RUTHFULLY YOURS

https://amgreatness.com/2018/06/03/a-clueless-

Remember the Duck Rabbit? That’s the famous image that, seen one way, looks like a duck but, seen from another angle, looks like a rabbit. The image has provided fodder for children’s books and also philosophers, its inherent ambiguity being catnip to both light fancy and epistemological lucubration.

I thought of that teasing graphic confection when I encountered “The Final Year,” Greg Barker’s HBO documentary about the last 12 months of the Obama Administration’s foreign policy. At first I thought it was intended to be a duck: a sympathetic portrait of its main characters: President Obama himself, of course, but also Secretary of State John Kerry, our ambassador to the United Nations, Samantha Power, and Deputy National Security Advisor Ben Rhodes. But the more I watched, the more the rabbit theme intruded: the more, I mean, that it struck me as a devastating portrait of mandarin entitlement gone horribly wrong.

I am really uncertain what Greg Barker intended. He indulges in no editorializing. The camera follows the principals around the world and simply captures their speeches and conversations: Samantha Power and John Kerry, President Obama at the U.N., Obama on his final trip to Greece, Ben Rhodes padding about the White House and elsewhere. It’s all presented in a very straightforward way to outline the Obama Administration’s ambitions as well as its frustrations as world events—the mess in Syria, the unbelievable election of Donald Trump—unfold around them.

The main characters are given plenty of on-air time to explain what they hope to accomplish and also to describe the forces, domestic as well as international, that they see as frustrating their aims.

On March 23, 2018, the Wall Street Journal’s Television critic, Dorothy Rabinowitz wrote of the final season of “The Americans”: https://www.wsj.com/articles/the-americans-review-from-russia-with-no-love-1521752705

“It comes as no surprise that one of the greatest drama series in television history should come to its end as powerful as ever.”

“The Americans” is a television series about Soviet Union spies operating in America. The spies, married with kids, manage to don disguises, seduce, bed, even wed, bribe, blackmail, entrap and wantonly murder dozens during their long seditious sojourn in America. They even engage their college age daughter in espionage.

It was entertaining, with mediocre dialogue, gratuitous sex, a rather pedestrian depiction of real spies, a bland FBI agent neighbor who falls in love with a Russian agent, a hardened operative who cooks borscht or some variant in almost every scene while directing deadly missions . The historical perspective on the unraveling of the Soviet Union is shallow and ignorant. It skips the role of Ronald Reagan entirely while burnishing the importance of Gorbachev.

In the infuriating final episode, the FBI neighbor/friend, who has grown suspicious, abets their escape to Mother Russia, leaving their children behind with the daughter as potential witness to the betrayal of duty of the FBI agent.

This is “the greatest drama series in television history?” Oh Puleez!!!! rsk

For more about the film or to order a DVD, visit www.thefightofourlives.com.
https://www.jns.org/a-sneak-peek-at-the-ideological-war-against-the-west

Buy a box of popcorn, find a seat, and then sit back and let your mind relax into Entertainment Land, where you forget about this troubled world for an hour or two.

If that’s your idea of a perfect night at the movies, you’ll probably wish to skip “The Fight of Our Lives: Defeating the Ideological War Against the West.”

But if it’s a different kind of experience you want—one that challenges your comfort zone—you might want to check out this latest release from Doc Emet Productions. That’s what 250 folks who gathered last week at a Boston-area movie theater for the film’s New England premier did.

This was the 14th screening in a series of theaters, community centers, synagogues, churches, museums and universities across the United States, Canada and Israel, for the production company’s fourth documentary wrestling with some of today’s toughest issues. Producer/director Gloria Z. Greenfield set the tone of the evening with this Martin Luther King Jr. quote: “Our lives begin to end the day we remain silent about the things that matter.”

Reviewing the movie “Little Pink House” for the New York Times, Jeannette Catsoulis wrote the film “succeeds neither narratively nor visually.” So, there you have it. The Times has spoken: you don’t want to see it.

