Hollywood and post-Sept. 11 "change" - Reel World - Column

RECENTLY, a journalist asked me if I thought things would change in the wake of Sept. 11 as far as Hollywood media production is concerned. I am not the first person to be asked such a question, of course, but I can't help but marvel, even at this late date, at the press' ability to be so inane, to request one to gaze into a crystal ball, and, above all, not to see what is perfectly obvious.

What, one might wonder, would constitute "change"? The focus on the part of many columnists, as we reached the first anniversary of 9/11, is the issue of whether or not the movie industry is going to "tone it down"--i.e., become less violent, more "tasteful" more inclined, one assumes, to get with the program being outlined by the government. I noted to one reporter that Hollywood executives have long since met with White House advisor Karl Rove to discuss ways by which the media system might in some sense serve what amounts to a propaganda agenda. This is not, of course, the first time that the great art form of the 20th century--the cinema--has been so abused. I further noted that the spate of military spectacles appears to be ongoing, along with various portrayals of America and its small-town institutions, represented with a sentimentality that utterly ignores the harsh realities of daily life. The recent sci-fi smash "Signs" is but one such example, mindless claptrap applauded by reviewers who probably perceive all too well that the film, while making no sense whatsoever and constituting an insult to a distinguished tradition of science-fiction movies, offers the right mixture of religiosity and "family values" at a time when the country is again in the mood for consolations that would in earlier times be reserved for a child's bedtime story.

There are other indicators that answer the question about "things changing." The media reports several movie projects focused on Sept. 11, one of which features James Woods in the role of New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani. Even (perhaps especially) the most "respectful" version of the events of that day will represent no more than Hollywood business as usual. I can see these films now: The apocalyptic attacks, played out in not-too-gruesome computer-generated glory, will be preceded by a grim build-up not quite as soap-operaish as the preludes to 1970s disaster pictures like "The Towering Inferno," although the formula will be painfully recognizable. There will be a degree of one-upmanship of course. (Which film is the most graphic? Which has the most poignancy? Whose had the best heroics? Which had the best impersonations of the real players?) None of this will offer, I suggest, much "change."

There is another level of the Hollywood cinema that, while again not new, suggests a current that complements its spectacularization, militarism, and easy consolations, while also seeming to run counter to it. This allegedly shows the "underbelly" of America, but not in a way to amount to a sustained, serious criticism. Examples of such films are plentiful, including "In the Bedroom," "Storytelling," "Mulholland Drive," "American Beauty," and "The Good Girl." Some of these movies project a snide sarcasm that undergirds a nihilism that makes them complementary with the mindless violence of the conservative military pictures such as "Black Hawk Down," "We Were Soldiers," "Windtalkers," and the like.

The "American ennui" films tend to portray social problems as caused by a few "freaks." David Lynch's "Blue Velvet" is more important here than many who view the director as something of a surrealist might imagine. These freaks are an aberration, containable enough so that the American dream can be restored by the final scene. "The Good Girl" is instructive on this score. The tale of a bored housewife working in a discount store in a stiflingly mind-deadening Texas backwater town, the movie affirms what it pretends to criticize. The housewife (an attempted breakthrough by TV actress Jennifer Aniston) tries to relieve her boredom with an especially foolish affair with a salesclerk too young and far too crazed. Aside from the confused agenda of the film, there is little to draw audience interest or empathy. Each character is portrayed as so hopelessly stupid and/or affectless as to be a cartoon, the husband a bloated oaf, his best friend an imbecile, the woman herself a veritable zombie, along with the dull-witted personnel who work in the dreary discount store. One could argue, if one accepts the popular conservative line, that this is "liberal" Hollywood making sport of what Pres. Richard Nixon termed the Silent Majority--working people of Middle America who perhaps don't share the sophistication of the rest of the country, but who embody its best values. In fact, the film ends up paying homage to this part of the nation and its supposed outlook, denying any options to the woebegone wife, making her find joy in motherhood and a loveless marriage on the proposition that any alternative is simply impossible.