By SOL WEINSTEIN, HOWARD ALBRECHT (Ballantine; 1974)
The 1970s parody novel is a format that tends to be ignored these days, but I say it deserves at least a glance. Case in point: THE EXERCISER by Sol Weinstein and Howard Albrecht, which spoofs THE EXORCIST. The William Peter Blatty authored EXORCIST novel, that is, whose cover design, title font and tagline (“A Novel of Unparalleled Horror”) were replicated quite adroitly in THE EXERCISER’S initial 1974 publication.
Weinstein and Albrecht were already veteran parodists when this book appeared, having penned THE ODDFATHER and JONATHAN SEGAL CHICKEN, and provided jokes for Sammy Davis Jr., Alan King, Milton Berle and other big time comedians. Obviously they knew their business comedy-wise, and THE EXERCISER proves that; it is, first and foremost, funny, with quite a few quotable lines.
It’s also obnoxiously uneven, with a 145 page length that feels at least twice as long. It begins with a nifty five page pastiche of William Peter Blatty’s overheated prose (“The house. It preened. Gloated. Was bitchily pleased with what it was and what it symbolically stood for”), complete with sentient wind asides (“Outside the terminal a wind from Canada whispered…It’s here…the horror is here…to which a wind from the Bronx replied…I know…I know…I know already…”), only to get bogged down with excess background info on the principal characters. Those characters are Colin Carew, the British born, Pennsylvania based “Giggling Gourmet” TV star, and his fetching wife Camille. We also get to know a rival TV star, the fitness guru Romaine LeLane, a.k.a. The Exerciser.
“Outside the terminal a wind from Canada whispered…It’s here…the horror is here…to which a wind from the Bronx replied…I know…I know…I know already…”
The latter disappears for much of the second act, but becomes indispensable when the 105-pound Camille, after her hubbie brings back a rotund amulet from a sojourn in Tibet, becomes possessed by a gluttonous demon known as Chow Down. Under Chow Down’s influence she becomes ravenously hungry and imbibes everything she can, including a cache of M&Ms Colin finds concealed in the living room couch (“In the heat of his anger they melted in his hands, not his mouth”). She also disrupts a diet group, devours a neighbor’s cat and kills Lousiana, the Carews’ maid—the lower half of whose corpse is found twisted 180 degrees (apparently “a system known to doctors as tuchas majoris”).
Colin calls in assorted shrinks and religiosos to take on the demon (including one named Blatty), but they fail, with the possessed Camille taunting them by speaking in a Groucho Marx voice and growing a mustache to match. This leads Colin to, as a last resort, summon the Exerciser from his current residence in Santa Monica, CA. What follows is a confrontation in which the latter attempts, with limited success, to drive Chow Down out of the now 350 pound Camille, and also to get her to exercise a bit.
Obviously this is all complete nonsense, but I’ll issue a warning to modern readers: politically correct it isn’t. The idea of a man attempting to get his wife to slim down will doubtless upset many in the post-#metoo era, as will the language used. This is very much an of-its-time text, meaning it contains many now-taboo terms (such as—gasp!—“fat”), but also a wealth of early 1970s references (such as Dick Cavett, Howard Johnson’s, LAST TANGO IN PARIS and Linda Lovelace—remember them?), meaning THE EXERCISER has value as a 1973 time capsule. Otherwise, though, you’re better off reading the book’s inspiration.
This is very much an of-its-time text, meaning it contains many now-taboo terms (such as—gasp!—“fat”), but also a wealth of early 1970s references…