More from Moore

He comes lumbering in, rumpled clothes, overweight, hair spitting out the sides from under a baseball cap, which sits above a full moon face, looking for all the world like some blue-collar schlep on his way to work at the factory. All that’s missing is a lunch pail. And why not, his father was an automotive assembly-line worker. The pumpkin does not roll far from the patch.

But he is instead, a ball-breaking activist who has been causing agita for those in high places in a highly visible manner, in our media and on our movie screens for the last 30 years. He is of course—because he can’t be mistaken for anyone else and when he was born, they threw away the hefty mold— Michael Moore.

Perhaps the best encapsulation of the man and his mission that I’ve come across reads…

“Moore’s films have always balanced a left-leaning political mindset with a merry prankster sensibility ever since his debut film, Roger & Me, saw the documentarian mixing comedy and facts in his pursuit of an interview with GM chairman Roger B. Smith.” 

His goal in that particular pursuit, was to make Mr. Smith aware of the economic devastation that the closing of a GM plant in Moore’s hometown of Flint, Michigan would cause to the local community.  More on Flint later.

Though a dozen more full-length features would follow over the ensuing 28 years, including Bowling for Columbine which won an Oscar in 2002, and Fahrenheit 9/11 (2004), which remains the highest grossing documentary of all time, I would see none of them in their entirety. Just clips replayed here and there. Including the dramatic one of George W. Bush in a 2^nd-grade classroom while getting the news of the 9/11 attack.

Though I confess, that in a pique of curiosity, and given the current chaotic political scene, I went to see him on Broadway last year in his one-man show The Terms of My Surrender. He was surprisingly entertaining, with a good sense of comedic timing,  and he held the stage for two-plus hours non-stop. He even danced with a trio of ladies at the end of his show and was good on his feet.

Afterwards, in front of the theater, he personally gave each audience member a mini cup of Ben & Jerry’s ice cream, asking each recipient their flavor preference. (I opted for Cookie Dough). Pure Michael Moore. Who else would indulge in such whimsy? Other than perhaps the late great Andy Kaufman. The crowd loved it.

It was this same curiosity that brought me to his release last month of Fahrenheit 11/9 after he claimed on a late-night talk show, that you would be seeing things in this film you had not seen before. And he certainly made good on that promise in my view. Obviously, Moore timed its release in hopes of stirring up the Democrat/Liberal base, assuming such a thing exists, prior to the critical mid-term elections.

Yes, Trump is in the crosshairs in this film for all the usual reasons we’ve heard before. But it is interesting to see Moore’s perspective on the making of this President, which amounts to a series of improbable circumstances, that some of us might not have previously considered. And ironies abound. 

Further, Moore points out how mind-blowing is Trump’s presidency and the right-wing dominance in all branches of government, given that America leans decidedly to the left on the most volatile issues: pro-choice, favoring gun control, open to immigration, wanting better health care, believing in climate change, etc. And he has the stats to prove it which he unabashedly, in literal Al Gore fashion, posts on the screen.

For all the theater he employs in getting his message across… for all the disdain and hatred he generates from those on the other side… for all the criticism claiming that his films deliberately mislead, Moore has a credibility that others who indulge in mere rhetoric don’t.

It begins with the fact that he is one of “them.” He understands working-class America.  He’s lived it and seen it up close.  And even today, he lives—not in Hollywood, New York, or D.C. where all the action is — but in Michigan. Given, he does reside in the city of Traverse, which is no Flint.

He seems unphased by his celebrity. I saw him one night not that long ago standing in the back of a small dark club in the Village, catching a program of poetry and essay readings. He was as unassuming as he could possibly be given his hulking frame and signature wardrobe. And no one seemed particularly taken with the fact that he was there. But then again, that’s New York for you.

