Theatrical Review of Dreams with Sharp Teeth

Harlan Ellison doesn’t care if you think he’s a mook.
Theatrical Review
By Christopher Long
FIRST ONLINE Aug 1, 2008

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When I first met Harlan Ellison at a Screenwriting convention, he had just plowed his car into a Mexican family. Fortunately, the Mexican family was also in a car and there were no injuries. The accident not only failed to rattle Harlan, but fired him up to conduct the most memorable workshop I have ever attended. Except that workshop isn´t the right word: "floor show" is the closest I can think of. Or maybe I should simply call it a performance, the best live performance of any kind that I have ever had the pleasure to watch. I literally had tears of laughter streaming down my face for the entire hour, and I don´t use the term "literally" to mean "figuratively" like too many people do.

For Harlan Ellison, however, the performance was quotidian. He´s been giving the same high-energy performance for the better part of five decades now, one that combines the art of writing and the art of living into a unified product that can only be called Harlan Ellison (his name is, appropriately, a registered trademark.)

I actually met Harlan Ellison the way most people do: through his writing. At a very dark time in my life, I picked up a short story collection called "Angry Candy" and my life was (here´s that word again) literally changed. Stories like "Paladin of the Lost Hour" and "The Function of Dream Sleep" were seared into my consciousness and led me on a path that wound past masterpieces like "The Whimper of Whipped Dogs," "Lonelyache" and "Adrift Just Off the Islets of Langerhans" as well as his most famous and re-printed works like "´Repent, Harlequin!´ Cried the Ticktock Man," "I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream," and the greatest short story I have ever read, "Jeffty is Five." Say this for the man: he sure has a knack for coming up with some great titles.

What speaks to me the most is Ellison´s work is his exploration of morality in a godless universe. He is an outspoken atheist but certainly no relativist. In a world without natural guiding principles, we must create our own. In Ellison´s universe, morality does not stem from a fear of eternal damnation but from the need for men and women to treat other well. We have to because nobody else is going to do the job for us. This sentiment is expressed beautifully and terrifyingly in "I Have No Mouth and I Must Scream" but also pervades much of his work. But let´s not overlook another appealing aspect of his writing: his sense of humor. Harlan is one damned funny son of a bitch. If you can read "Prince Myshkin, and Hold the Relish" without laughing, you´re probably dead. Or might as well be.

Ellison is one of the most decorated American writers of the 20th century, but the legend of Ellison the man exceeds that of the author. The story of how a little Jew from suburban Cleveland became a big shot writer in Hollywood and elsewhere has been told and retold so many times it is impossible to separate fact from fiction which, I believe, is just fine with Harlan.

When "Dreams with Sharp Teeth" opens, close friend Robin Williams grills Ellison about some of the legends surrounding him. Yes, he once mailed a dead gopher (fourth class, in the summer heat) to a publisher, but, no, he did not shove a fan down an elevator shaft. He once drove a dynamite truck and, even more daring, he once wrote an entire short story while sitting in a bookstore window in front of a crowd of gawkers. No wonder he has claimed that if he ever writes his autobiography it will be titled "Without A Net." Harlan Ellison simply never stops. He has spent his life violating the laws of thermodynamics in every possible orifice. And that´s why he makes for a perfect documentary subject.

Director Erik Nelson avoids a dry overview of Ellison´s career and wisely turns his dynamic subject loose in front of the camera. Ellison reads from his short stories, related anecdotes from his life, and launches into rants about the shortcomings of various members of his species. It doesn´t take much to work him into a state of high dudgeon. In Harlan´s words: "The two most common elements in the universe are hydrogen and stupidity."

Ninety minutes of pure Harlan would be more densely packed than a neutron star. Nelson alloys the splenetic performance with interviews from friends like Williams, Neil Gaiman and Peter David. We also get a brief overview of Ellison´s life from his youth in Paynesville, OH to his brief and unsuccessful stint in the Army to his early days as a writer and counter-culture figure in the 60s. There is relatively little archival footage but there are a few treats for fans, including appearances on the Tom Snyder show and a brief snippet from a 1970 college seminar. Most welcome of all is an all-too-brief tour of the fabled Ellison Wonderland, Harlan´s unique L.A. home which you can´t miss if you drive past it, believe me. Ellison is an obsessive collector of all kinds of memorabilia: he has so many books that he actually has collapsible library stack shelves built in his house. It´s something to behold.

Nelson began shooting this very low-budget documentary more than 20 years ago and gradually pieced together enough footage until he had the bones of a solid feature which he then fleshed out with archival footage and interviews. The film feels all of a single piece, united by the unflagging energy of its subject. A bold creative decision to provide animated backgrounds behind Ellison as he reads from his work pays off for the most part. It is not, however, the most visually pleasing documentary you will ever see.

Harlan Ellison has the natural arrogance of a supremely talented autodidact. He does not suffer fools easily, and from his tight-rope walker´s point of view there are an awful lot of fools down there (another Ellison quote: "You are not entitled to your opinion! You are entitled to an informed opinion.") His abrasive, unapologetic personality may alienate some viewers who don´t buy into his shtick. That´s OK. Harlan Ellison doesn´t care if you think he´s a mook. He wrote "Jeffty is Five" and you didn´t, bucko. What the hell more can you ask for? Tell me. Somebody please tell me.


8/10 on the DVDTown scale.


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