Let me just say this right up front: I liked Suicide Squad. I liked the pace, the characters, the screen writing, and most of all, I liked Margot Robbie's exuberant badassery as Harley Quinn. Robbie's got a golden touch and such undeniable charisma - a presence rarely seen in today's starlets - I'd give a film a chance just to enjoy Robbie's talent. Despite my annoyance with woke cinema, and my utter reluctance to see distaff reboots of B-list efforts, I'd been looking forward to Birds of Prey. It wasn't because the trailer was particularly appealing; it wasn't. It wasn't because I love every super-hero and super-villain film around; I don't. It's because of the potential to do great things with the Harley Quinn / Margot Robbie winning ticket.
The film opened in theaters just three days ago. Not one to enjoy crowds, I waited until this afternoon - a Monday - in hopes of a quiet venue at the Imax. It was, in fact, so quiet that my friend and I had the theater to ourselves other than two other women who, as luck would have it, were actually sitting in the two exact seats my friend and I selected (even though the other two gals bought their tickets and selected their seats first). Go figure. In this near-empty theater, the four of us sat in a knot and waited through an exhaustively long preview for another film before Birds of Prey (and the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) opened.
I opted not to read anyone's review prior to the film; so often reviews are much of the same refrain. I couldn't tell you if critics liked it or not. As for me, I give it two baseball bats up. Despite the frenetic jump-cut pace, the beginning scenes were tedious enough, but as the film warmed up and the plot solidified, I warmed up to the film as well. It's a fun film, humor-filled and visually a treat. The cast, from Margot Robbie to Ewan McGregor, was capable, with Rosie Perez as the tough-as-nails perpetually-underappreciated detective, and Mary Elizabeth Winstead as "the Huntress" deserving special mention. Robbie, of course, steals the show in every appearance. As an especially physical actress, she uses her body to command the scenes much as Johnny Depp does in his productions. She's simply great fun to watch.
In film, just as with literature, I appreciate allusions to other works. References to Reservoir Dogs were clear in Birds of Prey: the villain, Ewan McGregor's Roman Sionis, had a half-dancing way of moving that called back to Michael Madsen's twisted Mr. Blonde, and the famous three-way standoff of Dogs is re-created in Birds. Glimpses of The Warriors shine through at times, and shades of buddy-squad films such as The Magnificent Seven are perhaps present. Yet despite these and other references to past films, Birds of Prey has its own distinctive style and approach. Much of it has to do with the "woman's touch" in the production. Written by Christina Hodson, directed by Cathy Yan, and starring an all-woman squad of badass criminals and crime-fighters, the film does a largely admirable job of presenting uniquely female motivations and plot lines. These aren't just women chosen for their physical beauty; some, such as Rosie Perez's character, are surprisingly relatable. They kick ass when fighting, but in some beautifully gymnastic ways, choreographed well to highlight agility and legginess.
The soundtrack features female musicians and female-themed songs throughout. Paying homage to rockers like Joan Jett and Pat Benatar, the music is as capably done as the soundtrack to Deadpool. Nothing is lost by the emphasis on female characters, plot lines, or contributors to the film. It's no Ghostbusters on estrogen, nor is it simply a wokey-wokey version of The Avengers. However, it does slip into heavy-handedness in one jarringly unnecessary line: Ellen Jay Basco's Cassandra Cain, aka "the kid," painfully blurts out something to the effect of, "You're not the only one making money off dumb white men." How refreshing it would have been to watch a newer film that, just once, doesn't bask in the "white men evil" fad. The film is good enough on its own merits that it doesn't need to call on tired female empowerment / male toxicity standbys. The diverse cast is a success because they're good entertainers, not because they're diverse; they stand on their own, with perhaps the exception of Basco. Given a relatively ineffectual character to play, Basco isn't charismatic enough or skillful enough at delivering her lines to make the "kid" sympathetic.
It's a shame the film played to such an empty theater. It deserves better. Far better than Suicide Squad, perhaps it's tainted by association with that generally ill-received film. It offers satisfying fight scenes, likable characters, hatable villains, a tolerable story line, plenty of pyrotechnics, and a soundtrack that'll keep you wanting to rock long after the lights come on. Most of all, it has the hyper-talented Margot Robbie as the hyper-charming Harley Quinn. It doesn't take itself too seriously, and for high-energy escapism, you won't go away disappointed.
