Customer Reviews

The Joke's Over: Ralph Steadman on Hunter S. Thompson

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Ralph Steadman goes with HST like chalk with cheese. They were so different from one another but they collaborated together like a well oiled machine. Steadman speaks fondly for the good Dr. but he DOES stand up for himself because Hunter could take people for granted or could be demanding or selfish. Excellent book about two very different men that had one thing in common. They both understood the nature of *weird*.

In the world of fiction there exists a plethora of dynamic duos -- Batman and Robin, Sherlock Holmes and Watson, Timmy and Lassie, but in the more narrowly focused world of quasi-real fact-bending narrative, there stands one couple towering over the masses, Hunter S. Thompson and Ralph Steadman. Originally just a marketing moment for one artist to help illustrate an article for a crazed, rebellious writer on the upswing, what sprung from the meeting of these two wild minds left an impression on the American literary landscape for generations to come. Millions have already turned the legendary pages of Mr. Thompson, while others have memorized the famous drug-catalog listing monologue from the opening of the film, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, based on Thompson's most famous book of the same name. Yet, as with many famous duos, we are all used to hearing from the front man -Batman, Holmes, Timmy (Lassie was really never the big conversationalist), but now we get to see of those integral sidekicks step out into his own right and tell the world how things looked from his perspective, standing off to the right and half in the shadow of a highly intelligent, self-medicated madman.

The Joke's Over is a vicious eulogy to a carnivorous collaboration of passion, friendship and art. Dangerous at best, suicidal at worst. Getting connected with Thompson, Steadman found himself plugged into a self-propelled generator of creative energy, one that would steamroll over most other people, but he held on, gnashed his teeth in and went for the ride. The partnership shuttled back and forth between being a connected pair of best friends attempting to take over the world to a pair of artistic geniuses desperately trying not to tear each other's throats out. The ride through their friendship is terrifying, but the results they found are awe-inspiring.

When I first picked up the book I thought I was only in for more stories about Thompson's eccentricities and crazy drug binges, albeit from a closer perspective, but what I got was only partially that. The unexpected side of the story is hearing about Thompson's rage, paranoia and continued ability to try and destroy all the close relationships in his life. Being best friends with him is detailed out like a full-time job that only provides partial benefits, but when that one week of paid-vacation comes each year, it feels that much better due to the work you put in to get it. Steadman lists out numerous occasions when Thompson screamed at him, in person or via phone, fax and smoke signals, decrying proof he recently discovered showing that Steadman was only riding his coattails and subconsciously attempting to destroy the power of his literary ambrosia. But before you can feel our rage rising, decrying the treatment of someone who seems to be a soft-spoken, great friend, Steadman would share other messages, like olive branches across the deep, blue ocean that separated them:

[from Thompson to Steadman]

"...Keep in mind that I am always both ahead and behind you in the same moment (an eerie Truth that we both understood in our blood and which you have, in fact, explained more than once, in print...)"

As much as Steadman battled to understand and accept the tumultuous waves of their friendship, it seemed that Thompson himself struggled constantly not to burn the bridge that kept him connected to the real world and real people.

To be fair, even with the letters and reprinted faxes from Thompson, this is all from Steadman's perspective and it is his autobiography about those infamous years. At times he paints himself the humble hero, while others creates a much sadder picture of an artist beat down and abused by his muse. Far from the wordsmith that Thompson was, a fact Thompson constantly reminded him of, the book is enjoyable, but suffers from subconscious reminders of a more powerful writer. For true worshippers of Steadman's artwork, the book does raise its own value by detailing numerous other places beyond Thompson's books where you can find his maddening and wild imagery (personally, I am looking into buying Steadman's version of Alice in Wonderland. Now that should be a real trip down the rabbit hole.)