RUTHFULLY YOURS

https://www.frontpagemag.com/the-boys-in-the-boat-the-peasants-and-the-zone-of-interest/

Friend, I beg of you. Go to a theater and see three great movies sometime soon: The Boys in the Boat, The Peasants, and The Zone of Interest.

Leopold Staff, a Polish poet who survived the Nazi occupation of Warsaw, said that “Even more than bread we now need poetry, in a time when it seems that it is not needed at all.” Movies are democratic. They are accessible and they are communal. It’s fashionable to declare one’s superiority by sneering at popular culture. It’s harder to sneer when you remember that Ayaan Hirsi Ali, a fearless counter-jihadi, was inspired by Nancy Drew novels, and that Top Gun and Saving Private Ryan drove military recruitment. Politics is downstream from culture. The culture we support with our ticket-buying dollars is as important as the candidates we support with our votes.

We get something from publicly watching a movie together with our fellow citizens. The Major and the Minor is a 1942 screwball comedy. I’d watched it a couple of times at home, alone, on a small TV screen before seeing it for the first time in a jam-packed, Greenwich Village art house theater. In that crowd of rollicking laughter, I suddenly realized what a very naughty movie The Major and the Minor is. Its double entendres had flown right over my head. While watching Gone with the Wind, a loud and spontaneous sigh erupted when the camera zoomed in on Rhett Butler’s handsome face (see here). Gathering in the ladies room after a movie like that is a genre of psychotherapy. While washing your hands you ask complete strangers, “Do you think Scarlett and Rhett ever got back together?” You comfort and enlighten each other and the world is warmer, more connected, less lonely and tense. Mel Gibson’s The Passion depicts Christ’s torture, crucifixion, and death in grisly detail. Three Muslim guys took seats directly behind me. They were joking sarcastically. Clearly, they were in the theater to mock. After the film ended, I turned around to check on them. One was doubled over, distraught. His companions were rubbing his back and speaking softly to him.

The loss of public movie-going erodes not just community, but also art. Ali’s well is a famous, eight-minute scene in Lawrence of Arabia. Most of what we see is a completely flat, lifeless, tan desert landscape against a blue sky unbroken by any cloud. Two men draw water from a desert well. A tiny dot appears on the horizon. Slowly we realize that that dot is a man approaching on a camel. He shoots one of the men to death. As we wait, and wait, and wait for the approaching man  to arrive, we experience a fraction of the desert: the emptiness, the boredom, the terror, the sudden and irrational violence, the value system so very different from our own. That scene could never move us in the same way on a small screen. And, when we are watching alone on a small screen, we can fast forward through the parts we don’t like, like, say, the grim depictions of the Holocaust in Schindler’s List.

My students, trained on media that rushes and delivers jolts of violence and sex aimed at the lizard brain’s reward-squirting mechanisms, lack the ability to sit through a scene like Ali’s well. They also have trouble sitting through a complex lecture on current events, or a long story of personal struggle told by a friend. Movies, like all art, have the potential to train us to be our best selves.

This movie punctures the political correctness that heaps praise on  Black novels and films, even when they are trash.

Monk as the chief protagonist is named, devises an outlandish book of his own, under a pseudonym and false claim that he is a convict. Critics rave in hilarious scenes of White hypocrisy and condescension. rsk