The View from Here
The View from Here
Monday, February 10, 2020
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Midnight Cowboy, 51 Years Later
In recent months I've been catching up on films, good and bad, that I missed when they were released but that influenced culture in a variety of ways. Although I never saw Midnight Cowboy until tonight - I was six when it was released - I grew up with an appreciation of its impact on cinema, and with a vague awareness of its plot. I'd forgotten - or maybe I never knew? - it was X-rated on release. I knew critics applauded Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman for their gritty, pathos-bathed performances. I knew they portrayed hustlers in the flophouse districts of Manhattan, although I'd always thought they were explicitly and solely gay hustlers.
I didn't know how very stark I'd find the film. Having recently watched Joker I can say Cowboy makes Joker seem uplifting. They share themes of lonely misfits trying to forge a humble path in an uncaring and insensitive world, where alienation and survival override abiding by laws and social mores. Unlike Arthur Fleck, Enrico "Ratzo" Rizzo and Joe Buck find friendship and solidarity in each other's company. Their humanity is a jarring contrast to the absence of it in Joker. They're losers, but they're losers who care and sacrifice for each other.
John Schlesinger glamorizes nothing about the film. The marvel of it is how little the characters have to offer in the way of redeeming qualities. Joe Buck isn't a savant; he's a barely-literate mentally-slow dishwasher. There's no hidden genius or talent behind his faux-cowboy visage. He sees the "Mutual of New York" neon sign, the first letters of each word emphasized, and believes it spells "Mony." He writes the letter "e" backwards. He struggles to understand, and he's fool enough to think he's going to make it big in the city.
Ratzo, a tubercular who lives not on the kindness of others but on their turned backs, vacillates between fearfulness and longing. He's neither witty nor charming. Yet despite Rizzo and Buck's character flaws and sleaziness, they're sympathetic beings. They invoke compassion and sadness and an overwhelming urge to wash one's hands in hot water.
Today, such a film would hardly shock, much less be considered for an X rating. The performances hold up after so many years, but seem "stagey" and more theatrical than cinematic. This isn't a criticism; it's refreshing. Perhaps my greatest surprise was the understated homoerotic themes, having grown up hearing references to the film's homosexual story line. Instead, Ratzo and Joe share a loving relationship based on friendship and caring. Of the many sex scenes in the film, the only two characters who truly care for each other do not participate at all.
I didn't know how very stark I'd find the film. Having recently watched Joker I can say Cowboy makes Joker seem uplifting. They share themes of lonely misfits trying to forge a humble path in an uncaring and insensitive world, where alienation and survival override abiding by laws and social mores. Unlike Arthur Fleck, Enrico "Ratzo" Rizzo and Joe Buck find friendship and solidarity in each other's company. Their humanity is a jarring contrast to the absence of it in Joker. They're losers, but they're losers who care and sacrifice for each other.
John Schlesinger glamorizes nothing about the film. The marvel of it is how little the characters have to offer in the way of redeeming qualities. Joe Buck isn't a savant; he's a barely-literate mentally-slow dishwasher. There's no hidden genius or talent behind his faux-cowboy visage. He sees the "Mutual of New York" neon sign, the first letters of each word emphasized, and believes it spells "Mony." He writes the letter "e" backwards. He struggles to understand, and he's fool enough to think he's going to make it big in the city.
Ratzo, a tubercular who lives not on the kindness of others but on their turned backs, vacillates between fearfulness and longing. He's neither witty nor charming. Yet despite Rizzo and Buck's character flaws and sleaziness, they're sympathetic beings. They invoke compassion and sadness and an overwhelming urge to wash one's hands in hot water.
Today, such a film would hardly shock, much less be considered for an X rating. The performances hold up after so many years, but seem "stagey" and more theatrical than cinematic. This isn't a criticism; it's refreshing. Perhaps my greatest surprise was the understated homoerotic themes, having grown up hearing references to the film's homosexual story line. Instead, Ratzo and Joe share a loving relationship based on friendship and caring. Of the many sex scenes in the film, the only two characters who truly care for each other do not participate at all.
Sunday, January 12, 2020
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood: Favorite Allusions and References
This past year found me more at a disconnect with less-vintage generations than I've felt before. It manifested in the expected, time-worn ways: opposing politics and values; a difference in technological choices and abilities; and generational rivalries. It was the first year, though, that I noticed vast differences of opinions regarding films. Never one to hold critics and reviewers in contempt as a default mode, I've long appreciated thoughtful and well-written reviews. In recent months I noticed two patterns: One, that every film has to be judged now on wokeness as well as film-making quality; and second, that today's writers on the film beat just do not appreciate the movies I love.
