In one of the classes where I’m a projectionist, they showed a documentary on Jack Kerouac. It included a few clips from this episode of William F. Buckley’s show “Firing Line”…
Honestly, I’ve got very little sympathy for Kerouac – showing up drunk for the show and blabbering on like he does is beyond unprofessional. But I can see why he’d need some insulation between himself and reality here. Every time Buckley opens his mouth and drones on in his smug, condescending voice… Well, if he were alive I’d want to slap him. As it is, I fight the urge to rent a back-hoe, dig him up and turn his blithering skull into a bathroom fixture.