Two War Movies That Made Me Sick and One That Makes Me Cry

I never wonder to see men wicked, but I often wonder to see them not ashamed.

Jonathan Swift (1667-1745)

Henry and I went to see a matinee of Unbroken, and I'm glad we were able to walk out of the theater into such blue clarity. I've seen two war movies in the last few days -- that and American Sniper. Despite having seen all the big war movies of the past, I don't generally go to see them anymore. That's mainly because they make me nearly physically ill. American Sniper (I saw a screener at a friend's house), despite the excellent acting and general hunkery of Bradley Cooper, definitely made me feel sick to my stomach. The main words that come to mind are not hero, liberty or patriotism. They are waste, stupidity, tragedy and folly. No matter how honorable, I don't see any glory in being capable of 160 kills, and while the movie did a good job of showing the collateral damage of such a feat, I can't help but think of how many young and impressionable people -- maybe even old and unswerving people -- will be impressed, will think that whole shitstorm in Iraq was a necessary evil, will fancy themselves as Bradley Cooper with his steely precision.  I thought the movie entirely predictable, too, and like many war movies, it manipulates the viewer, laying out moral dilemmas in simplistic ways that do more to shore up predictable responses than change ways of thinking about war.  Like I said, I feel physically ill when I think about the invasion of Iraq, the slaughter of hundreds of thousands of people and thousands of soldiers, the decimation of towns and cities and infrastructure and the destabilization of an entire region, all wrought by us, the United States of America.

Angelina Jolie's Unbroken is one hell of an intense movie, and while I can't say I enjoyed it, I was impressed by the story-- impressed by Zamparini's grit and heroism and, finally, story of forgiveness. I'm also impressed by Jolie and how she told the story. The relentless scenes of torture by the psychopathic Japanese war camp commander made me think of Dick Cheney, to tell you the truth, and the mindless minions who carried out torture in our name, for our country, on prisoners and alleged terrorists. I know Cheney himself didn't do the water-boarding, the beating, the forced standing and no sleeping, the rectal feeding and the psychological tormenting, but he helped to authorize it. The Watanabes and Cheneys of the world remain obdurate and unapologetic about their actions, and there's not much we can do about that, I guess. I told Henry that anyone who believes it's okay to torture war prisoners collaborates with and is no different than that Japanese commander. I mean that.

Madness and absurdity.

I think what I need to do now is watch my favorite war movie, King of Hearts, where the madness and absurdity bring only tears, not physical revulsion:

Exposed and Nauseous

I sat at the DMV this morning, waiting for Henry to complete (and pass!) his driver's permit test. He passed. I'm the mother of a young person who is learning to drive.

I've been thinking about exposure this morning. I keep getting emails from all over the world since I spoke at the Epilepsy Pipeline Conference a week ago. The emails are long and involved. They tell me about treatments for seizures and they include abstracts from studies. They ask me questions and expect me to reply. When I don't reply, they wonder why. Sometimes I feel bored with this blog, and then I remember that people are reading it, that it's not all about me, but it is, and then I feel exposed. Self-exposed. Just something to think about.

It's been a while since I've written a rant and, frankly, rants sort of bore me now, too. At least my own rants bore me. I've been feeling sick to my stomach the last couple of days, thinking about that nasty Dick Cheney and his nasty spawned daughter and their jointly penned nasty piece in The Wall Street Journal. Have ya'll read it? If nothing else, Dick Cheney is proof that there's probably no God, at least a god of justice and light, because -- well -- Cheney is still alive, still believes in the righteousness of America's invasion of Iraq and still justifies our country's use of torture on prisoners. On top of it, he accuses President Obama of "not caring about terrorism." Maybe saying that Cheney is proof that there's no God is too strong a statement - maybe he does, in fact, prove that there is certainly an evil force in the world, some dark beast crouching toward -- forget it. Really, though, why the hell is he still talking, still spilling his fake heart-less venom all over us? Even George W. Bush has retreated to his ranch and self-portraits in the bathtub. I suppose there are plenty of people out there that think just like Cheney -- people I'm even related to, maybe -- so he has an audience, but like I said, I'm bored by rants and Cheney's viewpoint makes me sick to my stomach.

Here's a rant that's awesome in its vulgarity. I wonder if I'd feel liberated from my nausea if I'd written it.

Alice, Mystery, Wonderland

It is to Alice’s credit that she doesn't hesitate for a moment to discard her preconceptions when she comes across situations that patently refute them. In doing so, she displays an admirable readiness to encounter reality on its own terms, a receptive cast of mind that many philosophers would include among the most important “intellectual virtues” or character traits that assist in the discovery of truth.

George Dunn and Brian McDonald in Six Impossible Things Before Breakfast

via Brain Pickings 

 

I don't know what the hell was wrong with me yesterday that I felt so upset the entire day. I happened to read a bit more about the high school football rapists in some godforsaken town in this country and I also listened to some economists talk about the cost of the Iraq war -- not just in dollars but in lives lost, both Iraqis and Americans. I heard Terri Gross interview someone talking about the toll of that war and the one in Afghanistan on literally hundreds of thousands of American soldiers and how that toll will be tolling for decades and decades. I briefly thought about George W. Bush whacking weeds on his ranch in Texas and Dick Cheney exulting with no regrets at the evil he wrought. I wished that they, like the two young football players who raped a drunk sixteen year old girl could sit in a jail cell with regret imposed on them like a pall. If I were an evangelical, I'd pray for the soul of America which seems, on some days, to have been swallowed up and spit back out in the form of people fighting for their right to protect themselves with assault weapons. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me yesterday other than that, the news. I took a walk in my neighborhood by the purple lavender bush scraggly on the Orthodox lawn. I ran my hand over the papery pink bougainvillea draped over a chain link fence and squinted my eyes at a Louisiana sheriff's car parked alone. The encyclopedia I carry with me told me that vampires could very possibly be in that house behind the car. I might have eaten a dark-capped fungus and shrunk to a size commensurate with a long tunnel, the dark a mystery, light at the end.