"Singing The Purim Blues"

Purim. which begins tomorrow evening at sundown, is supposed to be a happy Jewish holiday, in contrast to, say, the High Holidays, which are primarily spent begging for your life. 

Purim, depicted in the biblical Book of Esther – which is also a scroll, which is unscrolled and read on Purim – tells the story of how a plucky Jewish woman named Esther who had won marriage to the Persian King Ahasuerus in a contest where she was accordied  “Prettiest in the Land” honors, reveals her religious affiliation to her husband, thus averting a massacring of the Jews, engineered by the King’s second-in-command, Haman, whose odiosity is perpetuated through eternity by Jews on Purim eating fruit-filled pastries molded in the shape of his hat.

A “good news” story – the Jewish people rescued from destruction.  A perennial “Best Seller” in Hebraic circles.  And yet, for me, the holiday of Purim has a bittersweet component, based on two troubling events from my personal experience.

In no particular order, an order required, because you cannot tell two stories at the same time:

When I was in college at the University of Toronto, determined not to take any courses that could even remotely lead to career, I selected, during my graduating year, to study Near Eastern Literature, which was the Bible, not as “You better believe this, or you can count on big trouble in the Afterlife”, but as historical literature.

I am reminded that, as a much-needed break from studying for my college “finals”, my friend Alan and I escaped, spending a weekend in New York, where, between visits to the theater and sampling escargot, I studied for my Near Eastern Literature exam by reading the Gideon Bible generously provided for us in our hotel room.  I remember the first page of it saying, “Leave this Bible in the open; the next person might need it.”  I did, in fact, need it – to bone up for my Near Eastern Literature exam – so when we left, I packed it in my “carry-on”, and I studied it on the plane ride home.

I also saw The Gospel According To St. Matthew, so it was not an entirely frivolous trip.

Among other eye-openers – and indeed the eye-openingest eye-opener of them all – was I was apprised that the Story of Esther – a young woman saving her people from destruction – was, in fact, not real.  Or, at least, not original to the Jews.  Our professor explained that strikingly similar stories appear in other people’s holy writings as well.  Esther was simply the Jewish incarnation of a multi-cultural myth.

Now, remember, in my formative years, I was educated at the Orthodox Toronto Hebrew Day School, where you received a month’s detention for eating a non-kosher hamburger.  (If it had cheese on it, I think they killed you.) 

We were instructed to believe that the Bible actually happened.  As written.  I remember being reprimanded for mumbling dismissively when we learned that, when the Ten Commandments were delivered from Sinai, the blind could suddenly see, and the deaf could suddenly hear.  I somehow found that difficult to believe.  Although, with my eye problems, that could have just been a sour grapes response for missing out on that healing opportunity.

My Near Eastern Literature professor explained that it was not uncommon to appropriate mythological tales from other religions, citing that the biblical story of “The Flood” was predated by the Mesopotamian “Epic of Gilgamesh”, which originated “The Flood’s” deluginary narrative. 

My drummed-into-my-head beliefs were dropping like flies.  Esther apparently didn’t happen, and “The Flood” had happened before.  It’s a good thing my college professor hadn’t gone to my school.  Peddling that nonsense, he’d have gotten detention for Life!  And possibly stoning.

Purim, for me, had been mortally wounded.  And on top of that, there was this:

I was thirteen years old.  I had just had my Bar Mitzvah.  It was my last year attending the Toronto Hebrew Day School, and, at an assembly, the graduating students were putting on a Purim play.  Reenacting the historic events I would later learn had never taken place.

I did not have a big part.  In fact, I was an “extra.”  A palace soldier, or something.  (Not only did that school try to indoctrinate my brain, they did not know I had talent.)

The soldier’s costume, I was instructed – since the location was Persia – involved a turban and a robe.  My turban would be a bath towel, my robe, the exquisite Scotch plaid flannel bathrobe I had recently received for my Bar Mitzvah, and adored.

I looked good in the play. 

Afterwards, it was back to class, where I removed my wardrobe, folding my bath towel into my school bag, and hanging my treasured bathrobe in the cloakroom.

That night, I left for home, forgetting the bathrobe in the cloakroom.  When I returned the next day, it was no longer there.  I was totally devastated.

An orthodox Jewish child had made off with my bathrobe.

Such, for me, are my tarnishing memories of Purim Past.  To this day, I am not certain which loss was more significant – the debunking of a longstanding belief, or the pilfering of my bathrobe.

I believe it was the bathrobe.

