The Magic Christian

By Terry Southern

The New York Times–bestselling author’s cult classic skewers America’s obsession with money, fame, guns, and sex—“A satirical gem” (John Berendt). Guy Grand, an eccentric billionaire prankster, is rich enough to do whatever he likes. And what he likes is to carefully execute projects where he can cauterize by ridicule what the rest of the world ignores: complacency, greed, corruption, and idiocy. Determined to “make it hot for people,” Grand spends his billions staging a series of hilarious, sometimes bewildering stunts, lampooning along the way the American holy cows of money, status, power, beauty, media, and stardom. Concocting deliciously perverse mayhem, he throws a million one-hundred-dollar bills into an enormous vat of steaming offal, proving just what people will do for money, and he promotes a new silky shampoo that turns hair to wire and a deodorant that becomes a time-released stench-bomb. He inserts subliminally suggestive and perverse images into well-loved classic films, takes a howitzer on safari, and brings a panther to a kennel club dog show. His most elaborate adventure is an ultra-exclusive cruise aboard the S.S. Magic Christian, where elite passengers are treated to a series of madcap indignities.  The Magic Christian is a hilarious and savagely satiric view of American commercialism, rich in Southern’s deft handling of detail, dialogue, and delightful deviancy. This ebook features an illustrated biography of Terry Southern including rare photos and never-before-seen documents from the author’s estate.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Open Road Media
• Release date: May 3, 2011
• ISBN: 9781453217313

Terry Southern

Terry Southern (1924–1995) was an American author and screenwriter. His satirical novels—including the bestselling cult classics Candy (1958) and The Magic Christian (1959)—established Southern as one of the leading literary voices of the sixties. He was also nominated for Academy Awards for his screenplays of Dr. Strangelove (written with Stanley Kubrick and Peter George) and Easy Rider (written with Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper). His other books include Flash and Filigree (1958), Red-Dirt Marijuana and Other Tastes (1967), Blue Movie (1970), and Texas Summer (1991). In later years, he wrote for Saturday Night Live and lectured on screenwriting at New York University and Columbia University.

Book preview

The Magic Christian

Terry Southern

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TO HENRY AND DIG

Contents

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV

XVI

XVII

A Biography of Terry Southern

Although this book was basically shaped by certain events, and by values otherwise manifest, over the past few years, it is not, in any strict sense, a historical novel—and, more particularly, the characters within it are not to be identified with any actual persons, either living or dead.

Little man whip a big man every time if the little man’s in the right and keeps a’comin’.

Motto of The Texas Rangers

I

WHEN NOT TENDING New York holdings, Guy Grand was generally, as he expressed it, "on the go." He took cross-country trips by train: New York to Miami, Miami to Seattle—that sort of thing—always on a slow train, one that made frequent stops. Accommodation on these trains is limited, and though he did engage the best, Grand often had to be satisfied with a small compartment fitted with scarcely more than the essentials of comfort. But he accepted this cheerfully; and so today, on a summer afternoon at precisely 2:05, it was with buoyant step (considering his girth—for, at fifty-three now, he was rather stout) that he climbed aboard the first Pullman of the Portland Plougher, found his compartment, and began the pleasant routine of settling in for the long slow journey to New York. As was his habit, he immediately rang the porter to bring round a large bottle of Campari and a bottle of finely iced water; then he sat down at his desk to write business letters.

It was known that for any personal service Grand was inclined to tip generously, and because of this there were usually three or four porters loitering in the corridor nearby. They kept a sharp eye on the compartment door, in case Grand should signal some need or other; and, as the train pulled out of the station, they could hear him moving about inside, humming to himself, and shuffling papers to and fro on his desk. Before the train made its first stop, however, they would have to scurry, for Grand’s orders were that the porters should not be seen when he came out of his compartment; and he did come out, at every stop.