As soon as I saw the trailers for Once Upon a Time in Hollywood, I was instantly smitten. It wasn't the all-star leading lineup that took hold of me, nor even the fact it was a Tarantino film (whom I unabashedly adore). I was hooked on the wistful, joyful nostalgia that shone through. Here was a film that clearly paid tribute to the series, movies, and events I grew up watching. Here, among all the all-female reboots and tenth-generation sequels that Hollywood has spawned in recent years, was a jewel of an original. For the first time in years, I eagerly awaited a movie release date.
Once did not disappoint. Every minute offered an exuberant take on Hollywood characters and industry, overlaid on a tapestry of the culture and personalities of 1969. I fail to understand the reviewers who felt it lacked plot or depth; I found both. DiCaprio and Pitt turned out stellar performances of men struggling with their midlife career challenges, and ever-watchable Margot Robbie delighted with each sunny scene she graced. But best of all, for boomers such as myself, were the wondrous allusions and references to past events and films buried within the script and set design.
As I gathered the subtler references that delighted me so, I realized here may be why the film didn't thrill the younger reviewers as much as it did me: Perhaps, not having grown up watching dusty reruns of western series in the 70s, or having missed reading the horrors of the Manson murders as they were reported the days immediately after, the reviewers simply didn't "get" many of the allusions. Perhaps they did, and simply found the boomer-oriented, unfashionably white film relevant. For those who enjoyed it as I did, here's a retrospective of my favorite such allusions and buried gems within the film. For those who didn't enjoy it (and if so, why the heck are you reading this?) here are some of the interesting details you might have missed.
The Title
The very name Once Upon a Time in Hollywood hearkens back to the spaghetti-westerns made in the 1960s, specifically referring to Sergio Leone's Once Upon a Time in the West. DiCaprio's character, of course, was a fading star of Bounty Law, a Rifleman-like series who revives his stardom and financial standing by traveling to Rome to make spaghetti westerns. Leone, by the way, also made Once Upon a Time in America. The choice of "Once Upon a Time" is, of course, a reference to a fairy tale - and with Tarantino's version of events in Once, a fairy tale happy ending can be had after all. That's the thing about Tarantino: He thinks on several levels, and analyzing his films always brings some symbolic or metaphoric surprises.
The Series within the Film ... and the Starring Motorcyclist
While we are captivated by the decline of Rick Dalton, DiCaprio's character, we also find ourselves enjoying the plot of an episode of Lancer, a western in which Dalton guest stars as a villain. Lancer was (in real life) a popular series running from 1968 to 1970, one of many family-legacy types of westerns. Starring James Stacy as the gunslinger brother, Johnny Madrid, Lancer (like so many westerns of the time) featured the usual heavy-handed patriarch; diametrically-opposed brothers; and a headstrong, lovable sister.
Within Once, we see the Johnny Madrid character as acted by the latest flavor-of-the-month popular hunky star, James Stacy (played by Timothy Olyphant). Dalton is now aware he's being put up against Stacy so Stacy can benefit from being seen as "killing off" the star of the past, Dalton. After cutting away from the episode Dalton guest stars, Tarantino briefly shows the James Stacy character leaving the set, putting on his helmet, and climbing onto his motorcycle. The scene is so subtle and inconsequential, it almost seems out of place ... but true movie buffs will revel in that moment, for real-life James Stacy, on September 28, 1973, climbed on his motorcycle for one last time. With his girlfriend, Clair Cox, behind him on the bike, Stacy's bike was struck head-on by a motorist who'd been drinking at a bar called "The Chopping Block." Cox was killed instantly, and James Stacy nearly died. As a result of the gruesome wreck, he lost his left leg and his left arm.
Prior to the wreck, James Stacy had been a Hollywood favorite. From 1968 - 1969 he'd been married to Kim Darby, who starred in one of my favorite westerns from childhood - the original True Grit. Before that, from 1963 - 1966, he'd been married to actress Connie Stevens. Suddenly, with the wreck, his leading-man status was gone. Although he did return to acting despite his amputations, he would never again be the star he was. Shortly after the wreck, Connie Stevens (who remained a good friend to him) was among the celebrities who organized a fundraiser for him. Later, Stacy sued the Chopping Block Bar for damages for over-serving the drunk driver who hit him; he received $1.9 million.
 |
| The real James Stacy in 1968, before tragedy struck. |
Connie Stevens is also portrayed in Once, played by Dreama Walker. Tarantino, who credits his audience with being able to draw lines between the dots in his films, doesn't dwell on any of these connections, but they're neatly present nonetheless.
