Hard to say what the source of the particular power of Rebney’s rant is. Somehow, the mixture of frustrated anger and self deprecation, contrasting with the mindless task of praising a Winnebago – itself the perfect image of a thwarted desire to escape, of resistance domesticated – rises above the heat, the flies and the adversities of the daily grind, and manages to inspire.
Rebney’s story, which the documentary Winnebago Man set out to find and tell, is one of media transition, first from the austere news machine of the middle of the 20th century into the entertainment complex of its end, then on into the fragmented world of me-media. Rebney, a veteran of CBS, does Winnebago spots to escape the Stahlbad of entertainment, and then finds himself being the viral harbinger of the next wave, before the term viral has even been coined. He finally understands that he is not used as a distraction, when he first faces his audience in San Francisco, in a sequence that is both tense and moving.
The movie’s premiere last Friday was supported by the presence of Michael Moore and Jeff Garlin, who threw the audience a bone by claiming that Curb Your Enthusiasm’s very concept was inspired by Rebney’s outbreaks. But the biggest thrill was seeing the man himself, pushing 80, kneeling down in the hope for a publishing deal, increasing the punishment on Bush Jr. from a hot poker up his ass to “being hanged like Goering”, flirting with the ladies, and just being a complete fucking delight.
A little earlier, during the movie, my mood was dampened a little, when Rebney and Steinbauer walk into Golden Gate park, and a sudden wave of melancholy sadness washed over me: I used to live there. I don’t any more. In fact, most of the things I love are in the past and far away. I’m old. Boo hoo. But then that made me angry, and I gave myself a clue from Jack’s book: I don’t want any more sentimental bullshit anytime during this post, from anyone, and that includes me.
There. Now go, see the movie.