Dan Ackroyd stole my childhood sense of joy

The death of innocence as a child is a significant moment. I’m not talking the first loss of family, friends or even a pet. That’s a whole different part of your life being taken away. As unbearable as it is, it has grim inevitability, there is perhaps a degree of acceptance that this is the ultimate stake for living; it was going to happen one day, and this terrifying day tragedy struck.

No, I’m talking about a different kind of loss where something pure is ripped from your being. Where that essences that makes you, you is sullied, turning a certainty into a doubt, a steady rock into a slippery wave lapped rock in an ocean, as that what you loved is turned into something that leaves you cold. How can that bright burning light be extinguished?

Unfortunately, you come to learn some people have a policy of ‘leave no corpse interred lest it can make you a few bob’.

I lay the blame for this occurrence happening to me at the door of 3 people: Dan Ackroyd, George Lucas and James Lavelle. It may not actually be their fault at all as individuals (well, it’s definitely George Lucas’ fault, the CGI obsessed, tidy bearded, control freak), but modern living is all about finding someone to blame rather than reflect on your own shortcomings.

First, Ackroyd. Blues Brothers: This was a huge part of my childhood. I caught it one summer holiday night at the age of about 15 (back when the synapses still fired) and then preceded to watch it pretty much every night of that summer holiday whilst mainlining Nutella on toast, cos you know, you don’t need nutrition at 15.

Sure, watched through todays prisms it’s got more than a few flaws but at the time it had everything the 15-year-old me wanted; slapstick, great jokes, chaos, unheroic heroes who drank, cheated and smoked, quotable lines, kinetic energy, great music, Illinois Nazi’s getting what for, telling the story how the fuck it wanted to tell the story.

The sequel? OK, I’ll open up, I’ve never actually seen it (and unlike Michael Caine and Jaws 4, that policy hasn’t bought me a house). However, I am self-opinionated and gobshite enough to fully judge it anyway. I first heard they were making a sequel when my friend was reading the G2 in The Guardian and referenced it. The first reaction I (and probably everyone on the planet) had was “What the fuck?! That’s not even a possibility, right? Belushi is dead!”

I mean without John Belushi the Blues Brothers isn’t a thing surely? Surely?!

My confirmation that I didn’t need to see it was revealed when I had the misfortune to see the trailer, all the signs were there; the nun with a larger hitting stick, an even bigger car pile-up, larger song and dance set pieces. Yep, they were repeating the same jokes from the first film (mistaking making something bigger/noisier with having an actual original idea), a sure fire sign of an attempt to pull on the red and swollen udder of the cash cow once more to see what curdled milk is left in there. Clearly it has none of its own redeeming features or merits. And it had a fucking kid in it? Cos everyone who’d ever seen the Blues Brothers thought “It’s OK, but you know what its lacking? Some child doing stuff in it!”

Plus, it was a PG, yep that’s all the rough edges, the thing that gave it soul, smoothed off so they could get a greater demographic to see this homogeneous vanilla mass of turd.

To me, the film was DOA, and I don’t mean the awful film of a beat ‘em up video game about women in bikinis, that probably had artistic merits by comparison.

Let’s be honest, Ackroyd has form in this area - see Ghostbusters 2, or rather don’t.

And on to Star Wars, not the prequels and their collection of flaws (racist stereotypes, bad acting, awful leaden scripts, too much CGI (again), characters that make no sense being in the stories, the story about trade agreements you never knew you wanted, aaaand so on). No, I’m talking about the 1990s reissues of the originals with ‘improvements’.

I had Return of The Jedi recorded off the TV (about 1986 as you had to wait about 3 years for a popular film to make it to TV – kids ask your parents, or grandparents) with Bob Greaves, the continuity presenter (yes they used to pay people to sit and introduce what was on TV next, curse you automation, curse you!). This precious copy of mine even had the Samaritans number scroll across the bottom of the screen during the Jabba’s palace set piece. Those feeling lonely on Christmas Day, an alien concept to a child but all too real to an adult. Anyway this video got me through many a trough.

The problem with these reissued Star Wars films are myriad. George Lucas appeared to have discovered CGI and hadn’t heard the maxim ‘just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should’ and consequently gave the films a makeover which could be summed up with “give everything a quick coat of heavily slopped on CGI. And I mean e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g”. He seemed to be a film maker who had no feel for the things that gave these films any kind of wonder in the first place.

Consequently these 25 year old films look more dated than the near 40 plus year old ones. Lucas failed to appreciate a bit of rickety honest charm goes a long way when compared to some dead behind the eyes CGI creation. Give me a well made and masterfully controlled puppet any day of the week (as Rod Hull nearly called his biography).

Plus as the Honest Trailer rightly points out we lost the ‘Yub Nub’ song from the end of Return of the Jedi. And if that means nothing to you then good for you, you’ve not wasted your life.

So a film that gave me a dopamine hit by the time the credits came up every time as a child, became something that left me with absolutely nothing as a reaction. Cold. A stone. Star Wars has been consistent on this with its latest films and probably serves as an apt metaphor for life somewhere “We’ll wring every last drop of joy from you in the pursuit of wealth” or something.

James Lavelle: OK this is a bit unfair (unlike the arguments above which are considered and totally reasonable…). James Lavelle owned the Mowax label that gifted me Entroducing by DJ Shadow, an album that blew me away with its combination of beautiful melodies aligned to dark concussive beats. Also at that time I was heavily (and I mean heavily) into Radiohead (a love affair that has sustained to this day as they’ve never rested on their laurels, gone over old ground, sold out or added a shit ton of pointless CGI to their sound).

So, the news that Lavelle’s UNKLE was going to release an album that teamed up DJ Shadow and Radiohead (OK technically Thom Yorke, but the point stands)? This was the aural equivalent of nectar from the gods. My friend Gaz obtained a copy of this album and we stuck it on and listened to it in a friend’s cellar whilst playing pool. The album was average at best, we worked our way through underwhelming track after underwhelming track and then we got to track 11, the Thom Yoke Rabbit in Your Headlights number, this was it, the big moment, two Titans coming together to deliver your new favourite tonic, and you know what? It was competent. Serviceable. OK.

The worst thing music can be as far as I’m concerned is OK. Be annoying, be shit, at least you’re inspiring a reaction, but serviceable? What emotion did that ever inspire? You’ve got the Lighthouse Family and Phil Collins if you need that. And no one needs that. Unless you’re a serial killer.

I guess it’s a case of your heroes either die young and remain a hero or live long enough to create substandard output for the easy dollar. And sometimes even death doesn’t get you out of it, as various albums released from the grave and ghostly actors inserted into films (that’ll be Star Wars again) prove.

So, if I can offer one lesson, it’s this; don’t let your children near Dan Ackroyd any time after 1986.