In another sad sidenote to the James Stacy story, Stacy served six years in prison later in his life for molesting an eleven-year-old child (and stalking others). Knowing he was facing prison time, he flung himself off a cliff in a suicide attempt in Hawaii. The ultimate survivor, the double-amputee survived the fall and lived until 2016, when he died at age 79.
Paul Revere and the Raiders
Several references were made to the music of Paul Revere and the Raiders in the scenes showing Sharon Tate (played deftly by Margot Robbie) in the house at 10050 Cielo Drive. That house, where the Manson murders of Sharon Tate and friends occurred in real life, had been previously occupied by record producer Terry Melcher. Terry is referenced several times in the film, as Charles Manson visits the neighborhood trying to track him down. Terry's roommates in the home were his girlfriend, Candice Bergen, and his friend Mark Lindsay. Mark Lindsay was the lead singer for the band Paul Revere and the Raiders. In Once, Sharon Tate and company play and dance to records by the band; Brad Pitt's character, Clifford Booth, listens to them from the rooftop of the house next door. Four of the band's songs are featured in the film.
A little more trivia: Terry Melcher was also the son of Doris Day.
Red Apple Tobacco
One of the great product placements of filmdom, Red Apple Tobacco shows up in several of Tarantino's films. He doesn't reap the rewards of advertising money for highlighting it, though - it only exists in Tarantino's world. The cigarettes, distinctively packaged in a pack with a seedy-looking worm protruding from an apple, appear in Once's commercials-within-the-film, promoted by Rick Dalton. The full commercial is a bonus feature on the DVD version. Don't look for Red Apple Tobacco at your favorite vendors - but look for it on Pulp Fiction, Kill Bill, The Hateful Eight, and Inglourious Basterds, among other QT films.
The Narrator
Midway through Once, the format of the film shifts and a narrator takes over, verbally time-stamping events of the film and describing the action. (That narrator, Kurt Russell, also plays a casting director in the film.) The narrative device occurs as the film shifts to the events of the night of August 8, 1969 - the night of the Manson Family murders of Sharon Tate, Jay Sebring, Abigail Folger, Steven Parent, and Wojtek Frykowski at 10050 Cielo Drive. The change to a narrator-driven format provides a sense of urgency to the events at hand, and builds suspense. It's also familiar to cinema buffs, for it was used to great effect in Goodfellas. Tarantino employs it as yet another tribute to great films.
The Wilhelm Scream
Movie buffs immediately recognize the famous Wilhelm Scream - that stock "aaaaaargghhhh" scream used originally in a 1951 film, and inserted routinely in films since. At first used because it was a terrifically hideous male scream, it later became a tradition for filmmakers to include it in their films. Listen for it in Once.
The Flame Thrower
The infamous flame thrower from Rick Dalton's appearance in "The 14 Fists of McCluskey" makes a grand entrance at the film's climax. Look for it earlier leaning against the wall in Dalton's backyard cabana / shed when Cliff Booth is rustling up supplies to fix the antenna on the roof.
The Rolling Stones "Out of Time"
As we watch Margot Robbie's Sharon Tate approaching the film's climax, the Rolling Stones' sing the words, "Baby, baby, baby, you're out of time," in a haunting warning. It's almost heartbreakingly poignant. It's one of my favorite accompaniments on the soundtrack, so perfectly incorporated into the film's foray between real life and historical revision.
Another Clu
One of the standbys of 1960s TV western series was rugged, good-looking Clu Gulager. He shows up as a bookstore proprietor in Once, talking literature with Sharon Tate. His brief appearance is dignified and avuncular, unlike the wonderfully crude George Spahn played by my favorite villain, Bruce Dern. Although Burt Reynolds was Tarantino's original choice for Spahn, he died before filming. Dern steals the show in typical gritty Dern style, an irascible old man untroubled by etiquette (or polite society),
The Manson Family
Volumes have been written on the background of Charlie and his murderous family, and much could be written regarding the characters they inspired in the film. Highlights in Once include "Squeaky," played chillingly by Dakota Fanning. Squeaky is inspired by Lynette "Squeaky" Fromme, the family member who served decades in prison for her attempt on the life of President Gerald Ford. Squeaky, the first member of Charlie's family, engaged in multiple offenses outside the Manson cult as well. "Tex" Watson is another of the film's well-portrayed cult members. The member of the clan who runs away and leaves Cielo Drive in the car when the situation became all too real appears to be an interpretation of Linda Kasabian, the member who testified against them when the murders went to trial. In real life, Linda did not run away, although she testified that she would have, had her small child not been back at Spahn Ranch. Tarantino's composite had either the moral fiber or the self-interest to do so.
