Holiday Film Classics

(From A Most Peculiar Weekend, 1966, with Laurence Olivier and Vanessa Redgrave)

Sit On It (1948) Danny Kaye does, on coffins, cattle, traffic cones, heaping plates of pasta, moose antlers, and June Allyson, for the better part of 88 minutes. With Ozzie Nelson and Hattie McDaniel.

Paddles In Lieu Of Pockets (1970) Starving geese invade a nudist colony, ruining the volleyball tournament. With Dean Jones, Shelly Fabares, Cantinflas, and Merv Griffin.

Fortune Smiles On Those Most Deserving, But We Can Get It For You Wholesale (1963) The Iliad set in New York's garment district, then suddenly in Baltimore, and finally on the moon. With Robert Morse, Bill Bixby, and Eva Marie Saint.

Manhattan With A Twist (1959) Shot entirely in Tucson at night, with a hand held camera. Supposedly about a pair of bickering jewel thieves, but who the hell really knows. With Russ Tamblyn and Jim Nabors.

Leave 'Em Laughing (1946) A deaf juggler and blind ventriloquist open and close a Dresden cabaret the same night, then try their luck in Berlin. With Joe E. Lewis and Dennis Day.

Cherokee Balloon Race (1979) Jane Fonda fights masked oil speculators, but an outbreak of mumps keeps everybody honest until Super Bowl Sunday. With Mac Davis, Gwen Verdon, and Richard Roundtree.

Let's See Those Hands (1984) Communist puppeteers clash with circus chimps, but cooler heads prevail once Jesus returns. With Patrick Swayze, Jim Varney, and the voice of John Gielgud.

Children Of The Grave

When my son enters high school next fall, he'll be exposed to many sights he has so far been spared. Liberal campus towns like Ann Arbor have barriers and filters you normally wouldn't find in other districts, one of the few endorsements I can make of this provincial burb.

Militarizing the local young is generally frowned upon, which is nice if odd, given the mania for Michigan football (muted somewhat since Rich Rodriguez's arrival). Still, you can stay the hand of empire for only so long; and once he starts his freshman year, my son will directly face the propaganda and lures used to reel in impressionable teens.

Growing up in an imperialist country forces one to make choices, though not every person operates at the same level. Kids from economically devastated parts of Michigan, which are not hard to find, are easy targets for military recruiters. For many of them, there is little choice: unemployment or Afghanistan. The relentless commercial assault (led by McCann Worldgroup), where combat is video game cool, helps soften these kids up, preparing them to receive and execute orders without question. Corporate pillaging has made American youth ripe for imperial harvesting. And one by one, they are steadily plucked.

In an age of perpetual war that will not end in our lifetimes, it's vital that the military try to brainwash kids as early as possible. According to Jon Letman at Truthout, recruiters are looking for the next generation of human sausage for their grinders:

"Kindergarteners -- children with Dora the Explorer and Spiderman backpacks and bedrooms full of stuffed animals who are still working to master their A-B-C's -- are now targets for early conditioning by the US military. Never mind that Hawaii's schools have just cut almost 10 percent of classroom time, dropping the state's public schools' instructional days down to the fewest in the nation. Teacher furloughs or not, time was found for the Army National Guard to give a pitch (and a gift) to wide-eyed five-year-olds."

When the U.S. terrorized Nicaragua, domestic warmongers and jingoists bewailed the Sandinistas' "indoctrination" of their young, teaching them math by using weapons and bullets. This supposedly exposed Sandinista militarism and extremism, further evidence that we had every right to overthrow their wicked regime. Of course, had the roles been reversed, with the U.S. under foreign assault, hundreds of thousands slaughtered by a terrorist proxy army, our airspace controlled by those financing the violence while pouring money into the coffers of those Americans devoted to the destruction of the federal government, there would be no way that we would militarize our precious youth -- right?

Then again, with Muslim traitors hiding in plain sight, we doubtless have more reason to militarize the young than the Sandinistas ever did. So the comparison is hardly fair to us.

After surveying the terrain, Letman asks:

"[I]n an era when our government spends trillions of dollars supporting wars with no end in sight, at a time when we can't even fund our schools or public services at a minimum standard and only begrudgingly support health care reform [sic], what kind of society and future are we building for our children?"