"It's Only A Movie - Part Two"

A Somewhat Apology:  The following content was cribbed from a New York Times column, called “The Oscar For Best Fabrication”, written by Maureen Dowd on February 17, 2013.  I would have written this first, but I was not privy to the information she acquired.  If I had been, I am sure Maureen Dowd would be somewhat apologizing to me. 

My favorite analogy about having it both ways:

In the movie North Dallas Forty, a football player is arguing with his coach, and the player is getting increasingly frustrated, because, as he explains, “When I call it a game, you call it a business; and when I call it a business, you call it a game.”

Ipso facto with movies “based on actual events” – or, as touted in Zero Dark Thirty, “based on first-hand accounts of actual events” – where, when you call it a movie, they call it “a movie based on actual events”, but when you criticize their inaccuracies, they say, “It’s only a movie.”  

Case in point – and it saddens me, because I am an enthusiastic admirer of the movie – Lincoln. 

After viewing Lincoln, a current Connecticut congressman complained that the movie falsely depicted two Connecticut legislators voting “Nay” on the issue of the Thirteenth Amendment, freeing the slaves.  To clarify – if clarifying were needed – that means the Connecticut legislators voted against the Constitutional amendment freeing the slaves.

Historically, it turns out, the Connecticut legislators, in fact, voted in favor of the Constitutional amendment freeing the slaves. 

Meaning that, on a historical point which is evidentiarily verifiable, the movie’s representation of their vote was the exact opposite of what actually occurred. 

There’s a story in which two people at the end of World War I are conversing, and one of them says, “I wonder what posterity will say about this war?” and the other replies, “I know what it won’t say.  It won’t say that Belgium invaded Germany.”

In the context of Connecticut’s Thirteenth Amendment vote, Lincoln unabashedly proclaims that Belgium invaded Germany.

Why, did they do that?  Because, to summarize what I am about to say in greater – possibly unnecessary – length, despite its inaccurary, it was more dramatic for the movie to get it wrong. 

Although historical accuracy required the legislators to be called to vote alphabetically according to their surnames – and the filmmakers were apprised of this by a Lincoln historian attached to the picture – the movie instead opted to have the legislators’ votes recorded alphabetically according to their state. 

The movie decided to perpetuate this inaccuracy, because, as a “rhythmic device”, it was deemed more dramatically powerful to hear the names of the states being called out alphabetically than to hear an alphabetical reading of the names of Nineteenth Century lawmakers nobody ever heard of (possibly even in the Nineteenth Century.)

Moreover, in order to build suspense as to whether the amendment would pass, the early votes needed to be against it.  As a result, a deliberate decision was made to ignore the fact that the Connecticut congressmen voted in favor of abolishing slavery, have the legislators recognized by their states, and, since “Connecticut” starts with an early-alphabetical “C”, to have their vote be recorded as “Nay.” 

Acclaimed playwright Tony Kushner, who wrote the Lincoln screenplay staunchly defends their decision to get things wrong, clinging to the view that movies should not be held to the scrupulosity of history books, thus making it acceptable to depict the congressmen voting by state, having the early vote being “Connecticut’s”, and having that vote be recorded in the movie as “Nay.”  (The Connecticut legislators were given invented names in the movie, but I’m not sure if that makes things better or worse.)

“It’s ridiculous,” Kushner went on, concerning the fuss made over what he clearly viewed as an insignificant adjustment.  “It’s like saying that Lincoln didn’t have green socks, he had blue socks.”

To my ear, that sounds like an outlandish – and surprisingly stupid – comparison, though I hesitate to place my views in opposition to the oft-proven depth and understanding of Tony Kushner.  Still, flipping someone’s heroic vote against slavery into a vote to retain slavery…call me crazy, but that sounds bigger than a socks-color switcheroo.

Finally, a mention of a Chilean picture we saw a few days ago – and I enjoyed tremendously – called No.  No depicts an ad man employing blatantly commercial techniques during the 1988 plebiscite on whether to oust or retain the country’s ruling dictator, Pinochet.  

(Spoiler Alert:  His side wins.)

I do not know how much of No is real.  And I don’t really care, because the film’s buoyant optimism was transporting and – Spoiler Alert – the underdog prevailed. 

Overall, I prefer “based on actual events” movies to be scrupulously accurate.  But if the movie Earl calls me a wavering hypocrite on this issue…

I will not make a fuss.

(I would only ask if I could play me as an old man.  Possibly narrating the entire picture.)

"It's Only A Movie"

 It’s about having it both ways.  You promote a movie as “Based On Actual Events”, and when you’re called on having fudged those actual events, you say, “It’s only a movie”, meaning nobody expects it to be real.

I do.  And I feel substantially ripped off when it isn’t.

