- Culture
- 09 Jun 05
Fun Lovin' Criminal, pizza joint owner and garbage mogul – Huey Morgan is a man of many talents. To that you can add a film stealing cameo as a psycho-tranny in Shimmy Marcus' beleagured but proud drug mule caper Headrush.
It’s midday and restauranteur, garbage kingpin and Fun Loving Criminal, Huey Morgan is looking ever so slightly dishevelled, not like his usual suave self at all. He assures me however, that the damage was not incurred on the previous evening - he’s actually still recovering from the night before that. “The guys were in London putting finishing touches on the album so they decided to come see me in Dublin,” he apologetically explains from behind much-needed sunglasses. “You know how it is. And I’m getting old.”
In town to check up that “they’re not giving away too many pizzas at my place”, the hardly Methuselah-like 36-year old has just been through one of those manic weekends when party-animal fans have been besieging him as he tours the city’s various watering holes. “It’s a fucking weird one. A while back in the States, they showed this documentary thing about the band that Dave Fanning did. I kept getting phone-calls from long-standing friends going ‘You’re in music, now? Since when?’ Literally, nobody knows that about me at home.”
What exactly do they think he gets up to?
“Well, even though I’m Puerto Rican-Irish, everybody assumes I’m Italian, so I guess they look at my pinky ring and our garbage company and think I’m Tony Soprano or something. Garbage is a dodgy industry. You find fingers in there sometimes and you meet these old Godfather types that you don’t want to know too much about. I can‘t complain. It grants me anonymity and freedom to base lyrics on my friends without their knowing.”
Well, Mr. Morgan may just have blown his cover for good. Next month sees the release of Headrush, an anarchic, cult-friendly drug-mule caper from Irish writer-director Shimmy Marcus, the brilliant young mind behind alt-doc wonder Aidan Walsh: Master Of The Universe. Pivoting around a wacky scheme and a rather large quantity of cocaine, Headrush sees two Dublin ne’er-do-wells (Gavin Kelty and Wuzza Conlon) hit Amsterdam with dreams of A Big Score, or at least enough to compensate for the dole cutting them off.
Despite the familiarity of the premise, frenzied pacing, screwball quips and a genuinely counter-cultural sensibility ensure that Headrush is, to date, the most superior entry in the burgeoning ‘suitcase of drugs’ Irish sub-genre. Just to push the cool factor that bit further into the red, Mr. Marcus’s film features performances from iconoclastic guru BP Fallon and, of course, Huey, who shows up as menacing crime lord, The Yank.
“I know Shimmy a while,” explains Huey. “And he showed up while I was working with Larry Fishburne on the movie Once In The Life. He just explained the plot and I said ’yes’ straight away. Of course I did. It’s a really cool script. It won that Miramax Award back in 1999. But the film industry seems to be even more full of shit than the music one. It‘s just been really crazy for Shimmy trying to get it out there ever since.”
I’ll say. The Atlas-like struggle behind the making of Headrush sounds like the makings of a companion piece for Jonathan Caouette’s Tarnation. Having put together a budget of $4 million, producer Edwina Forkin’s finance fell apart as a consequence of September 11th. Starting from scratch and utilising the Film Board’s low budget initiative, Headrush finally went into production in 2002, apparently under the influence of some kind of curse; a building they were shooting in nearly collapsed, Stephen Berkoff almost broke co-star Gavin Kelty’s arm and an extra got burned. Meanwhile, Shimmy found himself hospitalised with kidney stones earned through stress, had his pockets picked while trying to raise money in Cannes and was almost killed by a mobile library in Rotterdam. And then there were the plagues of locusts (probably).
Happily, it’s all miraculously come good and you can soon catch Huey glowering with intent at a cinema near you. Of course, the singer has had plenty of practise at this sort of thing. Fun Lovin’ Criminals’ uniquely sleazy sound - equal parts lounge lizard, jazz hound and Monkees - has always maintained an air of scuzz criminality. La-di-da-di, Free John Gotti and all. However, if Huey is suspected of being well-hard with stints in the Navy and jail under his belt, in Headrush, he’s required to do bad in a kinky corset.
“Well, Shimmy and I talked about this,” recalls Huey. “I remembered being in jail as a kid where the real scary guys were never the big, burly types, they were psycho-trannies. So I wanted to do that and scare the hell out of people. So I had to master the high-heels and shave my legs - that was a trip.”
Did he fall victim to in-growing hairs - the eternal and tragic gripe of the transvestite?
“No. It all grew back great, just bushier. I’m a lucky boy. I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time.”
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