The Joke’s Over: Bruised Memories: Gonzo, Hunter S. Thompson and Me by Ralph Steadman
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I have to confess: I’ve never read anything by Hunter S. Thompson. I know his reputation, but have never read anything or seen any film involving him. But Ralph Steadman is one of my favorite artists of all time, which is why I wanted to read this. (His artwork on Bonny Doone wines and Flying Dog Brewery beer is enough to get me to buy it.)
It’s a fascinating read. It’s a memoir, not a biography. It’s all about the interaction between the two of them, not about Thompson’s (or Steadman’s) life, per se. From their first meeting to cover the Kentucky Derby in 1970 up to Thompson’s suicide in 1995 (and slightly beyond), Steadman is pretty candid about his feelings.
It wasn’t always a smooth relationship. I suppose that’s to be expected when dealing with a drug- and alcohol- crazed person, but still, the relationship seems to border on abuse more than once. Steadman swings between bittersweet nostalgia to bitter to sweet. Sort of a “can’t help but love the guy, but he’s a fucking bastard” sort of thing. On one level, it’s amazing the relationship lasted that long. Steadman seems to realize that he might not have had success, or at least as much success, as an artist without Thompson. He also seems to resent it, at least to a point. Which begs the question, would Thompson have had as much success without Steadman. I’m not sure there’s a definitive answer to that. Again, cautioning that I’ve never read any HST, they seem as inseparable as music and lyrics. Each can exist without the other, but the combination is much greater.
Steadman also rambles onto other subjects, but it seems to matter in context. One paragraph is particularly astute:
“When I first came to America at the beginning of the seventies I was charmed by a certain naive enthusiasm. I kept recordings from various radio stations to capture something of that naivete. Only thirty-five years later, a disease has rotted the very heart of America that doesn’t seem to want life and liberty anymore. America is ripe for lies and lethargy. The pure mountain air is gong and gone. It is a huge burden and a sadness for us all.”
This speaks to one of the (many) reasons Steadman has for why Thompson committed suicide. Going from wild and crazy, unbridled youth to its aftermath isn’t always a smooth transition.
A great read.