Then again, maybe you do. After all, the Times is ground zero for political correctness. A positive review of this movie in the Times is about as likely as the Times editorial board championing the Tea Party movement back in the day.

“Little Pink House” tells the story of Kelo v. City of New London. My wife and I saw it this weekend, and she encouraged me to give you a friendly heads-up about our experience. Though we were keenly aware of the hideous outcome for Susette Kelo because we followed the Supreme Court’s terrible decision in 2005, we were so caught up in the action of the film that our spirits lifted during the scene when Kelo got the news the Court had put her case on its docket.

But of course, as we know, the justices did not serve justice. What the Court served up instead of justice was “social justice.” It turns out that putting “social” before “justice” empties justice of its meaning—and “Little Pink House” makes that case in compelling human terms.

Catherine Keener plays Susette Kelo. Kelo only wants to keep her house. She seeks fair treatment by her city and eventually justice from the Supreme Court. Jeanne Tripplehorn plays the college president and political climber who leads the effort to evict Kelo and her neighbors and to tear down their homes in the name of social justice. Kelo reluctantly agrees to become the face of the fight to save the neighborhood. The Tripplehorn character is the face of the politicians and the bureaucrats who plot and maneuver against the homeowners. Both portrayals are outstanding.

In the film, the mayor of New London tells the homeowners their only chance to save their homes is to take the fight to the people. Have you ever had to fight city hall? This is how it plays out. You only have to fight city hall because you have found out they are planning to do something to you. You only have a chance if what they are planning affects your neighbors too, and if you and your neighbors can succeed in making a public issue of it.

In the film, government at every level, from the city council to the governor and finally to the Supreme Court, works together against the homeowners.

Diablo Cody, Jason Reitman and Charlize Theron sound like an unbeatable team of irreverence and straight-shooting. The trailer for Tully similarly manages to cull the smartest dialogue and best reaction shots – so what could go wrong?

Only everything. In a movie about an over-burdened mother of a bright 8 year old, a problematic 5 year old and a newborn, nothing rings true. Never have you seen an infant diapered so many times, as if a child just out of a place where she was surrounded by amniotic fluid would be crying primarily because of some localized wetness. Never have you seen a seasoned mother change a screaming baby’s diaper before stopping the horrendous crying. Never have you seen the mother of an autistic child seat him behind the driver’s seat so he could continually kick it – what about switching him the second time this happened to the seat nearby?

We see Charlize Theron pumping her milk but wonder why she’s not using that in the middle of the night when she has a night nanny? What else is she saving it for? Where are the words autistic , hyperactive, attention deficit disorder, and why is quirky the omnipresent substitute? Why is the term post-partum depression never mentioned, never anticipated and barely treated? Why is the advent of a third child in eight years treated as if it were a national disaster?

John Krasinski’s new sci-fi thriller, A Quiet Place, has racked up big numbers at the box office. Fans and critics alike are intrigued by a movie about sightless creatures taking over the Earth. Using their super-acute hearing to hunt and destroy by sound, these deadly beasts have just about eliminated all resistance. Here and there, die-hard humans survive by maintaining total silence.

A Quiet Place begins on “Day 89” of the blind beasts’ attack. From old newspaper headlines and other hints, we learn that the relentless creatures, which move so quickly that they’re almost invisible, have defeated the U.S. military and armies from other nations, too. In three months, the human race has gone from predators to prey. Where the creatures come from is never explained, but we suspect that they arrived from space. We’re not told why they’re angry at us. Our only hope for survival is to shut up.

There is something haunting about a post-apocalyptic world in which it’s clearly understood that those who control mainstream communications are both powerful and intolerant. Speak out of turn and you’ll pay for it. A Quiet Place goes a step further: say anything and you’ll die. Is A Quiet Place just another end-of-the-world movie—or an allegorical retelling of the conquest of Western society by enforcers of political correctness? That interpretation might sound farfetched, but audiences are drawn to something here, and it isn’t the originality of the premise. The two main plot twists have been borrowed from earlier films. Blind creatures hunting humans by sound owes to the classic Day of the Triffids, and the ending of A Quiet Place, with its lucky discovery of the creatures’ weak spot, is blatantly lifted from the 1996 Tim Burton sci-fi spoof Mars Attacks! Nevertheless, crowds have been lining up at the multiplex.

