The Democrats and the Zombie Horde

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I’m not gushing with praise about President Trump’s big speech on February 28, but one of his actions on March 1 does make me gush a little. I chose that verb with cunning: it alludes to his signing of an executive order striking down President Obama’s “Waters of the United States” rule, which gave the EPA the authority to harass people who try to do almost anything about the water on their land, even if the water is nothing but ponds or “vernal pools” (i.e., puddles that show up when it rains). And when I say “harass” I mean harass. The EPA has tried to make malefactors pay tens of thousands of dollars a day in fines.

I usually don’t like to talk about social classes, because the Marxists made such a mess of that, but the rule that Trump wants to get rid of is class legislation of a familiar but very pernicious kind. It’s like all the rules that Democrats have made forbidding you from getting the lightbulb you want or building a house near the suspected hive of some rare insect or drilling for oil in some area that no one ever visits but some environmentalist organization has located on a map and now derives financial support for “caring about.” Such rules — such under-the-table legislation — are meant to help well-off people who live in cities have good feelings or to help their kids get jobs “advocating for the environment,” at the expense of people who work with their hands on farms or oil rigs, or who simply want to maintain a decent environment for themselves. This is legislation that takes wealth (whether money or psychic benefits) out of the control of one group and gives it into the control of another group, which is ignored or ridiculed if it protests.

While he talked, the people in the background sat immobile, staring into space, not daring to move a muscle.

The Democratic Party is the main (not the sole, but the main) engine of class warfare in America, and its view of the exploited class — i.e., the broad mass of people who are hurt by its policies, but have to pay for them — has never been indicated so clearly as it was by the Democrats’ response to Trump’s oration. The Democratic leadership has identified what it thinks is the cause of all its problem: older, white, working-class people who live in that strange, virtually unknown region west of the Hudson and east of Hollywood. So it arranged for a retired Democrat governor from Kentucky, who looks about 180 years old, to sit in a diner in his home state, backed by other white people, mainly old, and talk in a strong Southern accent about himself, his religious connections, and his identification with po’ people and the workin’ class. While he talked, the people in the background sat immobile, staring into space, not daring to move a muscle. This, in the professional Democrats’ view, is the Other that must be tricked into continued subservience to us — the Other that can best be tricked by images of itself as a collection of zombies.

Yes, come to think of it, I do believe that Marx might have had something interesting to say about this.




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Divining the Truth about War

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The scene opens on a man, Joshua Connor (Russell Crowe), traversing the hot arid plain of Australia’s Outback. The camera looks down from above, almost as if it were the face of God. He carries two small metal rods in front of him, holding them gently and respectfully, as he might hold the reins of a pair of fine horses, giving them their head. Suddenly the rods cross. X marks the spot. He throws down his tools and begins to dig.

It is backbreaking work. We know from the change in his clothing that it takes many days. But he never gives up. He knows the water is down there; the rods told him so. He just has to keep digging. And sure enough, the water finally begins to gush. He exults at the sky as the water reaches his face, almost as a baptism. He has found water in the midst of a vast desert, just by trusting his gift for divination.

Arriving home, he finds his wife Lizzie (Jacqueline McKenzie) busy cleaning the boots of one of their sons. “They’re waiting for their story,” she tells him, nodding toward the bedroom of their three boys. “Not tonight,” he pleads. “I’m bone tired.” But she insists. “It’s their favorite part of the day.” The camera stays on her as we hear him read a magical tale from the Arabian Nights. The camera peers over his shoulder at the story’s illustration, then pans out.

How could you send all your sons off to fight a war half a world away? For what? For honor? For nothing.

But the beds are empty. There are no blankets on the striped ticking of the mattresses. These boys have been gone for a long time. They fought at Gallipoli. “May you outlive your children” may sound like a blessing, but it is the greatest curse any parent can know.

Moments like this abound in Russell Crowe’s The Water Diviner, his first film as a director and a stunning piece of work. It is a film so filled with passion and pathos, elegant cinematography and quotable lines, that you just know — this is the film Crowe has held in his heart through all the years of making other people’s films. It is his paean to the Aussies and Kiwis who joined the ANZAC forces to fight the Turks during World War I while simultaneously offering a heartbreaking protest against war. As we watch him send his fine sons off to war in a flashback scene, calling out to the oldest, “Keep your brothers safe!”, we can’t help of Wilfred Owen’s ironic and contemptuous poem about the sufferings of soldiers in WWI: “Dulce et Decorum Est” — “Sweet and fitting it is to die for one’s country.” No, it is neither sweet nor fitting. It is horrifying. How could you send all your sons off to fight a war half a world away? For what? For honor? For nothing.

“You can find water, but you can’t find your own sons,” Lizzie accuses Connor wretchedly, and so he heads off to Gallipoli to find his sons’ bodies and bring them home. Along the way he stays at the inn of a woman (Olga Kurylenko) whose Turkish husband was killed in the war and meets the Turkish commander (Yilmaz Erdogan) who oversaw the ANZAC defeat at Gallipoli — his sons’ defeat — and has now returned to help the victors find and bury their dead. One Turk says to a British soldier, when asked what he did before the war, “I was an architect.” The Brit replies, “I was a civil engineer.” Enmity turns to respect as they come to know each other, and aThomas Hardy poem comes to mind — “The Man He Killed”:

Had he and I but met
     By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
     Right many a nipperkin!

But ranged as infantry,
     And staring face to face,
I shot at him as he at me,
     And killed him in his place.

I shot him dead because —
     Because he was my foe,
Just so: my foe of course he was;
     That's clear enough; although

He thought he'd 'list, perhaps,
     Off-hand like — just as I —
Was out of work — had sold his traps —
     No other reason why.

Yes; quaint and curious war is!
     You shoot a fellow down
You'd treat if met where any bar is,
     Or help to half-a-crown.

Despite the excruciating sadness of its subject, The Water Diviner is one of the most beautiful films I have seen in recent years. The powerful love of a father for his sons is demonstrated in the flashbacks and mingles with the terrible guilt he feels as he realizes what he has unwittingly done to them by proudly sending them off to war. The cinematography is lush and creative, the music poignant, and the script is so carefully crafted that it reminds me of an Oscar Wilde play, full of pithy, quotable truths. This a film you will be glad you saw.


Editor's Note: Review of "The Water Diviner," directed by Russell Crowe. Hopscotch Features, Fear of God Films, 2015, 111 minutes.



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