It’s just common sense that most clowns are going to be hand-made by talented amateurs. No-one goes pro and makes whimsical clown miniatures, right? Don’t disillusion me on this one. I want to believe in a rational universe. If someone leans back, looks into the sky, and says, “I’ve got it, business plan: sell clowns,” you’d really hope their father or their accountant would Have Words.
What fun things could you put in a basket made from a clown’s head? Maybe a bottle of…something opaque…to drink away the whimsy? A thank-you note? Potpourri? Ashes of your loved one? Hope?
This might not have made the cut except for how brutal the head extraction process must have been. No-one killed the clown quietly in their sleep (it’s the best way, really). Probably didn’t use any of the normal humane methods of clown disposal. Nope, this was strictly brute force. Scrapes and bruises attest to the brutal, yet comical, final moments.
Though the big question comes down to “was the victim still alive when they replaced his ears with daisies?”
Even if we are to ignore the artistic medium of “basket made of ceramic head,” and assume that this is a clown in the Woeful Hobo mode, he’d still be a pretty hard-core hobo. How many clowns are dedicated enough to apply full sclera make-up?
We’ve got this reject from the cast-call for the all-clown version of Manos: The Hands of Fate. Or perhaps some strange mascot from a martial arts college with an unusually well-developed sense of irony–I’ve been looking at this guy for years, and have yet to work out the neon dots on his high, bald head. Maybe they’re from the snipers. Oh, yes.
My alternate theory: It’s actually an early rejected concept figure from ET: The Extraterrestrial. Evidence: Bold 80s color scheme, bald, wrinkly, and one glowing finger. IMHO, it’s a compelling theory. But Spielberg went with the coprokinetic puppet. You can’t go too wrong targeting the lowest common denominator.
You may not believe it, but there was actually a fadin the local thrifts for neon clowns in 2007. Terrifying. But the “artist” doing clowns of Papier-mâché and whimsical floral-print gift-wrap pants brings back the fondest memories, and won a special place in my heart.
Because we couldn’t afford jeans.