BUT I THOUGHT SHE WAS GOING TO WIND UP WITH THAT RICH SNOB! Saw two of the summer hits this weekend -- Wedding Crashers and The 40-Year-Old Virgin. I understand the good reviews each has received, but I think both films are getting graded on the curve.

There's great stuff in both pictures. I love the way the "Shout" medley in Crashers encapsulates both the animal joy and the depressing childishness of the crasher schtick; the pursuit looks exhilarating, and the sex looks tiresome, which is of course absolutely right for the characters and the movie. And Steve Carell's Virgin is a brilliant creation:­ an overgrown boy with all the enthusiasm, likeability, and nervous stares of incomprehension pertaining thereunto. When I saw these, I was fascinated: could it all go this quickly and surely?

Alas, no. Both movies drag in the middle, with occasional jet-blasts of schtick to revive the viewer, instead of tight plotting to guide him or her to the inevitable happy endings. No matter how well-played, the sex-starved and/or humorously foul-mouthed older people, horny temptresses, devious richies, stoners with hearts of gold, etc., are such glaring and antique contrivances that I would have to be in a ridiculously good mood to shake them off. And I am rarely in that good a mood.

Worse still, I'm sorry to say, are the allegedly adorable love interests. In Being John Malkovitch Catherine Keener's character is a delightful surprise; in Virgin the woman Keeler plays is earthy, quirky, and sweet ­-- that is, a compilation of descriptive terms for the Catherine Keener persona, all of which I adore, but which add up to considerably less than a character.

I think the movies get over on the acting (Wilson and Vaughn especially benefit from having a real love affair to play), and on the general perception that they are "sweet" -- i.e., despite the grotesqueries and nude bodies lying about, these entertainment machines are gonna make you feel good about life and love. Yes, we are all terrible, terrible people and we want to experience vicarious redemption, even if we need the Rappin' Grandma to help us along. Well, for my part, I dislike being prodded and goaded into vicarious redemption. I have nothing against sweetness, but after three plus hours of Hallmark sentiment with dirty words scrawled around the margins, I really wanted to watch some Billy Wilder. That's sweet too, but considerably more substantial.

OK, I'll shove the crayon back up my nose now.

(Update: fixd stupid spellin misteak)

SERVICE ADVISORY. Posting will be infrequent for a few several days. I have a theatrical commitment that is coming to a head and eating into my precious ranttime. I have neither the talent nor the inclination for self-promotion, so I won't steer you to it, but I will say that this one's going a lot better than others with which I have been involved, thanks to the enormously talented folks with whom I have, by some perverse accident, fallen in.

MAU-MAUING THE FLAK CATCHERS. Somebody is promoting his direct-to-DVD movie via the blogosphere with an anti-Hollywood message, assisted by Michael Totten and other such like. The film's site's call to arms:

…a new band of warriors, better known as bloggers… add strength to the voice of the fans, fighting for more choice for themselves and, in the end, all of us. Now there is more new content, as well as more ways to access it and distribute it. There is no reason why you should depend on a handful of major studios to tell you when, where, and what to watch.

Fight the power, brother! And speaking of power, the guy has superstar Jim Treacher for a blog barker. Here's Treacher pulling the suckers a little closer to the tent:

Then Robert Boyd of the NY Sun wrote to me about Rosie O'Donnell appearing in Fiddler on the Roof on Broadway, after I cleverly compared her to a farm animal. Robert said that it made perfect sense for her to do such a thing, and I was all like: Yeah, but won't she need to trim her beard a bit to play Tevye?

'Cause these anti-authoritarian types, see, they love that sort of stuff.

I have no idea whether this movie, called Blowin' Smoke, is any good, but I have to say I admire the filmmaker's moxie. Show biz is a hard dollar and it seems to me that perspiring artists are well within their rights to use any dodge at their disposal to move product. And from the looks of the comments ("we need to see this gluttonous distribution/production-monopoly rumble and burn. Let's starve the bastards"), the Blogbrothers vs. Hollywood schtick seems to be working, at least among souls who find Rosie the Rugmuncher gags appealing.

'Twas ever thus; a lot of people will buy entertainment products just to show solidarity with some band of outsiders with a grievance against authority figures. Maybe a Blowing Smoke DVD will be the Che Guevara t-shirt of the suburban keyboard commando. And, who knows? This may be the beginning of something even bigger. Blowin' Smoke, the Liberty Film Festival guys, all those Regnery authors, et alia -- maybe these are the faces of the new counterculture! Perhaps, as Lenny Bernstein once feted the Black Panthers, we'll have Jason Apuzzo hosting the Minutemen. Dennis Miller could be their Lenny Bruce, Ann Coulter their Twiggy.

