The Pompatus of Love
After watching the pilot and second episode of Northern Exposure last night for the first time in a long while--They were broadcast 19 years ago! Ack!--I have come to the determination that Maurice Minnifield may be my favorite television character ever.
Barry Corbin's incredibly expressive face is one reason for my enjoyment, obviously, but it's also because the writers are so obviously having a blast creating a character who in some ways is definitely the bad guy, but in others is motivated by entirely reasonable--even admirable--goals.
Even more fun, of course, is how much fun they're having with the subtext and supertext, if you will, of Maurice's character.
In the second episode, radio station owner, local bigwig, and former astronaut Maurice hears DJ Chris in the Morning telling stories of Walt Whitman's homosexual themes, delivers a hilarious look of consternation, and is next seen throwing Chris through the radio station's plate glass window. It's a reaction that one would expect to be motivated by Puritanism, but Maurice claims it's something else: that he considers Whitman the nation's finest poet, and he does not like to see such heroic figures run down in public . Obviously, Maurice considers mention of Whitman's orientation to be a form of denigration, but it's at least a bit of a surprise to see him motivated by a desire to defend a poet's reputation, rather than a simple desire to quash all mention of homosexuality.
Then, just as we're ready to toss Maurice into the "simple bigot" category, the writers throw us another curve: bachelor Maurice, who brought a beauty queen to town and lost her to his best friend, is now the only person who can serve as announcer on his station, and he promptly begins serving up his favorite music: show tunes. In fact, the first cut he plays is from "Kiss Me, Kate." Yes, the one by Cole Porter, as he points out... and one almost has to assume that Maurice knows about Porter's sexuality perfectly well. Either that or there's a delicious bit of irony going on.
These are the first signs of many that Maurice may have a personal reason for not wanting a public figure's homosexuality to be discussed on the air. Over the next few seasons, we learn a few other things about Maurice: his arguments with his fellow astronauts about which musical was best (his choice: "The King and I")... his shoe fetish, which occasionally crops up even in his dream life... the strangely delicate and fussy furniture in his sprawling trophy-laden lodge... his immediate attraction to a big-boned pistol-packing sheriff's deputy... yes, by the end of the show's run, even though he's clearly sublimating his urges, there's definitely circumstantial evidence that Maurice is at least bisexual.
But what I love is that the issue doesn't ever become fodder for a big to-do. It's just a part of his character. He's not a stock villain, he's not a one-note hypocrite, he's not a stereotype. Maurice is COMFORTABLE being a show-tune-loving shoe fetishist, and if that puts him in a stereotyped category, well, hell, that's not his problem. But it's one of the character's (and the show's) great strengths that we can find him simultaneously sympathetic and offensive, both following and denying our stereotypes. He's a marvelous creation, and he gives the audience some interesting possibilities for theorizing. (And fics, no doubt.)
That's the subtext lying under Maurice. The supertext looming above him, however, is that the character is clearly based on a popular song:
Some people call me the space cowboy... Maurice is an ex-astronaut from Oklahoma who idolized John Wayne
Some call me the gangster of love... Maurice brought a trophy wife to town, only to lose her to his best friend, which has created a rivalry, but he still owns the radio station, the newspaper, and about 15,000 acres of land around town. He's the Original G.
Some people call me Maurice... obvious, isn't it?
