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A child who has the Bible read to him regularly is going to be fundamentally different from a child who grows up on comic books. A child who watches world-class television productions of Jane Austen's novels is going to be substantially broader of mind, and certainly far less cynical, than a child who diets on the Simpsons, however funny Bart may be. A child who listens to Bach concertos and Irish folk music is going to be substantially more civilized than a child who is allowed to listen to Eminem. The relationship is direct and measurable: one road leads to culture and civilization, the other to barbarism. I
suppose that's why I have a love-hate relationship with Hollywood.
The talented people who produce film-the army of directors,
writers, musicians, actors, and technicians-have the power to paint
our culture with either sublime or vulgar strokes.
They can produce either the beauty and elegance of the film "Glory,"
or the shallow ugliness of a film like "American Beauty."
They can tell the ennobling story of "The
Patriot," or sophomoric class-drivel like "Titanic."
They can encourage us with heroic tales of common virtue, as in
"It's a Wonderful Life," or they can indulge psychopathic
depravity as in "Silence of the Lambs." Historical Reenactors, from time to time, actually have a chance to help in this struggle. Last week, a fellow reenactor informed me that a producer for Warner Brothers was looking for Revolutionary War Reenactors. They were filming an Eddie Murphy, Robert DeNiro comedy and they wanted Revolutionary War reenactors to play themselves at a modern gun show. Right away, of course, I was cautious. Eddie Murphy and Revolutionary War Reenactors? Was this going to be a farce? How would the reenactors be portrayed? How would the production slant firearms, reenactors, and gun-shows? It doesn't take much insight to imagine what Hollywood was hatching here. This was the same screen-writing team that had produced the virulently anti-gun, anti-NRA "Lethal Weapon 4." I asked for a script, and I was told, "they are spending hundreds of millions of dollars on this film; they don't hand out scripts." Well,
that didn't require much more thought.
This would be a comedy, and at least part of the comedy would be
dedicated to making fun of historical reenactors and gun shows.
By extension, it was a safe bet that American history and the
Constitutional right to bear arms would be held up for ridicule.
You would be rewarded, in other words, for standing in a crowd
for three days and wearing the garb of a colonial minuteman, with a $600
check and the director's veiled scorn. I
said no. I tried to
get as many of my friends in the hobby to say no as well.
To their credit, most of them saw through this charade and said
the paycheck and the 15 seconds of fame wasn't worth it either. Unfortunately,
a few of my friends in the hobby fooled themselves.
They told me, "if it looks bad, we'll walk"
In other words, if the set was full of a bunch of extras dressed
as Neo-Nazis and side-show freaks, they would just leave. They were
ignoring the fact, of course, that it would be impossible for them to
know how their image would be used, without seeing the final cut.
And without seeing the script, moreover, they wouldn't know
what would be said about them, before their scene, or after it.
One of them said, "at least they will see real reenactors who
look authentic and not a bunch of fat guys in rented colonial clothing." (His theory seemed to be that the serene authenticity of his
historical impression would somehow shine through the Eddie Murphy
vulgarity surrounding it, and render him invulnerable to ridicule.)
One of them said, "if it's anti-NRA, the joke is on them,
because I'll use the money to buy another rifle."
(And if rifles are eventually outlawed because these producers,
and others like them, successfully ridicule the image of the armed
American?) Another
reenactor just thought it would be a good joke and a great chance to
work with an actor he respected-Robert De Niro.
(He was going to reserve judgment about the septic tank, until he
got right down in there and smelled it.) There's
a warning here for those of you with principles:
they might be for sale, and it might not be for mere money.
All of the fellows I'm describing have real jobs in the real
world, and very few of them actually need the money.
What they need, evidently, is recognition, the all-powerful
blessing of Hollywood's big, expensive, 35 millimeter cameras, and the
vast network of theaters, video stores, and television sets on which
their 15 seconds of fame will be spread.
All of these guys care about the Second amendment and have
expressed contempt for the gun-banning lunacy of Hollywood's liberal
establishment. Oh,
and by the way, did I mention it?
All of these guys at one time or another have depicted colonial
era minutemen. You know-Captain
John Parker and the boys from Lexington?
The sturdy Congregationalist Yankees who would rather die than
submit to the slavery of taxation without representation?
The brave Concord lads who were defending their cannons and
powder? Those guys. Every
day, with everything we read and watch, we are becoming closer to one
thing or another, an informed citizen or a thoughtless barbarian, a
virtuous parent or a deadbeat dad, an honest man or a liar, a hero or a
coward. I
don't have a working television, but America On Line asked me this
morning to guess the father's name of Rachel's expected baby on the
show "Friends." Situation
comedies are now apparently in the business of making unwed, promiscuous
motherhood a cultural presupposition.
Ideas and, more dangerously, assumptions like this one, are being
churned out of the Hollywood media machine like bags of seed for the
next global harvest. I have a few questions for my friends who took a job at the seed plant this week: will you be proud of the harvest? If a generation of teenage boys are encouraged to believe that American history is an Eddie Murphy joke, will you enjoy life in this great republic? If a congressional constituency full of Rosie O'Donnel moms gets one more confirmation that guns are for freak-show lunatics, will you still be happy with your fifteen seconds of fame? If you succeed in making your living history hobby look as inconsequential as a Star Trek convention, will you be honoring your ancestors? If they take your prized flintlock away from you, will you protest, or will you just hope and pray it makes the evening news? Your Humble Servant, James Riley
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