I'd say something about "first time tragedy, second time farce," except it was pretty funny the first time, too.

I'LL BET HE WEARS A BERET AND A JAZZ PATCH AND SMELLS OF PATCHOULI AND GOES AROUND LIKE THIS: "OOH-OOOOH-OOH, LOOKIT ME! I'M SO VERY ARTISTIC!" Well, here's another whining shit of an pampered artist who -- though he makes a good living in a field where, by his own admission, "only 50 to 100 people at a time can be successful," and has been covered with awards -- complains he's being persecuted for his politics:

"There's a deterrent effect for Republicans from joining that community. I recently wrote an apolitical book of short stories, and I was attacked for my politics. When I wrote a book about a World War I soldier, the New York Times book review said in paragraph one that I was a Republican. They wouldn't point out that Norman Mailer is a Democrat."

Ah ha ha ha, let's bring our mystery guest out from behind the curtain: Mark Helprin, novelist and rightwing gasbag.

See, it's funny because... oh never mind. Suffice to say that I don't want to hear any more bullshit about Tim Robbins from these clowns.

COMRADE! I SUSPECT YOUR KEY GRIP AND BEST BOY OF WRONGTHINK TENDENCIES! I actually think rightwing cinephile Jason Apuzzo has a great idea -- that conservatives who are forever bitching about ee-vil Hollywood should cease "verbally ‘rebutting’ these movies like dour lawyers in a courtroom" and start making movies themselves. I should certainly like to see Halliburton Films' epic production, The Joe McCarthy Nobody Knew, starring John Goodman as a hard-drinking Wisconsin Senator up against International Communism and the Democrat Party, played by James Woods. I would also enjoy a new version of The Grapes of Wrath in which the Joads toss flowers to the men who have come to bulldoze their home, and cheerfully take jobs at roadside hamburger stands built by a dreamy-eyed young Ray Kroc (played by Stephen Baldwin).

Unfortunately Apuzzo doesn't take his own advice. In recent blog entries he has gone even beyond the classic "Never mind the script and acting, is the film pro-family?" approach pioneered at National Review, doing close reads of a movie trailer ("I think I’m right in being a little concerned about the messages Hollywood will be slipping into this film...") and -- get this -- a movie poster. I eager await his future analyses of the political content of ancillary merchandise ("This Wookie's long, flowing locks are clearly meant to justify the hippie movement of the 60s").

He talks a good game, but I suspect Comrade Apuzzo would be content to never work on another film if, comes the Revolution, he can have a gig at the Ministry of Culture, purging the cinema of erroneous aesthetic and ideological views.

SHORTER PEGGY NOONAN: Well, I did it: wrote an entire column boiled out of my mind. Damn, I'm good! And a theme like "people like Bush 'cuz he's normal" is not easy to pad, lemme tell ya. So I made up the shortfall with some gush about First Ladies. I even stuck in something about the President's balls -- again! Hee hee. Now that's how the pros do, bitches.

OOH, MY HEAD... HEY, WHERE AM I? You mean I didn't have Lawyers, Guns & Money on my blogroll before this? Why not? (shakes small wooden effigy) I want answers!

Scott's post today is particularly good, but they're all good. And, for the most part, closely-reasoned even when enraged. I go pretty much exclusively for rage here, so LG&M's a nice change of pace.

CITIZEN JOURNALISM: DON'T TRY IT OUTSIDE THE HOME! A few years ago Jonah Goldberg laughed (spraying cracker crumbs and globules of Marshmallow Fluff, no doubt) to think of Al Franken and his sissy liberal colleagues trying to compete in the rough-and-tumble world of talk radio. "Conservatives are more entertaining than liberals," said Goldberg, because liberals always had to watch what they said -- "They respect all sorts of false pieties which conservatives can poke fun of. They dance around politically correct landmines and confuse themselves for ballerinas" -- whereas wingers could let the good times roll a la, well, Jonah Goldberg. And of course the straitjacketed libs were always bitching and moaning that oooh, the wingers were being demogogues. Bwa ha ha. Fuck those guys.