Moviegoers are obviously fascinated by a world in which people are deathly afraid to speak—and they know a bit about that from the headlines. They know that progressive politicians and PC intellectuals are abandoning First Amendment protections that they once swore to defend. They know that a distinguished professor at the University of Pennsylvania has been denounced for voicing forbidden facts. They know that campus demonstrators regularly shut down non-PC speakers, almost always with their professors’ consent. California is proposing the banning of non-PC books. Even powerhouse companies like Starbucks operate in fear.

The charms of this drama about the world of a New York restaurant run deep and they make themselves felt with startling speed. A tale that begins as this one does, with a 22-year-old leaving her unexciting middle-American town to find a bigger life in the fabled city, can only suggest the beginning of a highly familiar adventure. That will not turn out to be the case here. The adventurer in question, Tess ( Ella Purnell ), will confront a toll taker on the bridge leading to Manhattan, a woman who utters two words—“seven dollars.” The traveler is taken aback—she’s not a girl with money to spare. That seems like a lot to get in, she tells the toll clerk.

“Seven dollars,” the toll collector repeats evenly, with no change of tone. We’ve seen this woman before, and heard this exact tone—she knows her job and it’s not to talk about the expensive tolls.

This briefest of encounters carries the first whiff of the subtleties, the perfectly observed detail, that distinguishes “Sweetbitter,” a six-part series based on the 2016 novel by Stephanie Danler. ( Stuart Zicherman was the executive producer and director.)

The first person of consequence Tess meets in her quest for a job is Howard (an enthralling portrayal by Paul Sparks ), general manager of a renowned Manhattan restaurant. A sophisticated, understated sort, he asks Tess all sorts of unexpected interview questions—the books she reads, what interests her—and he listens seriously to the answers. Howard will turn out to have a more complicated life than expected, but he never loses his status as revered authority figure to his staff—or his capacity to steal almost every scene. Almost, because “Sweetbitter” is remarkably rich in distinctively drawn characters.

You needn’t be an orthodox Jew to feel the insult to religion in this movie. It helps to keep in mind that its writer/director is Sebastian Lelio, the same man who gave us The Fantastic Woman, an Oscar winning film about a transgender woman, but in truth, this movie could have been endorsed by the LGBT movement or the prevailing secular progressive arm of liberal American politics. The plot is simple and revolves around a rebellious drop-out from the orthodox Jewish community in London, the daughter of a renowned rabbi who relocates to NY where she becomes a photographer of society’s fringe inhabitants. Played by Rachel Weisz, we immediately see that she’s a chain smoker – shorthand for cool bad girl – but she returns to London for the sudden death and funeral of her father. Though she presumably lived with her parents until she was a young adult, she shows little familiarity with or tolerance for the rigid customs of this community. This is seen immediately as she reaches out to touch her father’s designated successor, a bearded young rabbi who is not allowed to touch any women but his own wife. We discover early on that Ronit (Rachel) became persona non grata due to a previous lesbian liaison with Esti (Rachel McAdams) who is now the rebbetzin sporting a suitable wig and clothes.

These two do a lot of non-verbal sighing and murmuring as well as smoking and smooching on the streets and alleys where the tight-knit community can easily spot and recognize them. Making that even easier is the fact that they are the only good-looking women in the film as Allesandro Nivola as the young rabbi is the only decent looking man. The rest of the congregants are old fuddy-duddies or disdainful young matrons with unattractive wigs. If you want to see what real ultra-orthodox women look like, go to Saks or Lord & Taylor to see them buying expensive designer clothes while they push their newest baby in a first-rate stroller.