You got me into the theater with the specific enticement that the movie I am about to watch is not a made-up story.  Then, later, you say, “Well, some of it is.”  To me, this is just sleazy.  Try that in any other business, and it’s a prison, or a hefty fine.

“Beef hotdog.”

“All beef?”

“Well, you know…quite a bit of it.”

You lied to me. 

Well, comes the standard excuse, it’s a movie, not documentary reality.  (By which, I assume, they do not mean a Michael Moore documentary, because a lot of that’s made up too.  In fact, all documentaries are subjectively slanted, but that’s for another post, or maybe not, as, by asserting “all documentaries are subjectively slanted”, I may have revealed all I have to say on the matter.)

At least, Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid was up front about things.  The first title card in a movie concerning actual people and events read:  “Most of What Follows Is True.”  I never saw anything like that in any other movie.  Certainly, dramas based on “Actual Events” offer no such disclaimers.

The question is, “Are they misleading us if they don’t?” 

Well, let’s see.

Argo

Wait.  A moment to explain why…wait.  I’ll do it this way.  Theoretically – and this generally turns out to be the case – movies based on actual events are more compelling than movies with fabricated storylines.  Why?  Because of this:

“The characters whose story you are watching represent flesh-and-blood people, and these things actually happened to them.  Nothing happened to James Bond.  The guy’s fun to watch, and it’s an enjoyable ride.  But James Bond is entirely made up.”

Therein lies the distinction that makes the difference.  Anne Frank – real person.  Hence, the visceral difference when she hid, and they caught her, and she died.  The Diary of Fran Hanks?  Same story, but she’s not a real person?  It’s not the same.  (Side Note Relative To Partially True Storytelling:  Imagine how ripped off you’d feel if you found out that, though the movie had depicted her dying in the camps, Anne Frank actually lived.)

Okay, Argo.   

Argo fudged the facts of six American diplomats’ daring escape from Iran in 1979.  Aside from compressing events for time purposes – which, unless you want a three-month-long movie, there is nothing you can do about that – Argo also exaggerates certain moments – most significantly, the events surrounding the final airport departure – for dramatic effect.

To this, I say…

“So what?”

You’re fugitive American diplomats, and they’re sneaking you out of Iran, masquerading as a Canadian film crew.  You think that wasn’t tense in real life?  What did Argo do?  It made “tense” tenser for dramatic effect.  We’re not talking fabricated tension.

“Hi.  We’re American diplomats.  And we’re leaving with falsified Canadian passports.  Okay?”

“Sure.  Have a nice trip.  And come back to Iran real soon.”

That didn’t happen.  The movie took what did happen, and they dramatized its suspensefulness.

As my favorite basketball announcer Chick Hearn used to say:

No harm; no foul.

Moving on…

Zero Dark Thirty

Is a movie about the painstaking efforts to find and “take out” Osama Bin Laden.  Was Osama Bin Laden, in reality, found and “taken out”?  Yes, he was.

Okay, then.  So far, so good.

What got the movie in trouble is that it implied that information resulting from the “Enhanced Interrogation Technique” known as torture contributed, at least in part, to the tracking down and killing of Osama Bin Laden.  Our government, on the other hand, insists that that is not how it happened. 

That’s a big difference.  “Information resulting from torture contributed to the ultimately successful operation.”  “No it didn’t.”  If the first statement is correct, it makes a persuasive case for torture.  If the second statement is correct, then the movie told a big fib. 

A fib, which, for dramatic effect, justifies torture.

The filmmakers claim that their movie leaves the issue ambiguous.  “Ambiguous” means it’s not clear.  Opinions differ on the subject, is the filmmakers’ view, and the movie is simply being honest about that.

To me, this is not “ambiguous.”  “Ambiguous” is, they emerge from the interrogation room with the desired information, leaving it unclear whether torture got them the information.  That’s ambiguous. 

Showing the torture, and emerging with the desired information?  That’s stacking the deck.  It really looks like it worked.

“I stuck a fork in his eye.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Well, he’s dead.  But it’s kind of ambiguous.”

It seems important, both morally and practically, to know whether torture works.  If the movie sidesteps that issue while showing scenes of torture that may or may not have been helpful, it looks like they’re showing torture just to show torture.  (And then labeling it “ambiguous.”) 

“And besides…”

It’s only a movie?

“Yes.”

Sorry.  Not good enough.

Tomorrow, two more examples, the transgression in one of which really bothers me. 

Most troublingly because it’s in a movie I really enjoyed.

"Here Come Da Judge"

When I heard it was happening, I immediately signed up.

