Hunchback is playing in Andalusia. I just saw it. And now that I’m living in New York City, naturally, I’ve become the know-it-all expert on just about everything, including the cinema. I love Disney and think that the humor of movies like Hunchback is more sophisticated than most of the films made in Hollywood.
Don’t y’all hate it when you’re reading a review of a movie and the stupid reviewer gives away the ending? Well, that’s what I’m going to do – so if you haven’t seen the movie or read the book, stop reading. I wouldn’t want to ruin it for you.
Disney has gotten a lot of criticism for the ending of The Hunchback of Notre Dame because it veers from the original literature somewhat. Okay, okay, so they absolutely butchered the thing. Nobody’s perfect. Besides, as Mark Twain said, “A classic is a book that everyone loves to talk about, but nobody reads.” Except for my sister- who actually read Hunchback in the original French. Ugh. So I guess Disney thought they might get away with it.
At first, I was pretty upset, but then I got to thinking about it. If Disney can rewrite classic literature, why can’t I? You see, I identify with ol’ Quasimodo. I know, I know, you’re probably wondering how the incredibly good-looking fella you see in the picture that runs with this column could possibly identify with The Hunchback of Note Dame. The real truth is that the above picture was taken by a professional model and I actually live in the bell tower of the Methodist Church and not really in New York City.
You see when I was a little boy, my family’s recreational vehicle stalled out in Andalusia on the way to the beaches. pity. Unfortunately for me, I got lost in the Shamrock and they drove off without me. Thus, I wandered the town until I came upon (insert dramatic sound effects) The United Methodist Church of Andalusia.
Luckily, the right reverend at the time took pity on my sorry self and agreed to throw me in the bell tower where lived for 20 years making little dolls out of peanut shells and watching daily life in Andalusia down below. Since John Wesley was a frugal sort of guy, there weren’t any gargoyles to talk about so I just hollered down to the folks driving by and threw shingles at the elementary school kids. I guess that’s how I got the reputation of a crazy. Go figure. But since Andalusia and the South, in general, are pretty tolerant of lunatics, they just let me be (musical number “Let me be”). Until one day when the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen came into town. Her name was Juanita, pronounced “Wahneeter.” She was Miss Alabama and was going to speak at the Rotary Club and the song “I’m Proud to be an American.”
I stole away from my sanctuary of the UMC’s bell tower to go to the Rotary Club meeting, where tragical- ly, Miss Alabama thought she was talking to a bunch of Kiwanians. Little did Juanita know that the Kiwanis and the Rotarians were better rivals. The crowd turned ugly, woofed down their chicken dinners, and then ran for their pitchforks. But I was faster. I swooped down, grabbed Miss Alabama, and threw her into the back of my “78 El Camino. We tore off for the Methodist Church with half the town in hot pursuit.
Juanita, the siren of the night, admired my peanut figures. I showed her the expansive bell tower. I chucked a couple of shingles over the bell tower that glimmered in the moonshine. Or maybe I glimmered in the moonshine. Ah well, you have enough moonshine, and nearly everything glimmers, That’s when I started talking to my friends at the golf clubs (every tragic Disney character needs inanimate friends that nobody else can see). There was Driver, Putter, and good ol’ PW (look for them soon in your favorite hamburger children’s meal).
Things were getting romantic up in the tower and just when PW was breaking into the final refrain of “Under da Tee” after singing “You ain’t ever had a friend like Tee.” the evil one showed up: Cruella de Opp. Years ago, she had been “Miss Goose Pond Colony” ” and lost the pageant to Juanita. Her flaming baton act was just no match for Juanita’s medley of patriotic songs.
Cruella had led the town to our secret hiding place. The villagers were hollering something awful and carry- ing torches. A terrible battle began. Juanita, Driver, Putter, PW, and I valiantly fought the attackers. Lemmie tells you, Juanita could slap chuck a golf ball. But they were just too much for us. Cruella de Opp began twirling her batons and set fire to the church. Juanita got bonked in the head by a nineteen and all looked lost. But fortunately, I had the good sense to call 911 and the fire department put out the church and sent everyone home. the fire chief, Gaston, gave Juanita mouth-to-mouth, which was odd since she hadn’t stopped breathing. They tore off on his fire truck and left me in the church.
And Andalusia, that’s the true story of how I became “Morgimodo,” in The Balding Fatso of the UMC. Coming soon to a theater near you.
—Morgan Murphy