He goes where the action is. If teachers in West Virginia are striking, he is there. If the high school kids from Parkland are having a strategy meeting, he’s in the room. If factories are being shut down somewhere, he’s outside in the cold commiserating with the workers. It is this pedigree and approach that enabled him, against all odds, against all polls, to be the only Democrat/Liberal (Socialist?) to declare that Trump would win. Even Fox News in the person of a gushing Megan Kelly, gave him credit on election night for his amazing insight.

But there’s more to Fahrenheit 11/9, than skewering Trump. And those on the left ain’t gonna like it.

He calls out Bill Clinton for all the policies he enacted that run counter to what he, and the Democrats supposedly believe in. He calls out Hillary for falsely winning the nomination over Sanders despite the fact that The Bern won more delegates. But this thing called “Super Delegates,”— which the Republican party does not have he points out— were somehow awarded to Hillary enabling her victory. And most pointedly, he calls out Obama for his shameless stunt in Flint of “drinking” the heretofore contaminated water that was allegedly now safe for consumption. In actuality, Obama did little more than wet his lips before putting the glass down. And in so doing, in effect, supporting the criminal behavior of Michigan’s Republican Governor Rick Snyder. Kids ingesting lead in drinking water from a polluted river, through his evil doing, were permanently damaged. And a year and a half later, the water in the poorer areas of Flint is still unfit for human consumption.  Moore to his credit spends a good deal of time in the film putting a face on this atrocity.

What does this have to do with Trump? Nothing exactly. But this does.

Hitler.

As a movie critic from The New Yorker put it regarding Moore’s comparisons between the rise of the Feuer and the Donald and its implications…

“As a rule, once Hitler is slipped into any conversation, it’s time to back away and pour yourself a drink, but Moore’s jeremiads are as contagious as ever, and you feel the eagerness—at once amused and horrified—with which he lays out the parallels between the Nazi era and ours.”

And along with Moore’s narrative, one gets to see footage few have seen before: Germany and Hitler, at work and play, at the time of the Nazis coming into power. And at that point I could have used a stiff drink.

Is it a great film? From a critical standpoint it has gotten mixed reviews. Some claiming Moore is repeating many of the techniques seen in his previous works. Which is a meaningless criticism for those like me, who have seen only one of his films in its entirety. And at that, almost 30 years ago.

With all the pundits and talking heads who theorize from behind a desk hovering at 30,000 feet above the fray, Michael Moore, for whatever flaws, love him or hate him, is on the ground at eye level. So he saw it coming. For that alone, he’s worth another look. You can’t miss him.

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Word of the Month

lalochezia noun (lal’ō-kē’zē-ă), Emotional discharge gained by uttering indecent or filthy words. [G. lalia, speech, + chezō, to relieve oneself]

Used in a sentence:

With the #@?*% mid-term elections coming up, a lalochezia in our *&%#! polarized body politic is very much in @?!%# evidence.

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He Said/She Said

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A Backstory…A Poem

A poem should stand on its own. The reader either comes away from it with something that strikes a chord in some way, or he/she doesn’t. However, when a narrative poem is so specific to a person or event, some explanation or context might be needed to provide some clarity. And in fact, the backstory to a poem, or any art form for that matter, can at times be equally compelling or even exceed the work itself that follows. Such could be the case here.

Daniel Pearl, a Wall St. Journal journalist was executed by a terrorist group in Pakistan in 2002. He had gone there on an investigative assignment. In was a shocking high-profile event at the time, which I’m sure most of us remember.

Soon after, his parents Judea and Ruth set up the Daniel Pearl Foundation http://www.danielpearl.org, whose mission—remarkably given the nature of their tragic loss at the hands of a hostile foreign entity— is to promote mutual respect and understanding among diverse cultures through journalism, music and dialogue.  And it was at the first annual Daniel Pearl Memorial Lecture at UCLA that I was introduced to these extraordinary people.

In particular, I would come to see Judea at various times afterwards. And knowing that I wrote essays and poetry, he would playfully refer to me as a man adept at words. Having been born in Tel Aviv in 1936—he has duel Israeli and American citizenship—he doesn’t consider himself (humbly) a master of English grammar. Yet, he’s written or co-written five books. He is however for sure, a master in the field of artificial intelligence and winner of the prestigious A.M. Turing Award (that Turing of the historical drama movie Imitation Game).  He has been a professor at UCLA for many years.