At the first of these stops, which was not long in occurring, Grand went quickly to the adjoining day coach and took a seat by the window. There he was able to lean out and observe the activity on the platform; he attracted little attention himself, resembling as he did, with his pleasant red face, any honest farmer.

From the train window one could see over and beyond the station the rest of the small New England town—motionless now in the summer afternoon, like a toy mausoleum—while all that seemed to live within the town was being skillfully whipped underground and funneled up again in swift urgency onto the station platform, where small square cartons were unloaded from a central car.

But amidst the confusion and haste on the platform there was one recognizable figure; this was the man who sold hotdogs from a box he carried strapped to his neck.

"They’re red hot!" he cried repeatedly, walking up and down parallel to the train and only a foot from it—while Grand, after a minute of general observation, focused all his attention on this person; and then, at exactly one minute before departure, he began his case with the hotdog-man.

Red hot! he shouted; and when the man reached the window, Grand eyed him shrewdly for a second, squinting, as though perhaps appraising his character, before asking, tight-lipped:

"How much?"

Twenty cents, the hotdog-man said hurriedly—for the train was about to pull out—. . . mustard and relish, they’re red hot!

Done! said Grand with a sober nod, and as the train actually began to move forward and the hotdog-man to walk rapidly in keeping abreast of the window, Guy Grand leaned out and handed him a five-hundred-dollar bill.

Break this? he asked tersely.

The hotdog-man, in trying to utilize all their remaining time, passed the hotdog to Grand and reached into his change pocket before having looked carefully at the bill—so that by the time he made out its denomination, he was running almost full tilt, grimacing oddly and shaking his head, trying to return the bill with one hand and recover the hotdog with the other. During their final second together, with the hotdog-man’s last overwhelming effort to reach his outstretched hand, Grand reached into his own coat pocket and took out a colorful plastic animal mask—today it was that of pig—which he quickly donned before beginning to gorge the hotdog through the mouth of the mask, at the same time reaching out frantically for the bill, yet managing somehow to keep it just beyond his fingers’ grasp, and continuing with this while the distance between them lengthened, hopelessly, until at last the hotdog-man stood exhausted on the end of the platform, still holding the five hundred, and staring after the vanishing train.

When Grand finally drew himself back from the window and doffed his pig mask, it was to face a middle-aged woman across the aisle who was twisted halfway around in her seat, observing Grand with a curiosity so intense that the instant of their eyes actually meeting did not seem to register with her. Then she coughed and glanced away—but irresistibly back again, as Guy Grand rose, all smiles, to leave the day coach, giving the woman a wink of affectionate conspiracy as he did.

Just having a laugh with that hot-frank vender, he explained. . . . no real harm done, surely.

He returned to his compartment then, where he sat at the desk sipping his Campari—a drink the color of raspberries, but bitter as gall—and speculating about the possible reactions of the hotdog-man.

Outside the compartment, even at the far end of the corridor, the idle porters could often hear his odd chortle as he stirred about inside.

By the time the train reached New York, Guy Grand had gone through this little performance four or five times, curious fellow.

II

OUT OF THE gray granite morass of Wall Street rises one building like a heron of fire, soaring up in blue-white astonishment—Number 18 Wall—a rocket of glass and blinding copper. It is the Grand Investment Building, perhaps the most contemporary business structure in our country, known in circles of high finance simply as Grand’s.

Offices of Grand’s are occupied by companies which deal in mutual funds—giant and fantastic corporations whose policies define the shape of nations.

August Guy Grand himself was a billionaire. He had 180 millions cash deposit in New York banks, and this ready capital was of course but a part of his gross holdings.