Flash forward to last weekend, when liberal op James Carville managed with the rhetorical equivalent of a pinky thrust to knock crusty old Bob Novak right off his rocker. Jonah Goldberg, now scowling parentally in his toga, reacts:

This all illuminates the rot in cable-news political discourse...

...I disagree with the Bush administration on a wide number of issues — from immigration policy and “compassionate conservatism” to its grotesque overspending. But it’s very hard to offer a balanced defense when your opponent is shouting that you’re a whore to the GOP and that Bush is a liar with his pants on fire...

Yes, the world of talk TV is too rough-and-tumble for Goldberg. Maybe the addition of visuals pushes the thing over the edge for him.

Now to be fair, this is not the linchpin of Goldberg's argument. Maybe he started out like that, then realized how ridiculous he, wielder of the NatRev whoopee-cushion, sounded in Comstock mode. In any case, he guides our attention to the harrumph-harrumph real problem: too many political operatives on TV, as opposed to creatures of pure air, light, political philosophy, and barbecue sauce such as Jonah Goldberg.

Tucker Carlson and Bob Novak "are journalists," says Goldberg, "opinion journalists, to be sure, but journalists nonetheless. They speak for nobody but themselves and they have a long-term interest in maintaining their credibility." Whereas trash like Carville and Paul Begala, he informs us, are "party operatives and always have been. They were even advisers to the Kerry campaign while still keeping their 'analyst' jobs at CNN."

Yes, Jonah Goldberg is arguing that professional journalists are more credible than outsiders with other jobs. Good thing Ole Perfesser Reynolds is on vacation, because I'm sure the celebrated Citizen Journalist would pounce right on that elitist thinking! In fact, I'm sure all the pie-eaters are rising up against Goldberg as I write this. There must be something wrong with Technorati, which is not showing any such activity.

I wonder if Goldberg would consider the problem solved if the nets replaced operatives like Carville and Begala with -- oh, let's say Eric Alterman and Juan Cole. I'm guessing not.

JUST A LITTLE JOKE AMONG FRIENDS. Mithras is teasing the bears again. He allowed himself this bagatelle a few days back, and you could hear the screams a mile away. Now he wonders aloud "Where Are All the Funny Conservative Bloggers," and the switchboard's lighting up.

I feel compelled to state for the record that no sensible person, including Mithras I'm sure, thinks conservatives are incapable of humor. The same goes for liberals, of course (the fact that morons disagree only underlines the point). But I will admit that I don't laugh much at allegedly humorous authors of conservative blogs, and I am always surprised (pleasantly and gratefully, but still) on those very rare occasions when a conservative tells me he has found humor in mine.

I think this is only right and natural. You may be the most scrupulously fair person imaginable -- the sort of person who admits that the other fella makes a damn good point even if it kills you. But if someone's making fun of that which you hold dear (like, say, your Mom), you may be forgiven a disinclination to laugh, no matter how well-played the jest. You can't find something funny on principle. Either you are physically tickled by a joke, or you are not.

It's hard to find a class clown on either side of the political aisle who can rock the whole house. The greats, of course, transcend politics, though trace elements of it may be found clinging to their outlines. Evelyn Waugh was a High Tory, but if you think Scoop is funny because it is a "satire" on the press suitable for shaking at New York Times reporters, I think you must be a very dull fellow indeed. It is really the story of a fellow who would rather be writing prose poems about small animals, and eventually gets to return to it, but only after much heedless, unnecessary, and hilarious anguish, including an African war. Restoration of equilibrium -- that's entertainment! Especially when the scale of the absurdity preceding the restoration rivals that of life itself.

Maybe someone can work at that level, I gotta say, it ain't any of us blog clowns -- at least, not in our current incarnations. But who knows? Don DeLillo used to write ad copy.

WHEN I WANT YOUR OPINION, I'LL TELL IT TO YOU. A while back I commented on the National Review's declaration that the British public was getting more rightwing on terror, immigration, etc., which was based on no better research than a scan of published Tory war cries. (This ripping Mark Steyn piece shows the public is with us!) The height of this madness was reached this weekend, when Stanley Kurtz announced that "The British reconsideration of multiculturalism has reached a new stage, with the Tories now engaged in an internal debate." An internal debate in the British Conservative Party! What'd they get last election, fifteen votes? And they're divided on the issue. Talk about gilding the stinkweed!

