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Posted by
SMAZ
on Fri Jan 3 18:49:09 2014
fiogf49gjkf0d The Narcissism of Boomer Nostalgia
By TERRY TEACHOUT - Wall St Journal
When the surviving members of the cast of "Monty Python's Flying Circus," which originally ran on the BBC between 1969 and 1974, recently announced plans to give their first public performances as a group since 1982, tickets for the opening-night show sold out in 431/2 seconds. It's not known whether the comedians will be doing any new material, but I doubt it. That's not why people come to this kind of event, after all. They come for much the same reason that they came to Broadway in 2005 to see Eric Idle's musical stage version of "Spamalot": to applaud their lost youth. Hence they don't want to see anything new, though they'll put up with it if absolutely necessary.
Most "Monty Python" fans are, of course, baby boomers, who have long been a nostalgic lot and are growing more so as they totter toward old age. Witness their tiresomely obsessive fascination with the popular television series of their youth. Likewise their undimmed passion for the rock music of the 1960s and '70s, which they still love so much that they'll buy expensive tickets to see wrinkled old codgers play it onstage.
As always with the boomers, this nostalgia contains more than a touch of narcissism. The same narcissism was on display in many of the countless gushy boomer-penned reminiscences occasioned by the 50th anniversary of the Kennedy assassination. An indisputably major historical event, to be sure, but there was also something decidedly creepy about the self-centered tone of those suddenly-my-world-changed pieces, which was deftly skewered by this Onion headline: "Area Man Can Remember Exactly Where He Was, What He Was Doing When He Assassinated John F. Kennedy. " Like everything else in the boomers' world, Kennedy's death turned out in the end to have been all about them.
I am, as it happens, a baby boomer, but not one who feels any broad-gauge nostalgia for the '60s and '70s. My attitude resembles that of my parents, who were born in the '20s and lived through the Great Depression and World War II. Both of them felt nostalgic about certain aspects of the culture of the '30s and '40s, but they never wallowed in it. Theirs was, you might say, a matter-of-fact nostalgia: They'd had too tough a time to feel any other way about their youth. And they grew up fast, too, because their generation had no other choice. Even in the most starry-eyed Hollywood romantic comedies of the period, actors who were then in their 20s and 30s typically looked and behaved at least a decade older, if not more (as did the supporting actors who played their parents).
Not surprisingly, my parents' generation did everything they could to make life easier for their own children. Was that good for us? I wonder. It certainly didn't do us any good from a cultural point of view. I'm struck by how few boomers have embraced adult culture in middle age. My impression is that they'd much rather watch sitcoms than read novels, go to the opera or listen to jazz. In large part they're a cohort of Peter Pans, determined not to grow up any more than they can help. Indeed, not a few of them seem to take a perverse kind of pride in their adolescent enthusiasms. I read the other day that a "Fat Albert and the Cosby Kids" lunch box from 1973 now sells for $1,200—and that the Smithsonian Institution's National Museum of American History owns one. I'm not quite sure which of those facts makes me sadder.
If I live long enough, I'll enjoy finding out how the millennials remember the world of their youth a quarter-century from now. Since they're having a much harder time earning a living than did their baby-boom parents, I wouldn't be at all surprised if their attitude ends up being much more like that of the wised-up kids of the Great Depression, especially as regards cultural matters. While I don't know whether they'll go in for late Beethoven by the time they reach their 50s, somehow I doubt that watching an ancient episode of "30 Rock" will cause them to recall with fondness the good old bad old days when they were living in crummy studio apartments—or their parents' basements.
As for the "Monty Python" reunion, John Cleese, who was born in 1939, well before America's postwar baby boom, made a special point of declaring that he wouldn't be performing his "silly walks" sketch. "I have an artificial knee and an artificial hip," he explained, "so there's no chance of that." Such, I regret to say, is the true voice of adulthood.
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