In the beginning, Grand’s associates, wealthy men themselves, saw nothing extraordinary about him; a reticent man of simple tastes, they thought, a man who had inherited most of his money and had preserved it through large safe investments in steel, rubber, and oil. What his associates managed to see in Grand was usually a reflection of their own dullness: a club member, a dinner guest, a possibility, a threat—a man whose holdings represented a prospect and a danger. But this was to do injustice to Grand’s private life, because his private life was atypical. For one thing, he was the last of the big spenders; and for another, he had a very unusual attitude towards people—he spent about ten million a

Reviews for The Magic Christian

[kyle84pendergraft · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Fantastic. I feel like a fool for not knowing Terry Southern’s work before, but I’m binging it now. Genius. He deserved a Mark Twain Award.

[beckyjg · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Guy Grand--"Grand" Guy Grand--is a billionaire, and the dubious protagonist of The Magic Christian, Terry Southern's satire of American culture. Grand Guy is a master of the elaborate, all-out, over-the-top practical joke, a mean-spirited prankster who believes that everyone has his price and who is willing to go any length (and pay any amount of money) to find that price. He thinks of this as "making it hot for people." Grand Guy's pranks can be ranked on a sliding scale. There is the relatively innocuous--say, offering thousands of dollars to a stranger on the street to eat Grand's parking ticket. There is the grotesque--building a giant vat on a busy Chicago street, filling it with manure and urine from the stockyards (heated, so as to literally "make it hot for people"), stirring in tens of thousands of dollars and posting a sign advertising free money, then sitting back to watch the fun. There are the behavioral--paying off actors in a live television drama to break away during a climactic scene, address the camera directly, then walk off stage, or paying off both parties in a boxing match--the Champ to take a fall in an excessively effeminate manner and his challenger to win in an effeminate manner as well. It's not always clear who or what Southern is sending up--boxing? the people who watch the sport? boxers? gays?--and the pranks are more likely to cause one to squirm uncomfortably than to laugh out loud. But Grand Guy's most expensive, most elaborate, most unfathomable prank is that which gives title to the book. The Magic Christian is a giant cruise ship which Guy Grand has purchased, refitted as the ultimate in luxury, taken out on her maiden voyage, then orchestrated to...well, one doesn't want to be a spoiler. Suffice to say, it's a voyage that doesn't end well. Although it's more bizarre than wonderful, more anxiety-producing than hilarious, still, Terry Southern gets the American psyche, both in 1959 when this book was published and possibly even more so now, in this age of Fear Factor and Survivor. The Magic Christian isn't as funny--and certainly not as delightful--as Candy, which Southern co-wrote with the poet Mason Hoffenberg. Still, it's worth a read. And, if you get the chance, check out the movie version, a truly bizarre experience. It stars Peter Sellers as Guy Grand, co-stars Ringo Starr as his adopted son Youngman Grand (a character created for the movie). The screenplay was co-written by Southern, and then re-written by Graham Chapman and John Cleese.

[enriquefreeque · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I adore this tiny book. Not because it's a great book (it isn't) but because it's impurely and simply a book comprised of pranks. Beautiful, elaborate, socially conscious, inspired pranks. Mostly lowbrow "Borat" style prank vignettes a la Monty Python, but intelligently, artfully executed nonetheless. "Punk'D" meets a strange stiff brew of "Airplane!" and "Dr. Strangelove". Absurd, often politically incorrect ridiculosities.As I earlier alluded, Southern's style in "The Magic Christian" is nothing to write home about. Which was okay for me since its plot equals pranks and nothing but pranks, and my resulting laughter, since I'm a silly arguably infantile sucker for pranks, overrode concerning myself too much with Southern's slack style. But I will say that if Pynchon were The Sun all pomo'ers revolve around, Southern, stylistically, would be inhabiting Pluto thereabouts (or mysterious Planet X maybe), assuming of course that David Foster Wallace inhabits Mercury; Don Delillo, Venus; Richard Powers, Mars; and so on and so forth. I'd never heard of Terry Southern until I saw his name dropped in a book review I don't recall, mentioning him alongside the usual pomo suspects inevitably referenced whenever the next great postmodern alleged masterpiece nears its long anticipated, overhyped release date, which typically and swiftly metastisizes into a pathetically sad day in the publishing world when all is said and done, a tragic day indeed, involving much unavoidable anti-climax. Not to name names, but The Brief & Wondrous Life of Oscar Who? To me it meant nada. In fact, I haven't personally experienced such an embarassing anti-climactic episode since my lovely, well intentioned wife suggested I try weening myself off Cialis. But I digress. Oops.So I saw what was for me at the time the unknown name of Terry Southern listed in the same paragraph with Thomas Pynchon in whatever bookreview that was, and think, wow(!), holy Shiiite Muslim, how can I not seek out a copy of "The Magic Christian"? And I'm glad I did. However, since the experience of reading the book differs little from sitting in a movie theatre and watching mostly funny comedy previews one right after the other, I'd hate to reveal the pranks here one by one and thus potentially spoil the best scenes. So go see it, er, read it. (Actually you could go see it I suppose, the film version starring one of cinema's master thespians, Ringo Starr). Find "The Magic Christian" used somewhere cheap. Plop down your buck fifty like I did, drive home, or bicycle (think green!) open the first page, and laugh your lowbrow ass off.