The export version of this psychodrama has arrived in America via OpinionJournal's Brendan Miniter:

July 7, 2005: the London bombings. In the four weeks since this happened, I have talked about it, on the West Coast and East Coast, with people one could describe as "non-Bush voters." To a man and woman, they say in so many words that the time has come to "get tough on the terrorists." One event, London, appears to have caused an internal reassessment among some Americans formerly ambivalent about the war on terror.

Oh, and did I mention they were all cab drivers? Now, that's data you just can't fake.

Which is good, because Miniter doesn't show any other kind. The rest of the piece devolves into medical fantasia:

Tony Blair said last week that after September 11 much of the world "turned over and went back to sleep again." So why won't Ambien and Valium induce again the sleep of fatal innocence?... The post-9/11 slumber was both psychological and political. It became a partisan mindset. London was electroshock therapy...

And if the terrorists attack Brussels next week, it'll be a CAT scan followed by hydrotherapy, and then a break for lunch.

The drumbeat of terror -- be afraid be afraid be ver-r-r-y afraid, be afraid be afraid be ver-r-r-y afraid... -- was once a powerful goad. A politician could just rev that up, adding appropriate visuals (a flag, an eagle, a fireman's cap), and the punters would do whatever he wanted. Now, after years of heedless employment, the drumbeat may have become just background noise. People are getting sick of the Iraq mess, and exploding tube stations seem not to have rekindled their ardor.

Unable to convince the public, our opinion leaders have hit upon a brilliant alternative: to simply announce the public's support. Who's gonna call 'em on it? The blogosphere -- that little strip-mall of guerrilla-advertising boutiques that plant message for the big boys? Not likely. Besides, that lot's too busy complaining about how the MSM plants coded anti-smoking messages into the obituaries of famous lung-cancer casualties.

Well, they're outsourcing everything else; about they got around to opinions.

NEXT UP: THE FABULOUS FURRY STRAIGHT BROTHERS! This story about right-wing comic-book superheroes has been getting a lot of play, but I would urge caution. Remember the old NatLamp parodies like "G. Gordon Liddy: Agent of C.R.E.E.P."? Maybe that's what the boys at ACC Studios are going for, in their ham-handed way.

Or maybe they're just after a fast buck. As a creative type, I can sympathize with that! (Hell, somebody make me an offer, and I'll be bashin' traitors so fast it'll make your head spin like Jefferson in his grave. I've worked for ad agencies!)

There is of course a slight chance that they believe in this crap. In which case, God go with them and teach them to write better.

In a related item, famous centrist Michael Totten tells liberal filmmakers to shut up.

SHORTER PEGGY NOONAN. Tourism copy like this can be yours for a mere $50,000 per assignment (kill fee 100%). Contact me at my New York office... what! Move to West Virginia? You gotta be kidding!

THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS. I'm all for protecting the public from fraud, but I think this is a bit much:

An American judge has approved a $1.5m (£850,000) settlement between Sony Pictures and a group of filmgoers who claimed that the Hollywood studio used quotes by a fictitious film critic to promote features in 2001.

Movie fans who saw classic offerings such as The Animal, about a man who is transplanted with animal organs, or A Knight's Tale, with Heath Ledger as a peasant boy aspiring to be a knight to the sounds of Queen's We Will Rock You, can now apply for a $5 (£2.80) refund for each cinema ticket they bought...

It should be mentioned that Sony had already been dunned by the Connecticut AG for the imposture. The new ruling amounts to pain and suffering damages for credulous moviegoers.

Personally, I think if you paid money to see A Knight's Tale you deserve all the pain and suffering you got.

Years ago, the producer David Merrick tried to run a display ad in New York papers with the names and pictures of Broadway's top critics, all unanimous in praise of Merrick's latest, Subways are for Sleeping. Only the men whose raves were to run were not critics -- they were just guys Merrick had found whose names were the same as the critics.

Only one paper got fooled, and the story has been a good laugh in showbiz circles ever since. I don't think anyone sued Merrick, or thought of it.

Now, Broadway's a small world where an outlandish act like this would be more easily forgiven. And I understand that the global cinema audience is not quite so partial to in-jokes -- and that the busted marketers were certainly not just being impish. People handling that kind of money tend not to play around.

But come on. If suckers were ne'er shorn, whither show business? I shudder to think what might be if this logic were applied in bygone eras. Bust the medicine shows, and a lot of country legends never make it to the Opry. P.T. Barnum would have spent his life, not entertaining the masses, but breaking rocks in the Bridgeport Penitentiary. And let's not even talk about magicians. Harry Houdini would be doing community service telling kids not to lock themselves in underwater trunks.