One of the real-life Manson victims was a 6'4" stunt man by name of Donald "Shorty" Shea, a ranch hand at Spahn Ranch. Clifford Booth's suspenseful visit to the ranch alludes to the man's presence at Spahn Ranch. Like Booth's character, Shea's career was dwindling, but the fictional Booth fared better. Shea was tortured and brutally killed, his corpse remaining concealed and unrecovered for nearly a decade afterwards.
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Copyright (c) 2020 by MJ Miller * All rights reserved
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Copyright (c) 2020 by MJ Miller * All rights reserved
As an Amazon affiliate, the author may received compensation for items purchased through Amazon links on this blog. Thank you for your support!
Thursday, August 7, 2014
Beer Summits and Leadership Failures
It was not far into President Obama's first term that I shook my head and thought, "Wow. He's in way over his head. He doesn't have basic leadership skills." That defining moment was, for me, when he intervened in a rather uneventful incident: the arrest of a Harvard University professor by name of Henry Louis Gates. Gates, an African-American, immediately cried "Racism!" and pointed the finger at Cambridge Police Sergeant James Crowley.
Now, aside from the facts of the case -- and as a retired police lieutenant I have an opinion on those -- it is Obama's leadership issues during that incident that merit discussion. What struck me most about Obama's involvement in what would otherwise be nothing more than a blip on the over-worked radar screen of national events was that he, who would certainly have much larger issues to contend with, chose to dedicate time to that issue. Dubbed promptly as a "beer summit," Obama took the time and initiative to contact Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley and to invite them to the White House for a personal meeting.
Rather than deal with race relations on a macro-scale, Obama elected to meet with the individuals involved and mediate what should have been handled solely on a local level. Certainly I see what he was doing: he wanted it to be symbolic. I assume he saw himself as embodiment that old political strategy of using local issues to foment global change. He wanted to craft his image as "the people's president."
Here's his leadership failure that has been borne out again and again, ad nauseum, through his presidency: any good leader knows a leader is diminished by, not made greater by, brokering too-tiny personnel issues. In policing in a large agency, any police chief who will skip the requisite levels of command to broker a personnel conflict between two employees, or a cop and a citizen, has made himself small and petty in the eyes of his people. Here's why:
First, who's managing the shop when the chief (or president) is setting aside huge, global issues to resolve a small misunderstanding? Second, what does that say of his faith in (and the responsibility given to) the multiple layers between him and those individuals? It has the effect of undercutting his own authority while simultaneously undercutting that of the levels of command in between. It is poor management strategy.
Many would-be leaders fail miserably by trying to be everyone's buddy. The buddy-buddy approach to leadership is problematic. I'm of the old school -- that there must be some sort of leadership mystique to be effective. It goes beyond charisma and likability; in fact, it's more important than likability -- it's the ability to command respect. Drill sergeants know this. Winston Churchill knew this. Heck, even Sonny Barger of the Hell's Angels knows this.
Obama, much to his detriment, has re-enacted that beer summit time and again. In recent weeks, as the Middle East burned and persecution of and by various religious factions across the world has become a daily headline, Obama has spent his time on his "bear is loose" campaigns. He has bypassed a sure and swift response to the downed Malaysian aircraft in favor of buying BBQ meals for citizen letter-writers and decrying the absence of cole slaw. He has passed over enormous opportunities for strong and sure leadership in favor of shaking hands, kissing babies and resolving bite-sized, manageable issues.
This tactic has not only given Obama the appearance of being out of touch and of being out of his league, it has also diminished any respect he might have earned by true leadership. Every leader of significance will eventually have "leadership moments" handed to him or her on a plate. The wise and capable leader capitalizes on those moments for the good of their cause. Obama has had hundreds such opportunities -- and has bypassed them all in favor of face-time with celebrities and average citizens. In doing so, he may have won the hearts of Lionel Richie and Henry Louis Gates, but has disenfranchised those of us who expect a president to be -- well, presidential. We want our leaders to be leaderly.
What might Obama have done when such micro-situations come to his attention? He might have jumped on the chance to unite, rather than to divide. He might have distanced himself by stressing that he is, after all, the president -- and he does, surprisingly enough, have greater issues calling for his attention. That would give the people confidence that he is indeed paying attention to those issues. He might have made a single, compelling statement reiterating values or goals. That would give people direction. But no, he has repeatedly gotten involved in the local -- saving his statements for the death of Trayvon Martin or saving his phone calls for Tracy Morgan -- rather than addressing genocide or global turbulence.
