“I have Blazing Saddles (1974),” he said, nodding at his rack of DVDs. “I don’t show it to the kids.”
I thought of the movie’s fart jokes, gay jokes, horny jokes, race jokes. “Too vulgar?”
He shook his head. “It’s because I don’t think they’ll get it.”
It took me a second, but then I got what he meant, realizing how much of the movie’s humor was built on lampooning clichés entrenched by forty years of Westerns.
Like when Cleavon Little tries to stop his deserting townspeople with the plea, “You’d do it for Randolph Scott!