Seen from approximately the same angle, most movie trailers are at least as deceitful as the Sony stunt was -- with their jacked-up editing rhythms and soundscapes, they usually make movies look much more exciting than they are, or could possibly be without the assistance of lysergic acid. What about that TV ad that's been telling us The Skeleton Key heralds the return of the psychological thriller? Will the authors of these recent films come to the bar to argue that the psychological thriller came in with them? I suppose the next step will be to subpoena film stars who go on Entertainment Tonight to speak well of whatever sorry product they're in, and submit them to lie-detector tests.

I am at least half serious. Maybe even as much as 60 percent!

At least someone has a sense of humor about this.

MALAISE. You have always supported the war. In fact, you have been an unusually stalwart advocate, because it is war, and war is serious; "This is war, not a Dr. Phil show."

But things have gotten strange. The Administration, which you supported for its steadfastness on the war, now says the war is actually more of a "struggle." This seems to fit its recent conduct. The Brits have decided to respond to terror attacks with police work instead of indiscriminate foreign invasions, and that seems to be working out pretty well.

Is the war a "struggle"? You yourself have written that it wouldn't be such a bad thing if the U.S. just pulled out of a still-exploding Iraq. A sensible position, perhaps, though rather at odds with your previous don't-abandon-Iraq position. Maybe you and the President have grown together. Maybe this is what centrism is all about!

But maybe this is also far less satisfying than the certainties of days gone by.

On the mild provocation of some ill-chosen words by Juan Cole, you roll out terrorism's greatest hits in 22 colorful pictures. This lengthy exhibition does demonstrate that terror is more than, to use Cole's glib phrase, "four guys in a gymn (sic) in Leeds." But a sentence or two would have done as much. Why the warnography? Perhaps just for the thrill of "fisking" a notorious dissident in language (or lack thereof) that even your densest commenters will understand.

Or maybe these wan days of unwar have awakened in you a need that even fisking cannot fulfill. Maybe, by repeated viewing of atrocity photos, you're trying to relive the outrages of 9/11, 3/11, 7/7, and all the other soul-stirring number combinations. Maybe they remind you of the days of flags and unity, the days when "God Bless America" during the 7th inning stretch was still a big deal, when Rudy Giuliani was America's Mayor and Fox was America's Network -- when the Leader's numbers were in the stratosphere rather than the toilet -- when you could just cite a number or a show a picture and suddenly everyone was right on board with whatever you wanted to do.

Either that or you just aren't very eloquent.

UPDATE. The great philosopher known as The Editors has expanded on this here.

THE KIDS ARE ALRIGHT. Amanda's sick of anti-hipster backlash. I take her point. We greybeards flail and froth too much on the subject, and always have. There has been trend and anti-trend since the dawn of self-selecting communities, and kicks at anomic, gimme-capped urbanites (they still wear gimme caps, right?) are about as meaningful as a ringing denunciation of flappers, or that awful scene in Yankee Doodle Dandy where Cohan meets the bobby-soxers.

If there is any legitimate component to antihipsterism, it is the educational impulse of the wised-up geezer to tell a scruff the big mistake he's making. A choice of jeans or music, however, is seldom so crucial as to warrant comment. If I can point out aesthetic reasons why Band A is no good, I can argue with men and women of goodwill and any age who share my intrest in the true and the beautiful; if I posit that Band A is no good for generational reasons -- if I argue that Band A is the perfect avatar of the bought-out, gutless, anomie-ridden sub-generation that produced it -- then the fight is over whose demographic rulez. I'm old-fashioned enough to prefer the former kind. (Hey, that was a dig at you young punks! Ha ha! Go pay $150 for jeans, bitch!)

I'm not even sure how much bile I can work up over this:

One mile from the Las Vegas Strip, East Village is a 960,000 square foot, multi-level commercial development on 44 acres at the corner of Tropicana Avenue and Paradise Road. It is slated to open in early 2007. The emphasis of East Village is retail, restaurants and entertainment.

The urban lifestyle center will create Las Vegas's missing "meeting place" - America's fastest growing city has no urban "epicenter" and East Village presents a true streetscape of retail shops, a "market place", cafes, restaurants, offices, entertainment and nightlife in a village setting. Architecturally stimulated by Manhattan's eclectic East Village, this lifestyle center has the sense of local authenticity and a cosmopolitan energy. It will be shaped by world class tenants - a place for tourists and residents alike. The locally based developer is driven to create East Village as a legacy for the City.

