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Such homey dimensions are unquestionably part of the appeal, and not just for tourists. The compelling thing about Branson for performers is that they can get off the road. As Mel Tillis put it, "You can go to church every Sunday and put your underwear in the same drawer every night." Audiences come to them, rather than the other way round, and many performers build their own eponymous theaters to make themselves easy to find. Branson is reputed to be the nation's second most popular drive-to destination, and those driving in (or being driven, on tour buses) tend to have gray hair. They also tend to be conservative, and prefer entertainment that is clean; as Jim Stafford said, "You're not going to walk into a Branson theater and see Equus."
It's a patriotic town, too. I visited over Veterans' Day weekend, and at each show I attended there was a moment when veterans in the audience were invited to stand and receive applause. The guy sitting next to me at the Shoji Tabuchi show said, "If you're a Vietnam vet and nobody ever said 'Thank you,' it's great."
Branson is also recognizably evangelical, and that, combined with its patriotism and old-fashioned style, make it a laughingstock to cultural élites. In his scholarly book Holy Hills of the Ozarks: Religion and Tourism in Branson, Missouri, Aaron K. Ketchell provides some samples of the sneers Branson is used to receiving. New York Times book reviewer Joe Queenan called Branson a "cultural penal colony" and "Hades-by-the-Ozarks." Travel author Arthur Frommer deplored Branson's "fundamentalist, sectarian faith," which he likened to a "physical assault." Such contempt may be why Branson, despite its significant rank among tourist destinations, has been generally ignored by scholars of popular culture and religion. When Ketchell referred to the lack of research on Branson during his interview for a position at a religious studies department, the interviewer responded bluntly: "That's because most scholars don't like evangelicals." Ketchell decided to fill the gap.
I don't expect Holy Hills of the Ozarks will join the crowded shelves at the Branson Tourism Center, because Ketchell is handy with phrases like "counterhegemonic cultural contestation." But he has an interesting tale to tell, for the town has changed mightily over the years.
Branson's initial charm was not spandex and sequins but unspoiled nature. A century ago, in 1907, the quiet town was suddenly thrust into the spotlight when Harold Bell Wright's novel The Shepherd of the Hills became a bestseller. The Shepherd in Wright's story is a mysteriously sad older gentleman—a famous preacher, it turns out—who wanders into the Branson hill country one day and accepts the humble work of tending sheep. He's in a position to dispense general wisdom and to do a My Fair Lady job on lovely but unpolished "Sammy" Lane. The story is a melodrama touching on unwed motherhood and mountain gangs, but an underlying theme is the pristine beauty of the setting and the robust health of its residents. There's a hint of the era's fashionable eugenics when Wright dwells lovingly on Sammy's radiant health and strength—she's described in terms that would suit a racehorse—and contrasts her with the shrimpiness of her city-bound fiancé, Ollie.
The Shepherd of the Hills was a blockbuster in its day, selling over two million copies. Some readers were so taken with the characters of Sammy Lane, Old Matt, Aunt Mollie, and the rest that they journeyed into the Ozarks, braving difficult travel and rustic facilities, in order to glimpse the prototypes. And once tourists started turning up, residents were happy to adopt characters' names and explain how they served as inspirations to Harold Bell Wright.
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