Most appalling of all, Obama has chosen to foster race and class warfare. He has encouraged resentment among classes, races, ethnicities and religion. He chooses to divide and unsettle. He might have, on countless occasions, taken advantage of the chance to say, "Hey, folks, not all misunderstandings involve racism. None of us are perfect and we're going to make mistakes. Let's first ask ourself what bearing our own actions had on the situation. For God's sake, let's not tear ourselves apart as a nation because of these events." A leader unites his or her people, if necessary even doing so against a common threat; he does not encourage divisiveness.
Police leaders know that undercutting the chain of command causes confusion and lack of confidence in their employees. An officer shouldn't spend the shift worrying about which boss he has to answer to -- after all, we're all human and every boss will have a slightly different perspective. Instead, the chain of command offers a single point of contact. Obama muddies the waters with his cutting-in-line approach to leadership.
Strong, aloof leaders offer their own challenges. They're not always popular. This isn't high school, though, and the world stage is more important than the currently in-vogue popularity contests. Effectiveness is critical.
Let's hope we see a future leader who avoids beer summits and shaking the hands of citizens in horse-head masks. Let's hope our next president sees the big picture, not the vignette. Let's hope he gains respect, not hugs, from the people. Let's hope.
Now, aside from the facts of the case -- and as a retired police lieutenant I have an opinion on those -- it is Obama's leadership issues during that incident that merit discussion. What struck me most about Obama's involvement in what would otherwise be nothing more than a blip on the over-worked radar screen of national events was that he, who would certainly have much larger issues to contend with, chose to dedicate time to that issue. Dubbed promptly as a "beer summit," Obama took the time and initiative to contact Professor Gates and Sgt. Crowley and to invite them to the White House for a personal meeting.
Rather than deal with race relations on a macro-scale, Obama elected to meet with the individuals involved and mediate what should have been handled solely on a local level. Certainly I see what he was doing: he wanted it to be symbolic. I assume he saw himself as embodiment that old political strategy of using local issues to foment global change. He wanted to craft his image as "the people's president."
Here's his leadership failure that has been borne out again and again, ad nauseum, through his presidency: any good leader knows a leader is diminished by, not made greater by, brokering too-tiny personnel issues. In policing in a large agency, any police chief who will skip the requisite levels of command to broker a personnel conflict between two employees, or a cop and a citizen, has made himself small and petty in the eyes of his people. Here's why:
First, who's managing the shop when the chief (or president) is setting aside huge, global issues to resolve a small misunderstanding? Second, what does that say of his faith in (and the responsibility given to) the multiple layers between him and those individuals? It has the effect of undercutting his own authority while simultaneously undercutting that of the levels of command in between. It is poor management strategy.
Many would-be leaders fail miserably by trying to be everyone's buddy. The buddy-buddy approach to leadership is problematic. I'm of the old school -- that there must be some sort of leadership mystique to be effective. It goes beyond charisma and likability; in fact, it's more important than likability -- it's the ability to command respect. Drill sergeants know this. Winston Churchill knew this. Heck, even Sonny Barger of the Hell's Angels knows this.
Obama, much to his detriment, has re-enacted that beer summit time and again. In recent weeks, as the Middle East burned and persecution of and by various religious factions across the world has become a daily headline, Obama has spent his time on his "bear is loose" campaigns. He has bypassed a sure and swift response to the downed Malaysian aircraft in favor of buying BBQ meals for citizen letter-writers and decrying the absence of cole slaw. He has passed over enormous opportunities for strong and sure leadership in favor of shaking hands, kissing babies and resolving bite-sized, manageable issues.
This tactic has not only given Obama the appearance of being out of touch and of being out of his league, it has also diminished any respect he might have earned by true leadership. Every leader of significance will eventually have "leadership moments" handed to him or her on a plate. The wise and capable leader capitalizes on those moments for the good of their cause. Obama has had hundreds such opportunities -- and has bypassed them all in favor of face-time with celebrities and average citizens. In doing so, he may have won the hearts of Lionel Richie and Henry Louis Gates, but has disenfranchised those of us who expect a president to be -- well, presidential. We want our leaders to be leaderly.