I would pose that question to Barack Obama and his liberal supporters, especially after reading Jeremy Scahill's report in The Nation. It appears that President Change is further privatizing U.S. assassination efforts in Pakistan, while preparing to go overtly LBJ in Afghanistan. Given this and other realities, it may be wise to rebrand the words "society" and "future." Think of the kids, if nothing else.

Eon Flux

Other than Black Sabbath, and to a degree Metallica, I've never really dug heavy metal. By the time of the big hair arena Eighties, the genre seemed like a sad, obvious joke, as Spinal Tap showed. I shared John Lydon's sneer about flapping your flares to an audience of groveling idiots, and so never heard of or listened to Anvil, Canadian head bangers who appeared with Bon Jovi, Scorpions, and Whitesnake. At Anvil's height, I was exploring lost music from the 1920's, 30's and 40's, supplied by a film actor who listened to nothing but 78s. Anvil might have been touring Jupiter's moons, for all I cared.

As I've aged, my opinion about Eighties metal hasn't changed, but my heart has opened to those still chasing the muse. Several friends insisted that I watch "Anvil! The Story of Anvil," saying that I would identify with the protagonists, primarily Steve "Lips" Kudlow, lead singer and eternal spirit of Anvil. I reluctantly followed their advice, and baby, I'm glad I did.

Wow. What a film. What a story. I became so emotionally involved that I had to stop the film, my heart was breaking so deeply. Any artist who's experienced positive audience reaction, who has felt that electric buzz when it all lines up and flows can appreciate what Lips and his best friend/bandmate Robb Reiner still crave as they enter their fifties. These two have never given up, and remain committed to their original vision, forged in their teens. Inspiring, moving, gut wrenching. My friends were right: I completely identified with Anvil.

When I resumed watching "The Story of Anvil" a couple of days later, those emotions returned, tears welling in my eyes, chest tight. Trying to be heavy metal stars at their age, in the present corporate environment, practically guarantees rejection, derision, and failure. If Anvil had been as big as the bands they influenced, like Metallica, then touring at 50 wouldn't seem so quixotic. But Lips and Robb, having breathed that rarified air before plummeting to earth, are confused and angry about their status. They're convinced they can hold their own with any band, yet as Robb confesses, time is running out.

The New Yorker's Anthony Lane (link courtesy of my friend Lou Proyect) summed it up beautifully:

"This film is not about rock music at all . . . it is about time, and how it threatens to fade us out like a song on the radio, and why, risking ridicule, and leaning on love, we should crank up the volume and keep going."

Bingo. Younger people might enjoy "The Story of Anvil," but to fully absorb its emotional punch, it helps to have lived, loved, and failed over several decades. Lord knows I know.

Speaking of which: In a recent video, I announced plans about returning to stand up, specifically in New York. This is still very much on. I've been writing a slew of new bits and concepts, shaping a loose but definite stage persona, rehearsing moves, transitions, tones of delivery. Much to my surprise, it's exciting and very inspirational. I feel creatively reborn in many ways.

Some have asked, What happened to the autobiography? The TV pilot script? Short answer: nothing. Elements of both appear in the new act, but there are other factors which I may address later on. For now, returning to the stage is the most direct and realistic option. If things go well there, then we'll see where the other projects fit.

The beauty of this venture is my relative lack of anxiety and fear. At 50, I feel more secure as an artist. I trust my instincts and talent, more so than I did in my twenties, when terror and madness fueled my efforts. Writing this act has so far been a treat. Once I'm up there, walls will be hit, rough waters encountered. Part of the gig. But for the first time in a long time, it all feels right. My life has led to this moment, a real shedding of skin.

Proud & Erect

Pledge Is A Spray Wax

I'm sure most of you have seen or read about Will Phillips, the 10-year-old Arkansan who refuses to say the Pledge Of Allegiance until queers are accorded full equal rights. Naturally, I'm solidly behind Will and his family. In numerous parts of the country, there are pockets of rational dissidence, places where weirdoes and freaks may fully breathe and madly dance.

Growing up in a world of immediate connections, Will sees that he's far from alone. We older geeks from slower days had less if no awareness of kindred spirits. You had to leave home to find sameness, oddness; to feed inspiration and desire. I'm sure it's still this way, only less pressing, given the technology. Why move when you can IM or text?