Photos of the atrocity here. Normally this would be my cue to spray bullets, or at least spoor, in all directions, but I figure, the way things are going, they might as well build East Village Las Vegas in the actual East Village. What's the difference? The rent would probably be the same.

I still think the East Village of my own youth (high crime, low rent, big excitement) was a better Left Bank than the current, culturally-deficient mall version. But if a 90-year-old wheeled up to me and started talking about how it all started going downhill when the Irish and the Italians stopped throwing bricks at each other, I don't think I'd have much of an answer for him.

So, until my next mood swing (any second now...), I'll leave the fist-shaking you-ain't-no-punk-you-punk beat to actual cranks.

EYYYM PLEEEASED YOU APPREEECIATE GOOOD WEYYYN... HAVE ANOTHER GLASS! Very revealing bit from Stanley Kurtz at NRO:

BRITISH BREAKTHROUGH: The other day I linked to a poll that said, despite 7/7, a clear majority of the British people do not agree that multiculturalism has "gone too far." Even so, a torrent of British opinion pieces seem to say that multiculturalism has indeed gone too far...

The yobs say no, but me Tory mates say yes -- motion carried!

Kurtz adds, "In the wake of 7/7, Britain continues to conduct a searing re-examination of its own culture..." followed, not by affirming evidence from the Bloke in the Street, but by links to the handful of rightwing columnists who apparently represent "Britain."

Kurtz seems to believe that a few articles by his buddies (preferably with appropriately self-hating headlines like "Confronted With Our Own Decadence" and "We French Are Pathetic Losers") trump whatever foolish opinions may be held by actual citizens, as these will soon make way for whatever the Weekly Standard deems more suitable. The common people... they will sell liberty for a quieter life! That is why they must be led, driven -- pushed!

I am inclined to bet that the Brits are not as stupid as we are, but it would have to be a small bet. As some people never tire of telling us, Everything Has Changed.

UPDATE. Further rightthink suggestions from Kurtz: "Let's Face Facts, Europe's Being Run By Cowards" and "Fundamentally, We're Useful Idiots." I'm guessing the authors of these and all the other "We Suck" articles actually have very high self-esteem themselves, but are skilled at finding and exploiting a lack thereof in others.

...BUT NOT FOR THEE. 4:30 pm: Michelle Malkin has some fun with saggy nude protestors in Berkeley.

5:13 pm: Michelle Malkin is against "pathetic leftist attacks on conservatives' physical appearance."

Given how often this sort of thing happens nowadays, I'm surprised that I can still notice. As one of my commenters recently remarked, "Does the word 'hypocrite' even exist anymore?"

SIGNS OF A DEEPER ILLNESS. I'd heard about Theodore Dalrymple, and imagined that he was all about how there's too much spittin' and swearin' and friggin' and frugin' these days. Well, I underestimated him. To hear Dalrymple tell it, the problem with kids these days, and adults these days, is not Desperate Housewives or Britney Spears... it's Henrik Ibsen!

Yes, A Doll's House, Ghosts, Hedda Gabbler -- they were not just plays, but propaganda vehicles meant to convince people to "express their true nature unmediated by the distortions of society" -- leading to the 20th Century, with its spittin' and swearin' and friggin' and frugin' and Holocausts. Here is a prime example of Dalrymple's analytic method, in which he reacts to Parson Manders' willful ignorance in Ghosts:

Coming from a character whom Ibsen scorns as ridiculous and bigoted, these words, which contain an obvious truth, are meant to be rejected out of hand. In Ibsen’s philosophy, everyone -- at least Nature’s aristocrats, for in fact Ibsen was no egalitarian or democrat -- must examine every question for himself and arrive at his own answer: for example, whether the Protocols of the Elders of Zion is historically true -- or at least historically true for him.

This is wrong in so many ways -- is Dalrymple aware that Jefferson, surely a democrat, believed in a natural aristocracy? -- but that citation of the infamously anti-Semitic Protocols is in whole 'nother league of intellectual thuggery, attempting to daub Ibsen with the scent of Auschwitz, toward the end of...

