A Tale of Two High-Profile Jail Releases
Thoughts on Tiede and Alig and what it means to be a folk hero
Tolly Moseley
Published 12:01 a.m. CT May 17, 2014 | Updated 9:13 p.m. CT Sept. 25, 2018
Last week, the stars conspired to release two high-profile men from prison: Bernie Tiede, played by Jack Black in Richard Linklater’s 2011 indie flick “Bernie,” and Michael Alig, played by Macaulay Culkin in 2003’s equally indie and arguably more culty “Party Monster.”
Each left jail within one day of the other, each served for 17 years, and each, upon release, was promptly handed an iPhone. But the best parallel? Each celebrated his newfound freedom with Mexican food. If that isn’t cosmic destiny, I just don’t know what is.
Both Tiede and Alig went to jail for murder. Tiede for shooting his 81-year-old charge Marjorie Nugent, then stuffing her body in a deep freezer; Alig for beating his drug dealer to death, stuffing his body in a bathtub, then dismembering him — a full eight days later.
This, however, is where the similarities end, and real life becomes even more fascinating than the men’s on-screen portrayals. By far, the most interesting twist of the Bernie Tiede story is that he’s now living with Linklater here in Austin. Who knows where Alig is living (I think New York), but he’s gotten a wonderful primer on 21st century life from fellow club kid/author of the memoir upon which “Party Monster” is based, James St. James. My favorite piece of St. James’ advice? “Stay away from Beliebers, Little Monsters and Directioners.”
This is a long preamble to a very simple question, however: What makes both of these men folk heroes?
Let’s first define our terms. Here’s what I found for a “folk hero” definition (thanks Wikipedia!): “The single salient characteristic which makes a character a folk hero is the imprinting of the name, personality and deeds of the character in the popular consciousness.” That’s pretty vague though, and could include anyone from Beyonce to Ronald McDonald. But drawing from the same page, and more to the point: “One major category of folk hero is the defender of the common people against the oppression or corruption of the established power structure.”
The folk hero is a popular figure in film (see: Rodriguez, Erin Brockovich), and particularly American film, precisely because of their Damn-the-Man postures. We love underdog stories, especially when they bear traces of Robin Hood-ism and a dismantling, subtle or otherwise, of those aforementioned power structures. In Tiede’s case, a millionaire’s (Marjorie Nugent) fortune was quite literally dismantled and redistributed by Tiede to businesses and friends in the tiny East Texas town of Carthage. For Alig, a small-town, Indiana native and gay teen coming to terms with his sexuality in the ’90s, it was his introduction into a New York City underworld ripe for his colorful imagination. He fashioned himself into a party promoter and theme-night organizer, dubbing his first event “Consumer Hell.”
“Satirizing the idea of conspicuous American consumption, I paid someone to bring me 10 shopping carts from a store in New Jersey,” he wrote for the “New York Post” on Monday. “TV commercials played on the video screens. I wore a hat made out of an Oreo box and Fruit Loop earrings. People arrived in Saran wrap dresses stuffed with Cheerios and Fluffernutter. It was crazy.”
From the outside, Tiede and Alig couldn’t have been more different. Tiede was a tidy, church-going and by all accounts adored community citizen. Jack Black plays the former funeral director with a mixture of gentleness and fastidiousness, the kind of man destined to be a little old lady-magnet. Even after confessing his crime, the district attorney has to campaign for a trial 50 miles away from Carthage to ensure an unbiased jury. Why? Becomes everybody loved Bernie.
In a town where reputation is tough to shake, Tiede proved to be the sole friend of Nugent, who was as despised as Tiede was beloved. The companionship between the then-38 year-old man and 81-year-old woman grew deep, including jaunts around the world with Nugent’s millions. At least as it’s portrayed on film, the relationship isn’t part of a darker, larger scheme on Tiede’s part (though Nugent’s family might beg to differ), but it certainly didn’t hurt his largesse for pet causes when Nugent made him the informal director of her estate. Did Tiede intend to be a small-town Robin Hood? Probably not. But using our working definition for the folk hero, that’s exactly what he became, leaving a trail of happy Boy Scouts, First United Methodist churchgoers and Panola College students — all of whom received financial support from Nugent’s money, channeled through Tiede — in his wake.
“Bernie” is worth watching for so many reasons, but especially if you are a Texan: Linklater involves real Carthage residents in the film, and their East Texan twang is total soul salve for anyone who’s grown up here. Their accents are just as distinctive as the vocal fabulosity of New York’s club kids, the gang of misfits Alig rallied in the ’90s. “They were doing the fame thing backwards,” Alig wrote in that same “New York Post” story. “Instead of accomplishing anything — writing, painting or acting — their plan was to first achieve a measure of celebrity. Once they got famous, everything they did amplified their notoriety.”
Which is pretty Warholian, and man, did it work. The club kids ended up on daytime TV (I like to think of a fourth grade Lady Gaga watching this), whisking their freak flags out of the clubs and flying them in the face of mainstream America.
It was a pretty liberating scene, both behaviorally and chemically so (and here I mean drugs). Unfortunately, those chemicals led to Alig’s undoing, and specifically that brutal murder. But, as we know from “Bernie,” even criminal charges can’t stop folk heroes. Alig’s heady reign may have come to a bloody end, but his legend lived on, even after he was behind bars.
One final note about the folk hero: Sometimes, but not always, they get a sidekick. Seth Green plays Alig’s in “Party Monster” to wonderful effect, and, just like those folksy East Texans, his screen time throws our main hero into full relief. But he’s also a delight to watch all on his own, doing that trademark Seth Green thing of vacillating between caricature and real, emotional depth. So if you haven’t already, do watch “Party Monster.” Like “Bernie,” it’s an interesting little flick. But also watch it because it explains why some people don’t get away with murder. They get away with hero status.
