The problem with confronting the entertainment industry’s progressive toxicity is that Hollywood is the super-spreader, not the source, and too many people are already sick. For instance, the Left’s reaction to President Trump’s China virus convalescence has been so psychotic as to be unprecedented in modern American history. Any semblance of class, perspective, and patriotism has gone with Gone with the Wind, banished, as usual, by media madwomen blasting even the hospital that cured him.
“When Trump walked through the doors, Walter Reed had a sterling reputation,” tweeted once sane New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd. “As he walks out 72 hours later, its reputation is in tatters. There’s nothing Trump can’t ruin.” Dowd’s Washington Post counterpart Jennifer Rubin surpassed her rabidness on Twitter. “Congress might want to defund Walter Reed. It is a public health hazard.” Even if you differ with Trump ideologically, nothing he has done — or not done in the case of the pandemic — merits such open guttural hatred, often rising to a death wish for not only Trump but us who support him.
We are far beyond deplorable now; we’re condemnable for having unleashed such a horror on the nation. Our desire for low taxes, a strong military, safe borders, energy independence, recognition of biological reality, the right to bear arms, the right to life for unborn babies (or disinvolvement from their slaughter), freedoms of speech and religion, and a color-blind society — all for which Trump stands alone against all Democratic challengers — has damned us.
This is a level of fanaticism conservatives have no concept of, since it defies God and reason. I thought Barack Obama a corrupt radical incompetent whose policies did great damage to the land, but it would never have occurred to me to wish him dead — defeated, disgraced, displaced, yes, but never dead. And even had I been so vile, I would have been ashamed to display it in public. A recently suspended Marshall University professor (female of course) lacked such self-possession. Another woman couldn’t wait for the virus to kill Trump supporters, so she sped things up with her car.
Liberalism is a religion, and Hollywood its Mecca. I would say its “Vatican,” but the Rock of St. Peter stands on pretty shaky ground these days, its hierarchy more in line with the Kremlin. Some of Pope Francis’s new encyclical letter, Fratelli Tutti, has the makings of a new communist manifesto or Democrat Party platform: “Once this health crisis passes, our worst response would be to plunge even more deeply into feverish consumerism and new forms of egotistic self-preservation.” As my witty friend Tom said to me four years ago, “Barack Obama, Theresa May, and Pope Francis are the Bizarro World counterparts to Reagan-Thatcher-John Paul II.” At least we now have good replacements for the first two leaders.
But back to today’s entertainers. They would rather place us in our graves than in front of screens watching their fare. That they’re cutting their own throats by alienating us is a financial price they’re willing to pay, even in the once-neutral realm of sports. Friday’s Game Two of the NBA Finals between the once-admired LA Lakers and Miami Heat was the least-watched NBA Finals game ever (4.5 million viewers), down 68 percent from last year’s Game Two, which had the Toronto Raptors. Yet NBA luminaries like LeBron James and Mark Cuban will go down with the ship praising Black Lives Matter without a disparaging word about China. For them, the phrase “Get woke, go broke” is a badge of honor.
That goes double for Hollywood, as it commits seppuku on the altar of virtue-signaling, with the new Oscar Best Picture diversity rules its suicide note. The Best Picture Winner of 1963, Lawrence of Arabia, might even be stripped of its Oscar, as is the cancel culture style these days. I thought as much while watching that masterpiece on TCM last weekend, making the following mental checklist.
At least one lead actor must be from an underrepresented racial-ethnic group: Omar Sharif, Middle-Eastern, check. The second category requiring 30 percent of the supporting cast from four categories — women, underrepresented racial/ethnic group, disabled, LGBTQ — proved tougher. Women: none, fail. Racial/ethnic: the mostly Arab cast, check. This left two more categories to make the grade. Disabled: none, fail. LGBTQ: José Ferrer, excellent as the hero-raping Turkish colonel of whom T. E. Lawrence wrote in his autobiography Seven Pillars of Wisdom, check. Wait, I said to myself, Ferrer wasn’t gay. They needed a legitimate gay actor to play the hero-raping Turkish colonel. Wait again, I said to myself, hero-raping probably isn’t in the spirit of things.
Come to think of it, I thought, two of the best actors of all time, Alec Guinness and Anthony Quinn, who brilliantly play Arab chieftains, would have to be cut, and the movie would suffer from their absence. On the other hand, I thought, Quinn was a minority, Mexican, but that didn’t count. At that point, I got a headache, as most people in Hollywood would if they hadn’t lost their minds. It doesn’t matter anyway because by their anti-artistic standards, there will never be a picture like Lawrence of Arabia again.
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