleyball. Not exactly what we were hoping for, but if Providence (or any other city in Rhode Island) sends you a half-deflated volleyball, even without a pump to blow it back up, at 3 AM, in a place where there shouldn’t be any volleyball at all, half-deflated or not, you don’t quibble—you just dribble.

     Child’s play, really. If only we’d had a child handy to do it for us. Chasing a half-deflated volleyball down three flights of stairs at 3 AM loses its charm after the third or fourth time.