He once posed a challenge to me, again in a playful spirit, to write a poem that was both light and serious, and as I recall, must contain a specific reference to Bin Laden, of all people.  I never got around to taking him up on that challenge, as I rarely have written a poem on spec. I’m lucky to write one on inspiration. And to work Bin Laden into the mix?

Prior to that time, he had come in contact with a poet who was, shall we say, uh slightly better at this craft than I: former Poet Laureate of the United States (1997-2000) Robert Pinsky. And they had discussed the possibility of Pinsky writing a memorial poem of sorts honoring Daniel.

Pinsky the Poet Laureate, pondered the Judea’s request and said he would love to do it, but he was pretty busy. And he’d only be able to perhaps, get this, write one line a month. (Insert LOL). Given the absurdity of that type of caveat— even a haiku would take three months— the project never came to pass. But right after Judea told me this story, I knew I finally had a theme for a poem that I might write for him. Though it would be absent any reference to Bin Laden.

Never satisfied with the poem, and forever tinkering with it, I never showed it to him. And then we lost contact. I last saw him seven years ago at UCLA. Then finding the poem buried in the closet not long ago, I reworked it yet again, and offer it now as an homage to Judea.

Tinsky, the Tailor Laureate

             for Judea Pearl

Master Tinsky, I request, please make me a suit;
to a banquet for mankind, I’ve received invitation.
Can I show you something in an iambic pentameter?
A three-piece rhyme? I’ll throw in a free verse?

No. Substance over style is of greatest import.
See, the words must proclaim in stitching and weave
that we are all cut and enjoined from one cloth.
Yet, make it bold in inference; the weight of gabardine.

A garment announcing to those I might meet
that I have something to get off my chest.
Granted. What color preferred? Tinsky inquires.
You, adid Tinsky, the king of the seams,

O’ tailor laureate—image that of good dreams.
Just as long as the coat is not one of many colors;
for one does not want to offend one’s brothers.
You’ll be wearing, I see, an aching heart on your sleeve.

Yes, Elohim Tinsky. And oh how it bleeds.
I guess an extension of sleeve I will need.
Yes. And I’ll make your coat length short enough
to show that your hopes that are hamstrung, have legs.
 
And in back, I will cut, a vent wide enough
to allow movement with ease among common men.
But Tinsky, ahuv Tinsky, I must insist
that the coat be lined in red satin memory

of my son Danny, who gave his life
to expose the deeds of the darkest demons.
And as for the pants, the ends as they say
should justify the means. Stop at the top of the feet.

Not one small misstep is allowed in this thicket
of times so uncertain; a patchwork in malevolence.
No problem, Tinsky, from Poland replies.
When did you say you would need this by?

All my yesterdays; a thousand tomorrows.
Ah, but you see, I have lined up currently,
the literati in need of alliterations, alterations;
I can only make it one stitch at a time.

No! Then I’ll wear the same suit as my father and his father.
For this is the way I have come at the world;
it has served me well. Now, I go to honor my son.
Shalom Tailor Tinsky.I think we are done.                                   

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Gig

I will be participating in a public reading this month of the play, “Auntie Mame,” not to be confused with the musical version, “Mame.” As the play has lots of characters I will be doing multiple roles.

It is a story about Mame Dennis, a progressive and independent woman of the 1920s, who is left to care for her nephew Patrick after his wealthy father dies.

The play had a successful two-year run on Broadway (1956-58) starring Rosalind Russell. She reprised the role in the film version which was released shortly thereafter.

Fifth Avenue Presbyterian Church
7 West 55th Street
New York, N.Y. 10019

October 26, 2018 Friday at 7pm
October 28, 2018 Sunday at 2pm

Admission is free of charge.

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fini

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