Columnist John Katsilometes: Good old 'Bad News' days

John Katsilometes' column appears Tuesdays and Sundays. Reach him at 259-2327 or [email protected].

For anyone whose eyebrows arched, jaws dropped and spines curved during the movie "South Park -- Bigger, Longer and Uncut," I've got four words:

"The Bad News Bears."

Long ago young movie fans with fragile little minds descended on this crude comedy starring foul-mouthed, ill-mannered schoolkids.

Sound familiar? Every era has its Sign That The Apocalypse Is Upon Us. Today it's Kyle, Kenny, Stan and Cartman. Yesterday it was the Bears.

Unleashed in 1976, "The Bad News Bears" was the biting alternative to dopey Disney movies of that time, conveyor-belt offerings like "Freaky Friday," "The World's Greatest Athlete," "The Strongest Man in the World" and "The Apple Dumpling Gang." The careers of Tim Conway and Don Knotts were sustained by such movies, which live forever to provide embarrassing archival footage of Jodie Foster and Kurt Russell.

My theory is, all Disney comedies of the '70s were loosely linked by an indefinable plot line and were filmed as a single 80-hour movie, then cut into two-hour installments.

But "The Bad News Bears" was a radical departure. The film marked the first time a generation of kids (now in their 30s) observed illicit behavior by movie characters at or near our age. It was a closer depiction of the real world than something like "Gus," a slice-of-life tale about a football-kicking mule who makes it to the Super Bowl.

More than 20 years have passed since I've seen any of the three "Bad News Bears" movies, released in rapid succession in the late '70s, but I recall a few indelible images:

There was the rumpled coach, expertly played by Walter Matthau, who responded to every crisis by slurping a can of Coors.

There was the star pitcher, played by a young and smug Tatum O'Neal, as brash and snotty as any of the boys. There was a hood named Kelly, a chain-smoking Marlboro kid who impressed the Bears with his street smarts and Harley-Davidson.

By far the most obnoxious character was shrimpy Tanner Boyle, the team's designated piranha. Tanner swore more, spit more and sparked more skirmishes than any other Bear. He wasn't a good player, just a complete nuisance and an inspiration to every late-bloomer who wanted to kick at the shins of taller classmates. Tanner was Cartman before Cartman.

Both movies shatter the boundaries of innocent fun and good taste. Anyone too young or intolerant to appreciate salty satire should take a pass. The primary difference is "The Bad News Bears" relies less on profanity (it was rated PG) and more on risque episodes, such as underage Kelly commandeering a tricked-out '70s van and driving the tribe from Southern California to Houston.

"South Park," lucky to be rated R instead of NC-17, leans heavily on the jarring contradiction between its preschool animation and triple-X dialogue. But shock humor works only when you're caught unaware. Soon after its release everyone from an apoplectic Roger Ebert to giggling co-workers had related the film's most outrageous scenes.

By the time Satan hops into the sack with Saddam Hussein, the shock has worn off.

Twenty years from now the scamps from "South Park" will be long gone, if not forgotten, occupying the same dirty dugout as the Bears, still awaiting the Apocalypse.

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