LUDIC LOG

You know, when you think about it, the theme to "The Beverly Hillbillies" doesn't make much sense. As much as it pains me to criticize the works of Lester Flatt & Earl Scruggs, I'm afraid that the memorable title tune is the one great flaw in this otherwise impeccable, utterly sensible comedy of manners. Let's take a look:

Come and listen to my story 'bout a man named Jed; a poor mountaineer, barely kept his family fed

So far so good, although the "come and listen to my story" line seems a little compulsory (for reasons that will become clear). But it sets the tone, piques our interest. What will happen to this luckless, poverty-stricken mountain man? Consider our appetites whetted.

And then one day he was shootin' at some food

No wonder ol' Jed can't provide for his kin; he's a moron. If you were having trouble feeding your family, the last thing you would want to do is shoot the meager rations you DID have. Even the entertaining 1980s video game "Gauntlet" was wise enough to tell you: "Don't shoot the food!" We begin to suspect that Jed's family would be better off without this addlepated rustic moron and his food-destroying ways.

When up from the ground come a bubblin' crude...oil, that is. Black gold. Texas tea.

A lucky break for Jed, although his aim is pretty pathetic if he shoots food and hits the ground. But "hark, little lower level": this line begs some pretty serious questions. First, since when is oil found in the mountains? Second, what the hell kind of munitions is Jed using that he can strike crude just by shooting at the ground? Usually, huge industrial drills that plow hundreds of feet below the surface of the earth are used for this purpose, but Jed apparently lives on the one mountain range in all the world where oil lies close enough to the surface that you can stumble across it while staking your tomato plants. If the oil was this easy to get, that a fat guy in cleats could have drowned in it, you'd imagine someone would have noticed it before him.

Well, the next thing you know, ol' Jed's a millionaire

Nice try. We'd all like a happy ending for this demented vandal, but in reality, the next thing you know, ol' Jed's getting reamed out of his oil holdings by the government. The feds, state and county would all be at the Clampett shack so fast that his floppy hat would spin, each one with lawyers in tow, all trying to establish that Jed has no more claim to this anomalous windfall than the Navajo had to all those useful uranium mines. And even if the government didn't screw him to the wall, Exxon or Mobil would send someone out to buy the whole megillah for three hundred bucks. Are we to believe that a man who's so unsophisticated that he can't tell the difference between a swimming pool and a pond would nonetheless be able to convert his find into millions of dollars? I think not. The next thing you know, ol' Jed's a rural schmuck who's gotten fucked out of millions by tie-wearing smoothies.

His kinfolks said, 'Jed, move away from there!' They said 'Californey is the place you oughtta be', so he packed up the truck and he moved to Beverly...Hills, that is.

This is the most unbelievable aspect of an already-unbelievable song. So, here's Jed's relatives. They live in a mountainous wasteland. They're poorer than the dirt they farm. They eat rabid possums to avoid starvation. All of the sudden, one of their number inexplicably hits it rich; he's got millions of dollars, inestimable wealth. So what do they do? THEY TELL HIM TO LEAVE. Do they ask him to help the community? Do they tell him to build them toilets, bring in electricity, start a Wendy's franchise? Do they beg him for a loan of a couple of grand so their children don't die of cholera? No! They tell him to move as far away as possible, to live with a bunch of other filthy rich people, in the wealthiest place in America. Sure they do.

Swimmin' pools...movie stars.

And a noticeable dearth of nouveau-riche hillbillies.