Most astonishing to me about Will's defiance is that children are still pledging allegiance. To what? Some mythical, mystical concept that has no real bearing on our lives? I understand conditioning children's minds to be obedient to their masters and accept hierarchy as the natural order of things, endorsed by God. A corporate oligopoly needs a steady stream of managers, consumers, and disposable labor. But surely there are better methods than the archaic Pledge. Then again, I sometimes underestimate the American hunger for fantasy. Me of all people, right?

Will's protest is aimed at the "liberty and justice for all" line. If gays cannot wed or enjoy full medical rights, then that part of the Pledge is incomplete. It's a noble stand, but America has never truly committed to "liberty and justice for all." State mechanisms have been forced to adapt to grassroots pressure, which is perhaps the true genius of our system. If you cannot contain or suppress popular discontent, embrace it, celebrate it, then reshape it to fit the status quo. Nothing will really change, but a brighter, newer feature will lend that impression, and for many, that's more than enough.

Obama's election was perhaps the most cutting edge example of this practice. Elites bray that this shows how egalitarian America truly remains, while liberals, however frustrated, still want Obama to be the savior of their limited imaginations. For all the blog blab about "pushing" Obama from below, most liberals have no intention of seriously challenging Their President, adjusting their rhetoric to accommodate what is being shoved down their throats.

You see this in their acceptance of what is laughably called "health care reform." Liberals mock reactionaries' bizarro hatred of Obama, but their love of the man's image is no less ludicrous. Indeed, it's more destructive. As right wingers twist themselves into swastikas while claiming to oppose such symbols, liberals have largely abandoned whatever antiwar feelings they had under Bush. In some areas, they have endorsed extended war and destruction. Again, I don't know why reactionaries despise Obama so. He's killed off major antiwar sentiment and marginalized those few who bother to protest. McCain/Palin would have never pulled this off. Clearly, Wall Street put its money on the right team.

Does this mean that Will Phillips' courage is for naught? I wouldn't say so. Critical thinking and dissident action is needed at all levels. But as Will ages and encounters the numerous social filters that weed out miscreants and undesirables, his critical thinking will be severely tested, if not shredded and used for imperial mulch. He will have to make tough choices. I want to remain optimistic, but then, optimism brought me to this anxious state in the first place. A shaky republic I can barely stand.

Die Laughing

Despite breaks from the American narrative during the late-60s/early-70s, romantic views of our national past survived and remain. Unavoidable, and not unique among nations; but the American version enjoys a stylistic advantage born of Hollywood trappings. Our fictions look prettier, possess more zing. They're certainly preferable to the real story, elements of which seep in for color or "authenticity," yet are drowned out by rousing scenarios and booming, uplifting scores.

This was certainly the case with "John Adams," the HBO miniseries where Paul Giamatti's crotchety Calvinist butted wigs with power mad Alexander Hamilton while Thomas Jefferson stared off into space, Declarations floating through his head. I loved the portrayal of Ben Franklin as Founding Hedonist, even though the real Franklin showed a more conservative side to the Publick. (An early SNL parody of historical TV dramas nailed it: "Some half truths and lies have been added to make it entertaining.") In the end, after war, struggle, squalor, diplomatic maneuvering and political betrayal, "John Adams" comes to the unsurprising conclusion that the American experiment was well worth it. And it was, right fellow consumers?

Of course, no drama about our nation's birth would be complete without scenes of the founders arguing over the Constitution, our most hallowed, most violated/ignored set of political commandments. No one really knows what went on in that colonial writers' room, though I'm sure that halitosis and body odor helped set the mood.

In Fridays' version, 18th century racism and sexism is conveyed through 20th century lingo. It's also an overt example of liberal propaganda. Which is fine. Unlike most other sketch comedy shows, Fridays never pretended to be evenhanded. The writers' left/liberal sensibilities were always on display. Too bad this bit wasn't aired in today's political environment. Imagine the reactionary howls after seeing Larry David, a Jewish atheist, cast as the Constitution's conscience.



The gun control theme takes a somber turn in this sketch, aired the same week as John Hinckley's attempt to assassinate Reagan. It's an odd, quiet piece where the audience doesn't seem to know where to laugh. It also touches on a topic I wrote about recently, the close, emotional ties Americans are supposed to have with presidents, politicians, and other well-known figures.

