By the turn of the century, with the Empire now aggressively on the march across the globe in the wake of the USSR's implosion, Ridley Scott's Black Hawk Down (2001), produced --you guessed it!--by Jerry Bruckheimer (who obviously has some very good chums in his Pentagon closet), was also a flagwaver, albeit one that showed the impressionable kids that people could actually get killed while massacring the barefoot dark savages. Against such truculent backdrop, The Bridges at Toko Ri--based on the Michener book--looks now like a model of coy self-restraint.
In any case, since the turn of the century, as the crimes and audacity of the empire have grown larger, so have the audacity and proficiency of the filmmakers (and media mills) in presenting such dubious enterprises as above reproach. And this is precisely where the likes of Ms. Bigelow enter the picture, so to speak.
Ms. Bigelow's sin
History repeats itself but rarely in exactly the same manner. And since technology has advanced practically without interruption, doing propaganda for a criminal, smug, meddling superpower in the 21st century acquires a different, much more horrendous dimension than in earlier decades. The stakes are far higher now. There is no countervailing USSR. The polar caps are melting. The UN is in the pocket of the NATO alliance and its accomplices, or neutralized at best, and the party duopoly's differences, always more fantasy than fact, have finally become almost impossible to discern. The unraveling of American democracy is well-nigh complete. The plutocracy and its minions rule. In this context, cheerleading for the empire is particularly odious, unworthy if not revolting to any true artist. This much should be fairly obvious to even a moderately well informed person but apparently in Hollywood, where reality is made to order, it's not. In short order, a whole cadre of Hollywood filmmakers (from an industry perspective the separation between feature films and tv fare is now almost nonexistent) have come to the fore to excel in this sordid niche, relishing their membership in this dubious club. Few would dispute that Kathryn Bigelow --the former Mrs. James Cameron--practically leads the parade.
Using empathy for our "warriors" as the reason for her fascination with these macho topics, Bigelow's glorification of our storm troopers and intel "assets" has made her now the "poster girl" for imperial propaganda, our own Riefenstahl. Of course with her ample H-wood connections, strikingly beautiful looks, Amazon 5 ft-11 frame, and well-padded bank account, at 61 Bigelow is sitting pretty on top of the world. She can laugh us all into irrelevancy till the end of time. But the question lingers: What kind of self-imposed cocoon does such an ultra privileged (and lucky) person inhabit? Who's keeping Bigelow from seeking the truth? In fact, what kind of cockamamie "research" do these people do when preparing their scripts? Or, perhaps less elegantly, what kind of fuckard is that who fails to comprehend the obvious (after all that has happened) and fails to dig diligently under the rather transparent veneer of smug propaganda that wraps our actions?
Maybe the following can shed some light. My colleague Bill Blum (Rogue Nation) just sent me a copy of his latest book, America's Deadliest Export: Democracy, which I'm prepping for a review. In his introduction he says:
So I must suppose--giving her the benefit of the doubt, which I suspect she scarcely deserves--that Bigelow hasn't figured that yet. What do you call that, intellectual laziness?
Coda
Sadly for those who want to believe that a world ruled by women would be a better world, Bigelow shows that class almost always trumps gender. The two evil Rices--Susan and Condi--Hilary Clinton, Golda Meier, Margaret Thatcher (a mean spirited bastard of remarkable durability), and many other women once in prominent positions demonstrate that they are as likely to act criminally, self-servingly and with deliberate evil intent, or sociopathic disregard for the consequences, as the worst of their male counterparts. Admittedly, men have a much longer history of violence and criminality, but many women are quick studies. Maybe length of service to evil does not equate with genetic predisposition. In any case, my bet is that Bigelow is not going to see the light any time soon. The gilded corridors and accoutrements of American power are far too seductive to give them up over something as trivial as principle.
Patrice Greanville is founding editor of The Greanville Post. This article was transcribed by Sean Lenihan, to whom we extend our thanks.
SUGGESTED LINK: Zero Snuff Thirty, by Joe Giambrone
In any case, since the turn of the century, as the crimes and audacity of the empire have grown larger, so have the audacity and proficiency of the filmmakers (and media mills) in presenting such dubious enterprises as above reproach. And this is precisely where the likes of Ms. Bigelow enter the picture, so to speak.
Ms. Bigelow's sin
History repeats itself but rarely in exactly the same manner. And since technology has advanced practically without interruption, doing propaganda for a criminal, smug, meddling superpower in the 21st century acquires a different, much more horrendous dimension than in earlier decades. The stakes are far higher now. There is no countervailing USSR. The polar caps are melting. The UN is in the pocket of the NATO alliance and its accomplices, or neutralized at best, and the party duopoly's differences, always more fantasy than fact, have finally become almost impossible to discern. The unraveling of American democracy is well-nigh complete. The plutocracy and its minions rule. In this context, cheerleading for the empire is particularly odious, unworthy if not revolting to any true artist. This much should be fairly obvious to even a moderately well informed person but apparently in Hollywood, where reality is made to order, it's not. In short order, a whole cadre of Hollywood filmmakers (from an industry perspective the separation between feature films and tv fare is now almost nonexistent) have come to the fore to excel in this sordid niche, relishing their membership in this dubious club. Few would dispute that Kathryn Bigelow --the former Mrs. James Cameron--practically leads the parade.
Maybe the following can shed some light. My colleague Bill Blum (Rogue Nation) just sent me a copy of his latest book, America's Deadliest Export: Democracy, which I'm prepping for a review. In his introduction he says:
"The secret to understanding US foreign policy is that there is no secret. Principally, one must come to the realization that the United States strives to dominate the world, for which end it is prepared to use any means necessary. Once one understands that, much of the apparent confusion, contradiction, and ambiguity surrounding Washington's policies fades away--
So I must suppose--giving her the benefit of the doubt, which I suspect she scarcely deserves--that Bigelow hasn't figured that yet. What do you call that, intellectual laziness?
Coda
Sadly for those who want to believe that a world ruled by women would be a better world, Bigelow shows that class almost always trumps gender. The two evil Rices--Susan and Condi--Hilary Clinton, Golda Meier, Margaret Thatcher (a mean spirited bastard of remarkable durability), and many other women once in prominent positions demonstrate that they are as likely to act criminally, self-servingly and with deliberate evil intent, or sociopathic disregard for the consequences, as the worst of their male counterparts. Admittedly, men have a much longer history of violence and criminality, but many women are quick studies. Maybe length of service to evil does not equate with genetic predisposition. In any case, my bet is that Bigelow is not going to see the light any time soon. The gilded corridors and accoutrements of American power are far too seductive to give them up over something as trivial as principle.
Patrice Greanville is founding editor of The Greanville Post. This article was transcribed by Sean Lenihan, to whom we extend our thanks.
SUGGESTED LINK: Zero Snuff Thirty, by Joe Giambrone
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