What might Obama have done when such micro-situations come to his attention? He might have jumped on the chance to unite, rather than to divide. He might have distanced himself by stressing that he is, after all, the president -- and he does, surprisingly enough, have greater issues calling for his attention. That would give the people confidence that he is indeed paying attention to those issues. He might have made a single, compelling statement reiterating values or goals. That would give people direction. But no, he has repeatedly gotten involved in the local -- saving his statements for the death of Trayvon Martin or saving his phone calls for Tracy Morgan -- rather than addressing genocide or global turbulence.
Most appalling of all, Obama has chosen to foster race and class warfare. He has encouraged resentment among classes, races, ethnicities and religion. He chooses to divide and unsettle. He might have, on countless occasions, taken advantage of the chance to say, "Hey, folks, not all misunderstandings involve racism. None of us are perfect and we're going to make mistakes. Let's first ask ourself what bearing our own actions had on the situation. For God's sake, let's not tear ourselves apart as a nation because of these events." A leader unites his or her people, if necessary even doing so against a common threat; he does not encourage divisiveness.
Police leaders know that undercutting the chain of command causes confusion and lack of confidence in their employees. An officer shouldn't spend the shift worrying about which boss he has to answer to -- after all, we're all human and every boss will have a slightly different perspective. Instead, the chain of command offers a single point of contact. Obama muddies the waters with his cutting-in-line approach to leadership.
Strong, aloof leaders offer their own challenges. They're not always popular. This isn't high school, though, and the world stage is more important than the currently in-vogue popularity contests. Effectiveness is critical.
Let's hope we see a future leader who avoids beer summits and shaking the hands of citizens in horse-head masks. Let's hope our next president sees the big picture, not the vignette. Let's hope he gains respect, not hugs, from the people. Let's hope.
Thursday, July 24, 2014
Rethinking Feminism
I'm a feminist. Yes, even now. Even seeing what today's feminism looks like -- and what today's feminist sounds like -- I remain committed to the concept of equal opportunity.
I can't ally myself with today's left-wing liberal feminism, though, and saying the word "feminist" out loud is enough to give me the cold shoulder from the conservatives I prefer to hang with. What happened to the good-humored, compassionate, hard-working women who once made up the ranks of early feminism? Who replaced them with the mean-spirited, hateful liberal feminists today who are empowered by a sense of schadenfreude every time they kick someone to the curb?
These days, the "cause" has gone from the belief that we need to work hard and prove ourselves capable of equal (or even superior) work to the belief that women are somehow entitled to be provided for by the machine. Excuse me, but isn't that what we were trying to escape in the wonder years of the 70's and 80's, when we merely wanted the right to achieve equally? And that achievement often meant being able to support ourselves free of a marriage; to work outside the home; to be free of the servitude that societal expectations attached to us. Now, today's clamorous feminist wants to be carried by the establishment. Rather than wanting freedom -- the freedom to have the opportunities this great country has promised -- today's feminist wants to limit the freedom of others.
How did women begin to think that "equal opportunity" meant "unequal advantage?" Was it the idea of affirmative action? Even at my most militant, younger days, I disagreed with affirmative action. It opened the door to people of inferior ability to have jobs that should be held for those who are most capable. Equal opportunity means a person of equal ability and capacity, equally skilled, should have equal ability to get that coveted job or to hold that distinguished career. Unequal advantage means that the whining, strident less-skilled person should get a job just to make the numbers tally. That dog don't fight in my feminist kennel, folks. My style of feminism means working hard to be that more capable person; equal opportunity meant you wouldn't be held down by your gender.
Now, it seems that women who identify as feminist are liberal leftists first and feminist second. Being feminist seems synonymous with vegan, big-government-loving, man-hating, gun-grabbing nasty-ass haters who decry hate. Ladies, what on earth makes you turn on your fellow womankind because you disagree with her on a political point? What on earth makes you think someone should fund your birth control? Why do you believe people should get free anything, for that matter? Why do you think people in Detroit should have water paid for by others who've worked for that money and came by it honestly?
And where, along the bra-littered roadway of equal rights, did your sense of humor go? I recall being charmed by Gloria Steinem not just because of her beliefs that hard-working women deserve equal opportunities -- but because of her sense of humor in expressing it. Why is it you've allowed yourselves to be humorless harpies defined by the "that isn't funny" Sandra Fluke meme?
For the record, I was one of those early feminist pioneer women types. I worked in a male-dominated profession -- policing -- for two decades. I get it. I was one of eight women among the 300 sworn officers in the PD when I began. I know the struggle first-hand. I know the tendency to male-bash; been there, done that, long-ago wore out that t-shirt. It was different, then, though; we were different. I fondly recall the guys in briefing telling me the worst, most derogatory jokes about women they could come up with -- because we enjoyed the banter. They loved hearing me respond with false indignation. It was part of being "one of the guys" -- something I cherished. Meanwhile, they were supportive, kind and helpful (for the most part). Those who weren't matter not.