[princemuchao · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I had never read any of Terry Southern’s work, but heard that this was his masterpiece and since it looked to be a short, quick read, I picked it up. I’m glad that I did too – it should have been called The Magic Discordian.Guy Grand is a billionaire but, unlike most of his ilk, he likes using it to create chaos and disorder all around him with cruel practical jokes and ecentric pranks. No price is too high or degradation too low for Guy to pay somebody to partake in it. Simplistically, the book is about how money influences people.He purchases a New York ad agency so that he can install a pygmy dwarf as its president – and instructs him to act as erratically as he can:"An account executive, for example, might be entertaining an extremely important client in his own office, a little tete-a-tete of the very first seriousness… when the door would burst open and in would fly the president, scrambling across the room and under the desk, shrieking pure gibberish, and then he’d go out again, scuttling over the carpet, teeth and eyes blazing."'What in God’s name was that?' the client would ask, looking slowly about, his face pocked with a terrible frown."'Why that... that...' But the a.e. could not bring himself to tell, not after the first few times anyway. Evidently it was a matter of pride."Guy fills a vat full of feces and urine, then throws thousand dollar bills into it and stands back, waiting to see if anyone will go in after it. He subtly doctors film at a cinema he buys to totally change the meaning of the film. He pays a pair of boxers to act effeminate in the ring, resulting in The Champ cowering in the corner, shrieking like a little girl. These are just some of the more memorable pranks he pulls, and every one of them is as inventive and disruptive as these are.From a Discordian perspective, it’s hard to classify Guy. Is he the epitome of the capitalist pig who can throw around his money to satisfy his every whim? Is he an emissary of the Goddess sent to sow entropy and Disorder in the funniest possible way? Is he attacking the pretentious and the conspicuous consumer? Yes, yes, and yes. Depending on the part of the story you are at, you will be either disgusted, amazed, delighted or shocked at Guy’s hubris – but you will have a reaction. Because of its undisguised cruelty, it greatly resembles Toole’s Confederacy of Dunces in tone. This is not the kind of book you can read and then blithely ignore – you will remember some of the images Southern’s slim volume evokes for a long time.That is assuming, of course, that you have not seen the movie starring Peter Sellers, Ringo Star, Richard Attenborough, John Cleese, Christopher Lee, Roman Polanski, Yul Brynner and Raquel Welch. Somehow, I have managed to live my life without seeing it (this will soon be rectified) but according to the reviews on Amazon the movie is fairly close to the book.I can’t recommend The Magic Christian strongly enough. It is maddeningly short, but I doubt Terry Southern could have kept up the rate of hilarity and preposterousness he had achieved here for very much longer. It’s better to have a brief book where every chapter shines than a thick one padded with unnecessary and unfunny scenes to achieve a word count.