I was tempted to title this entry "The Meaning of Life" after the very silly idea from St. Elmo's Fire that Andrew McCarthy's 24-year-old character would be able to write an article with that headline in The Washington Post. It was pretentious, but a different kind of pretentious than is the idea I will now inflict upon you, O Tolerant Reader.
In recent years I have come more and more to sympathize with the hidalgo Alonso Quixano, a 16th century Spanish noble whose binge-reading of medieval chivalric romances unhinges him to the point he decides to be Don Quixote de la Mancha, a knight-errant who will right wrongs and serve his nation. As Miguel de Cervantes describes him in his foundational novel, Don Quixote is clearly delusional, believing inns to be castles, prostitutes to be great ladies of the realm, a nearby farm girl his designated Lady and a neighbor farmer, Sancho Panza, his squire.
Cervantes suggests, using medical knowledge of his day, that Quixano is clinically insane due to a physical malady (his brain dried out). But a few hours spent in the company of modern political leaders and would-be leaders or the immense heap of Rocinantean by-product marketed as entertainment can easily bring on a strong Quixanian temptation.
Who, watching the bully Derek Chauvin kneel unconcerned on the neck of George Floyd, would not prefer Marshal Matt Dillon of Dodge City? Who, listening to the malicious sniping of the United States House Speaker Nancy Pelosi, would not prefer the straightforward and blunt confrontation of Tip O'Neill? Who, watching the careening narcissism of President Trump's style of governance, would not prefer the drab malaise of Jimmy Carter or the optimism of Ronald Reagan? Who, watching the disturbed freak show of American Horror Story, would not prefer The Twilight Zone? The reader can provide his or her own examples, no doubt, from just about every field of entertainment, politics or public figures.
Despite some of the wonders of our modern world, a lot of those things were better than a lot of the things that are around now and human beings mostly have a yen for better things. Might a miscreant molest a woman in Gunsmoke, just as Ed Harris's Man in Black character does in Westworld? Yes, but rather than become a multi-season protagonist he will be dealt with swiftly, put either behind bars or in a pine box by Matt Dillon by episode's end. Which is preferred? Sure, the swift justice of the past may not be the way things really happened then or today, but relying on a show about intelligent robots weakens the counter-argument.
In 1966 Burt Ward comically declared "Holy ashtrays!" and some 300-odd other similar exclamations as Robin the Boy Wonder in television's Batman as he and Adam West climbed the outside of buildings thanks to transparent thread pulling their capes as they walked in front of a camera on its side. In Amazon's 2019 super-being show The Boys, Jack Quaid kills the degenerate "hero" Translucent by detonating explosives inserted in his colon and new super-team member Starlight is forced to fellate current member the Deep in order to join. Which is preferred?
The 21st century makes it hard to point fingers at poor Alonso Quixano, but easy to sympathize. His delusions were triggered when he overdid his reading about stories from the good old days and he decided to live like that was the real world. The modern Quixanian temptation comes not from overexposure to the past but from even minimal exposure to the present.
Alonso Quixano dove deep into fantasy because he thought the past was better than the present. Maybe instead we'd phrase it that present seems so clearly to be much worse than the past.
Either way, the giants are still just windmills. And the public arena is littered with dried-out brains.
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