It saddens me to think that the fight for equal opportunity morphed into the fight for entitlement. It breaks my heart that in the struggle for control of our own bodies, we've chosen to control others' minds instead. It frightens me that fighting for freedom means giving up our freedoms wholesale.
This gun-loving, wisecracking anti-entitlement freedom-loving feminist is still a feminist, alright. I haven't changed. But the rest of you … oh, my. What a shame, what you've all become.
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this content may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, may be freely shared * Thank you for liking, linking, sharing, +1'ing, tweeting, forwarding or otherwise helping grow my audience. Most of all, thank you for stopping by.
I can't ally myself with today's left-wing liberal feminism, though, and saying the word "feminist" out loud is enough to give me the cold shoulder from the conservatives I prefer to hang with. What happened to the good-humored, compassionate, hard-working women who once made up the ranks of early feminism? Who replaced them with the mean-spirited, hateful liberal feminists today who are empowered by a sense of schadenfreude every time they kick someone to the curb?
These days, the "cause" has gone from the belief that we need to work hard and prove ourselves capable of equal (or even superior) work to the belief that women are somehow entitled to be provided for by the machine. Excuse me, but isn't that what we were trying to escape in the wonder years of the 70's and 80's, when we merely wanted the right to achieve equally? And that achievement often meant being able to support ourselves free of a marriage; to work outside the home; to be free of the servitude that societal expectations attached to us. Now, today's clamorous feminist wants to be carried by the establishment. Rather than wanting freedom -- the freedom to have the opportunities this great country has promised -- today's feminist wants to limit the freedom of others.
How did women begin to think that "equal opportunity" meant "unequal advantage?" Was it the idea of affirmative action? Even at my most militant, younger days, I disagreed with affirmative action. It opened the door to people of inferior ability to have jobs that should be held for those who are most capable. Equal opportunity means a person of equal ability and capacity, equally skilled, should have equal ability to get that coveted job or to hold that distinguished career. Unequal advantage means that the whining, strident less-skilled person should get a job just to make the numbers tally. That dog don't fight in my feminist kennel, folks. My style of feminism means working hard to be that more capable person; equal opportunity meant you wouldn't be held down by your gender.
Now, it seems that women who identify as feminist are liberal leftists first and feminist second. Being feminist seems synonymous with vegan, big-government-loving, man-hating, gun-grabbing nasty-ass haters who decry hate. Ladies, what on earth makes you turn on your fellow womankind because you disagree with her on a political point? What on earth makes you think someone should fund your birth control? Why do you believe people should get free anything, for that matter? Why do you think people in Detroit should have water paid for by others who've worked for that money and came by it honestly?
And where, along the bra-littered roadway of equal rights, did your sense of humor go? I recall being charmed by Gloria Steinem not just because of her beliefs that hard-working women deserve equal opportunities -- but because of her sense of humor in expressing it. Why is it you've allowed yourselves to be humorless harpies defined by the "that isn't funny" Sandra Fluke meme?
For the record, I was one of those early feminist pioneer women types. I worked in a male-dominated profession -- policing -- for two decades. I get it. I was one of eight women among the 300 sworn officers in the PD when I began. I know the struggle first-hand. I know the tendency to male-bash; been there, done that, long-ago wore out that t-shirt. It was different, then, though; we were different. I fondly recall the guys in briefing telling me the worst, most derogatory jokes about women they could come up with -- because we enjoyed the banter. They loved hearing me respond with false indignation. It was part of being "one of the guys" -- something I cherished. Meanwhile, they were supportive, kind and helpful (for the most part). Those who weren't matter not.
It saddens me to think that the fight for equal opportunity morphed into the fight for entitlement. It breaks my heart that in the struggle for control of our own bodies, we've chosen to control others' minds instead. It frightens me that fighting for freedom means giving up our freedoms wholesale.
This gun-loving, wisecracking anti-entitlement freedom-loving feminist is still a feminist, alright. I haven't changed. But the rest of you … oh, my. What a shame, what you've all become.
Copyright © 2014 MJ Miller * All rights reserved * No part of this content may be reproduced, in whole or in part, without the express permission of the author * Links to this page, however, may be freely shared * Thank you for liking, linking, sharing, +1'ing, tweeting, forwarding or otherwise helping grow my audience. Most of all, thank you for stopping by.
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