Associate Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor would be appearing locally (in an onstage interview with Eva Longoria.)  She was flacking her new memoir, but this is America.  Who isn’t? 

An encounter with a Supreme Court Justice, a current member of the august body that returned Dred Scott to slavery and later integrated the schools.  You have to go, don’t you?  I mean, I do.  Not just to hear her speak, but – because it is inevitably always about me – to ask her a question.

I knew there’d be questions.  I’m an avid viewer of C-SPAN 2’s “Non-Fiction Weekends”, where authors speak about their books, and at the end, interested attendees line up behind stand-up microphones, each of them invited to ask one short, direct question without making any speeches. 

This time, it would be me.  I knew the rules, and was determined to participate.

If my earlier writings had not made it clear, you can chalk that up to ineptitude over intention.  The concept, crystal clear in my head at least, is the following:  The major institutions in this country – law, government, the economy to name three big ones – do not work.  But we pretend they do, because it is deemed superior to believe something untrue that gives us a reliable sense of order than to believe something that is true but would cause us to run screamingly into our houses, close the curtains and pull the blankets over our heads.

Conclusion:  We believe things work because it feels better.  Not because they actually do.

Case In Point:  The Supreme Court.

The Year 2000:  There are five Republican appointees and four Democratic appointees.  The Court’s decision will determine the outcome of the presidential election.  The presidency is handed to the Republican nominee.  The vote:  Five to four.  Precisely along party lines.

“The system works.”

Really?

The outcome of a case of that nature, and other nationally important decisions – such as Citizens United which allowed corporations to spend as much money on political campaigns as they wanted, which was also decided along party lines – was at the core of my question for Associate Justice Sotomayor, the question being this:

“What does it feel like to go into a conference {where they vote} knowing that everybody’s mind is already made up?”

You see what I’m driving at there?  “Madame Justice, the revered institution on which you serve does not really work.  You’re just pretending it does.” 

“The Supreme Court”, he adds glibly, “is just show business, with robes.”

I ran my question by Dr. M who would be attending the event with me, and to my amazement, surprise and relief, she did not think it was stupid.  Or embarrassing.  Or disrespectful.  Or rude.  Glory be!  She seemed to actually approve! 

Dr. M’s unexpected enthusiasm triggered the arrival of another question:

“Historically, how did the Supreme Court evolve from the least powerful of the three branches of government to, arguably, the most powerful?  (Full Disclosure:  This was a rewrite of the original version of the question, which was, ”What are the ‘checks and balances’ on the Supreme Court?”, which is rhetorically “know-it-all” because there aren’t any.  And my second shot at it was, “How did the Supreme Court evolve from the least powerful branch of government to being able to elect a president all by itself?”, which, though it would likely have garnered applause from the reliably liberal-leaning audience in attendance, seemed, to me, to be too self-congratulatorily smartass.)

Now that I had two questions to fuel my temporary reprieve from obscurity – which, even though they were short and direct were still two questions – it occurred to me to overcome that transgression of the rules by being winningly endearing and folksy.  I instantly restructured my impending “Moment in the Sun.”

“I have two questions,” I would begin, take a brief, self-effacing pause and then say…”because I don’t run into you that often…” 

Having charmed them into submission, I would then unsheathe my two dynamite questions and score big-time, at least in my future recollection. 

You see how prepared I was?  I was determined to score big-time.  At least in my own future recollection.

All right, to draw this out no longer than is strictly necessary, we arrive at the venue twenty minutes early.  As we are about to enter the “orchestra” area of the theater, we are informed that it is already fully occupied, and we are directed to the balcony.  We wind up sitting half a dozen rows from the ceiling, among the highest seats in the balcony…

A balcony glaringly featuring no stand-up microphones whatsoever. 

(There were two of them in the “orchestra.”)       

It turns out it was okay.  Sonia Sotomayor, an unstoppable dynamo who had doggedly bootstrapped her way to the top, was there to talk, neither about the history of the Court, nor its transparent politicization, but to tell her story and deliver the encouraging self-help mantra:  “If I can do it, so can you.”

(I should have known where we were headed from the title of her memoir:  My Beloved World.)

My inquiries, it became clear, would have been jarringly out of place.  From her irrepressible enthusiasm and her genuine amazement at her supremely improbable rise to power, my skeptical recriminations would have made me feel the way I once described another misplaced sourpuss: 

Like a spider on a birthday cake.

We sat through two questions of Q & A, and then left. 

Sonia Sotomayor is one humble, smart, enthusiastic, earthy, inspiring and classy Associate Chief Justice.  And I honored her that day with my silence.

Of course, if I’d been sitting in the “orchestra”…