I remember the day Reagan was shot. I was in the Army, working at a foreign officers' school when my boss Frank Harris (retired Army officer) came in and said all hell had broken loose. He turned on the TV and we watched the wall-to-wall coverage. Thing is, I don't recall feeling much of anything about the shooting. I despised Reagan's politics, which were slowly radicalizing me. But I wasn't happy, sad, or outraged. It all seemed like a weird movie. Had Reagan died, who knows how I would've reacted. But he survived to oversee some mass killing of his own.



I saw this next piece when it first aired, then not again until recently. My memory of it was pretty exact, though the context in which it was conceived flew past me back then. I knew next to nothing about Palestine and Israel, much less about Zionism and Arab nationalism. What I did know was what Americans were constantly told: the Israelis were noble warriors forced to defend themselves from filthy Palestinian terrorists. The PLO was portrayed as a gang of genocidal lunatics, destruction and mayhem part of their collective DNA. They were Bond villains, with Yasser Arafat as Dr. No.

This is what makes this sketch so interesting. Fridays could have followed the established script, and most viewers wouldn't have raised an eyebrow. Instead, they took some Palestinian claims seriously, and played around with that perception. There's plenty of word play and obvious jokes, yet you don't get the sense that the PLO was crazier than anyone else fighting for a cause -- certainly no crazier than the Zionist militias that preceded them. Far from being international gangsters, these Palestinians, played by George Carlin and Bruce Mahler, are hunkered down, hoping to survive another Israeli onslaught.

When this bit aired in January 1981, Israel was routinely shelling and strafing Palestinian targets in Lebanon, killing hundreds, while the PLO sporadically responded. This was during a period when the mainstream of Fatah made several offers for a two-state settlement with Israel, which were violently rejected. A few months after this, a ceasefire brokered by Philip Habib took effect, although Israel soon violated it, hoping to elicit a PLO response that would justify an invasion of Lebanon that Israeli planners had already mapped out, and which arrived in the summer of 1982, bringing with it some 17,000 Palestinian and Lebanese dead, and the Sabra and Shatila massacre.

These guys have no idea what's about to hit them.

That Magic Word

If nation states were individuals, most would be locked away, executed, or kept on a secret payroll. Psychotics have their uses, after all. Still, it's simple and profitable to condemn the Saddams and Slobos, especially when they fall from imperial favor. They're disposable, and better still, have no right of appeal. No matter what they say in their cells or on the stand, they are toast, which is why Saddam exited without apology. I'm sure he felt no regrets (except maybe for his taste in hidey holes), and even if he did, who cared? So Saddam trash talked his masked Shiite executioners straight to the end of his rope. What did he have to lose?

How many American war criminals would show the same spirit at the moment of truth? Maybe Cheney, but I suspect that Dick would collapse on the gallows steps, whimpering about patriotism and family, dragged to the noose and held in place until the final drop.

Happily, we'll never see such events, an imperial perk highly valued by those with the longest rap sheets. Besides, we in the West discovered that official apologies for prior criminal actions help to ease accumulated tension. State contrition for this massacre or that coup diminishes the crime while lending an air of remorse. Of course, said crime must be at least 50 years past, for anything newer might be seen as a confession. The whole point to official apologies is to use certain historical atrocities to beautify contemporary arrangements. We wish we could go back and stop slavery before it took hold, but what are you gonna do? The important thing is that we've learned from our mistakes and are ready to move forward.

The British government, assisted by Australia, offers the latest official atonement. From 1618 to 1967, some 150,000 poor British children were shipped overseas to provide cheap labor in foreign markets, the bulk apparently going Down Under. That this practice ended only 40 years ago shows that the Brits are on the cutting edge of imperial apologetics, perhaps inspiring a new generation of apologists. Then again, as awful as this crime against children was, it pales against deadlier British deeds in Ireland and India. Maybe that's why they feel free to express their regrets so soon.

It's a bit like a serial killing rapist and thief apologizing for his grandfather's crimes. Yes, such behavior runs in the family, but Gramps was truly crazy and reckless, with no regard for consequence. For this, one must humbly say "sorry." That was a different time. Mistakes were made and learned from. Why, in Gramps' day, you couldn't dissolve body parts or sell them on the black market. And today, one is much more selective when it comes to rape and murder. It's a global business. Gramps, rest his soul, lacked wider vision.