Eventually, we cut to a steamy indoor sex scene replete with nudity and welcome exchange of bodily fluids. This sexual climax will lead to another climax in which the sensitive young rabbi will come to some conclusions that will befuddle anyone at all familiar with the Jewish religion but will be instantly recognizable to anyone following the LGBT agenda or that of various contemporary congregations for whom liberal politics and non-denominational tikkun olam is the heart and soul of Judaism. If Mr. Lelio were making a movie about gays or Blacks, he would have surely paid more attention to authenticity, but since this is a movie about religious Jews who are presumed to be backward and in need of progressive enlightenment he allows himself the luxury of ignorance and bigotry. They both add to the shallow characterizations to make Disobedience one you can miss without hesitation. It’s a veritable shanda.

With particularly myopic arrogance, Jesse Green, theater critic of the New York Times, lauds the new production of My Fair Lady as the best one ever because it serves as “an ur-text of the #MeToo movement “(NYT 4/20/18) Never mind the genius of George Bernard Shaw or the combined brilliance of Lerner and Lowe – it took director Bartlett Sher to show us “how history -even if it took 100 years – would eventually start to outgrow its brutes, and how it still might do so compassionately by teaching them a lesson.” We all know the famous quote (falsely attributed to Samuel Goldwyn) “If you want to send a message, call Western Union,” but apparently for Jesse Green, a lesson is even more valuable than a message and we can all go to school on the collective wisdom of such luminaries as Ashley Judd and Rose McGowan.

Mr. Green is also excited by the inclusion of male can-can dancers in drag to enlighten us as to the cleverness of “Get Me To the Church on Time.” One can only hope to read his ecstatic response when Eliza eventually reaches maximum progressive significance as played by a transsexual actor, preferably Black. And why the need to save those outmoded period costumes and set designs? Why not update the staid version of Eliza as a vehicle for Miley Cyrus while she’s still young enough to lash her tongue at Henry Higgins and morph into someone as grand as Beyonce at the Coachella Ball

The contemporary need to keep updating classics to make them relevant usually diminishes them. The main purpose it does serve is to further narrow the imaginations of people incapable of recognizing that newer does not always mean better and that historical mores do not have to duplicate our own in order to hold our attention or respect. Fortunately, the trio of Shaw, Lerner and Lowe are not here to see the debasing comparison of their creativity to the collective mash-up of hashtagMeToo.

Horror films usually fall into two categories: those that are filled with monsters that threaten us from the outside, and those that are full of psychological resonance and an important interior logic. In the second category belong films by Alfred Hitchcock, Stephen King and Stanley Kubrick – master manipulators of the form. John Krasinski’s new box office hit belongs squarely in the realm of the arbitrary imposition of an alien force on a defenseless population. A Quiet Place concerns a family with three children trying to survive in a state with blind predators who resemble aliens or dinosaurs and respond only to sound, instantly devouring what they hear and conquer. The family must use sign language to communicate and clearly exist in a state of perpetual fear.

The withholding of conversation, television, music, telephone is an interesting concept for contemporary torture but it’s mitigated by a soundtrack that works against that fundamental plot point. The audience hears constant music and special effects – robbing us of the ability to empathize with the characters’ predicament. Without spoiling the most significant moments, I can tell you that the movie soon becomes a veritable pile-on of unbelievable occurrences. Emily Blunt (Mrs Krasinski) gives a sensitive portrayal of the pregnant mother but even she cannot rescue the suspension of disbelief for a scene in which she punctures her bare foot on a sharp nail, goes into labor, sees the creature enter her basement space, delivers a baby who cries and finds herself in a flooded zone with the creature inches away from the newborn , yet somehow they will be around for the rest of the movie.

This is lazy screenwriting since we have watched the creature’s M.O. several times before and there’s no rhyme or reason for its behavior here. Other scenes follow with similar disregard for common sense on the part of the family members. In general, it’s much too easy to instill fear where children are involved – it’s an amateur’s way of raising your heartbeat without earning that reward. A Quiet Place is a film for those who are not aficionados of the art of horror, but those who are content to take their reaction cues from the sound effects acting as the puppeteer. I recommend watching any of the masters available on Netflix or TCM or re-reading the stories of Edgar Allan Poe – preferably OUT LOUD.