... of what? I think our dear, daffy Kulturkampf is entering a new phase. It is not just low-riding jeans or foul-mouthed MCs that our would-be Truth Ministers would abolish -- they want the decks cleared good and proper, and that means uprooting everything, root and branch, that ever led to any insolence or insubordination whatsoever. Doesn't matter how splendid the artistic achievement -- if it ever made a prole who got within sniffing distance of it rise up on his hind legs and question his lot, then it obviously enabled the death camps*.

For bonus enjoyment visit Roger L. Simon's approving thread, particularly this guy, who starts here --

Prostitution used to be the poor man's outlet for relationship/sexual discontent. For an hour or two you can have the "perfect" woman.

In our enlightened times prostitution is discouraged.

So now instead of the evils of prostitution we get the evils of broken marraige.

Care to tell me which course of action is better?

-- and just gets further and further out.

(* -- pre-emptive demurrer: I do not mean by this that prole-stiffening potential is the hallmark of art; art may cause all kinds of effects -- side-effects, they might be -- besides the sublimnity which makes it self-identifying to the open-eyed.)

KEEP SETTIN' 'EM UP, I'LL KEEP KNOCKING 'EM DOWN. I haven't written about The Corner much lately. This is almost a respectful silence. Not that I respect them, but the place has that eerie liferaft-after-two-weeks feeling about it. The heavily subsidized National Review will never allow these folks to drown in anything but their own bullshit, though. Today's topic of discussion, believe it or not: the Geena Davis sitcom Commander in Chief.

"Have you suspected that this show seems designed to make President Hillary more plausible, since Hollywood liberals like Billy Bob Thornton believe the American people are grumpy sexists?" thunders Tim Graham. Thunder I: wha huh wha? I think Graham is referring to this interview snippet, in which Thornton merely questions the receptiveness of the American electorate to female Presidential candidates -- a reasonable sentiment, considering how few we've had and how badly they've done. Thornton doesn't use the term "grumpy sexists," but that may because he was trying to insinuate himself with ordinary Americans, in furtherance of the liberal plot to make Hitlery plausible! It's amazing they find time to make movies and TV shows.

Jonah Goldberg: "Oh, and then there's problem that Geena Davis is no longer watchable..."

...since bukkake manga replaced her in my bedtime "special place."

Thank you, I'll be here all week.

THE ART OF CARICATURE. CityJournal runs an article on right-wing cartoons. Credit to author Harry Stein: he knows a quick buck when he sees it -- most of the piece is Stein describing several Mallard Fillmore strips. It must have been as easy to write as it is painful to read.

It is of course hilarious to read right-wing affirmative-action hires like Mallard's Bruce Tinsley bitch about diversity. Even funnier is a marked tendency among this lot -- see if you can spot it:

[At Tinsley's middle school,] "One time, a girl sheepishly admitted that she wanted to be a homemaker -- and she was ridiculed not only by most of the other girls in the class, but by the teacher. These were the people who talked about ‘totalitarians’ and ‘thought police’"...

Tinsley even gets death threats. “These liberals are so sweet and gentle, they wouldn’t harm a baby seal,” he laughs. “But I guess I’m fair game"...

(Prickly City's) Stantis, like Tinsley, got a stiff dose of liberal hypocrisy growing up -- in his case, in Madison, Wisconsin, less than a mile from one of the nation’s most radical campuses. At 13 (he’s 46 today, again like Tinsley), he worked on the Nixon campaign, and “on several occasions,” he recalls, “the peace-loving McGovern types threw bricks through the window. After all, you can only be so tolerant... I get hundreds of vicious e-mails a week. I mean, the crudity and intolerance of the Left these days is unbelievable..."

... [Tinsley's] wife is a civil rights lawyer. There’s perhaps a lesson here. "It’s a funny thing,” Tinsley says. “All her liberal friends are incredulous that our marriage works, but none of my conservative friends have any trouble with it at all. They understand you can think differently about things and still be civil to one another."

Almost immediately, this observation leads Tinsley to reflect on something else. “You ever notice how often liberals seem to think that, because they hold these lofty social views, it excuses them from having to be civil to bellboys and cabdrivers? I really think that by and large conservatives are just much nicer"...

I was frankly disappointed to learn that the imbecilic caricatures of liberals in their lousy strips were not derived from a template created by the American Enterprise Institute, but apparently reflect the authors' visions -- they actually believe liberals are all intolerant, hate-mailing, brick-throwing, future-housewife-harrassing, low-tipping scum.

If they were cynically creating dull stereotypes to get over in an undemanding marketplace, instead of just plain stupid, I might have had some respect for them.