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thehefnerThe goal of this day--and one of the main goals over this entire route--was Hearst Castle in San Simeon, CA. A place much-touted for its awesome power and beauty, a testament to one of the great capitalists of the 20th Century.
Like so many, I bought into the old CITIZEN KANE story that newspaper-emperor William Randolph Hearst built this mansion for his beloved young movie star girlfriend, who still ended up rejecting him.
Nope, it's a total myth. He built another house near L.A. for her, but not the so-called "Castle." He just built it because he was a rich fuck who wanted to build a huge fucking place to roll around in his filthy lucre and surround himself with antiques and zebras. Seriously, he had the largest private zoo at the time, and the descendants of some of those animals, including zebras, still roam the grounds. Rich fucking zebras.
(man, I want my mansion to have marble statues of naked Clara Bow)
Of course, even if the sordid popular myth were the truth, I wouldn't have heard it from anybody there. Put it to you this way: after the tour, they show you a 40-minute film called "Hearst Castle: Building the Dream." The film opened with a close-up of Hearst's eyeball from a photograph with a slow pulling out, while a kindly narrator mused, "William Randolph Hearst. A name that instantly provokes many responses. But who was William Randolph Hearst? A lot's been written about him. Some, by people who knew him. Most, by those who didn't. But if you were to ask Mister Hearst what he'd call himself... *folksy chuckle* well, he might well say... 'builder."
Clearly, the Hearst family is fiercely keen on image, so there's not a single mention of KANE, nor the megalomania that inspired it (which, by most accounts, the film understated). No, this William Randolph Hearst was a kindly man with big dreams, whose life ambition to was to build this house as a noble achievement and loving testament to his parents, rather than a rich old fuck who wanted yet another playground to wow his also-rich guests. The whole thing was such a whitewash as to be almost hilarious. Almost.
Really, I'm sorry to sound bitter, but the more fake I realized it all was, the more devoid of any humanity there was in this kind of a human being, the more the tour guide described all the pointless excess that went into constructing such a place, I finally started to understand why a certain anarchist ladyfriend of mine isn't joking at all when she seethes, "Eat the rich!"
I mean, just look at this shit, man. What the hell?
Admittedly, the bland-yet-jarring Christmas decorations didn't do the atmosphere any favors, but still...
I just... I just wanted to go back in time and punch William Randolph Hearst in the face.
Just look at that terrifying mug. I bet a dozen infants around the world instantly died every single time he smiled.
The whole tour cost twenty bucks, but that's just the introductory tour. They offered five more, each also around twenty, each to explore certain off-limits areas of the house. Aside from devotees of architect Julia Morgan, I cannot imagine who the hell would want to spend a whole day and a hundred bucks exploring this monument to excess.
It'd be one thing if it weren't so full of bullshit about who Hearst was, with every other word out of the tour guide's mouth ringing with PR phoniness ("Mister Hearst loved to laugh. Just look at these home movies of him with people like Adolphe Menjou and Charlie Chaplin. They sure had some fun."). But as it is, I found Hearst Castle to a fascinating experience, but for all its beauty and achievements, I couldn't bring myself to be awed.
Especially for when compared to what I'd see next, as I drove into Big Sur. No amount of money nor influence could create the wonders I would see there, nor could my camera really capture their vastness. But I'll get to my attempts in the next post.
That said, it got me thinking... when Hugh dies, I could easily imagine his kids opening the Playboy Mansion up to the public, just like Hearst's family did. And I had this sudden visual similar to the end of THE LAST EMPEROR, where I--as an old man--finally return to the Playboy Mansion... as a tourist. I rather like that idea, really.
Like so many, I bought into the old CITIZEN KANE story that newspaper-emperor William Randolph Hearst built this mansion for his beloved young movie star girlfriend, who still ended up rejecting him.
Nope, it's a total myth. He built another house near L.A. for her, but not the so-called "Castle." He just built it because he was a rich fuck who wanted to build a huge fucking place to roll around in his filthy lucre and surround himself with antiques and zebras. Seriously, he had the largest private zoo at the time, and the descendants of some of those animals, including zebras, still roam the grounds. Rich fucking zebras.
(man, I want my mansion to have marble statues of naked Clara Bow)
Of course, even if the sordid popular myth were the truth, I wouldn't have heard it from anybody there. Put it to you this way: after the tour, they show you a 40-minute film called "Hearst Castle: Building the Dream." The film opened with a close-up of Hearst's eyeball from a photograph with a slow pulling out, while a kindly narrator mused, "William Randolph Hearst. A name that instantly provokes many responses. But who was William Randolph Hearst? A lot's been written about him. Some, by people who knew him. Most, by those who didn't. But if you were to ask Mister Hearst what he'd call himself... *folksy chuckle* well, he might well say... 'builder."
Clearly, the Hearst family is fiercely keen on image, so there's not a single mention of KANE, nor the megalomania that inspired it (which, by most accounts, the film understated). No, this William Randolph Hearst was a kindly man with big dreams, whose life ambition to was to build this house as a noble achievement and loving testament to his parents, rather than a rich old fuck who wanted yet another playground to wow his also-rich guests. The whole thing was such a whitewash as to be almost hilarious. Almost.
Really, I'm sorry to sound bitter, but the more fake I realized it all was, the more devoid of any humanity there was in this kind of a human being, the more the tour guide described all the pointless excess that went into constructing such a place, I finally started to understand why a certain anarchist ladyfriend of mine isn't joking at all when she seethes, "Eat the rich!"
I mean, just look at this shit, man. What the hell?
Admittedly, the bland-yet-jarring Christmas decorations didn't do the atmosphere any favors, but still...
I just... I just wanted to go back in time and punch William Randolph Hearst in the face.
Just look at that terrifying mug. I bet a dozen infants around the world instantly died every single time he smiled.
The whole tour cost twenty bucks, but that's just the introductory tour. They offered five more, each also around twenty, each to explore certain off-limits areas of the house. Aside from devotees of architect Julia Morgan, I cannot imagine who the hell would want to spend a whole day and a hundred bucks exploring this monument to excess.
It'd be one thing if it weren't so full of bullshit about who Hearst was, with every other word out of the tour guide's mouth ringing with PR phoniness ("Mister Hearst loved to laugh. Just look at these home movies of him with people like Adolphe Menjou and Charlie Chaplin. They sure had some fun."). But as it is, I found Hearst Castle to a fascinating experience, but for all its beauty and achievements, I couldn't bring myself to be awed.
Especially for when compared to what I'd see next, as I drove into Big Sur. No amount of money nor influence could create the wonders I would see there, nor could my camera really capture their vastness. But I'll get to my attempts in the next post.
That said, it got me thinking... when Hugh dies, I could easily imagine his kids opening the Playboy Mansion up to the public, just like Hearst's family did. And I had this sudden visual similar to the end of THE LAST EMPEROR, where I--as an old man--finally return to the Playboy Mansion... as a tourist. I rather like that idea, really.
