There Will Be Blood at the Polls

While the pundits are babbling about how New Hampshire and Iowa are deciding the future of, if not the U.S., at least the two reigning parties, only a fraction of airtime and newsprint is pointing out that you could fit all ethnic minorities from those two states into the back of a Prius. Worse case scenarios be what they may, even Huckabee does not speak with that dumb ass cracker accent of the current administration. Although that's my sole recommendation of Huckabee.

How fitting that I picked up Upton Sinclair's Oil at SFO on my way to Red State land. I read it and The Jungle as a teen, having first been turned on to that other Sinclair -- Mr. Lewis -- around the age of 12. Both of them shared a similar critique of capitalism but Mr. Lewis was less didactic and, to my mind, painted more compelling images. But, for all his propaganda, Upton can pump out some terse, muscular prose. Only a few hours on the road, and I've breezed past 25o pages.

Much reference is given to how Paddy Chayefsky's Network was prophetic three decades ago. But try to fathom for a moment, that these words are at 81 years old:

___________________

All this summer and fall, Dad and Mr. Roscoe had been carrying a heavy burden -- they were helping to make over the thinking of the American people. A presidential campaign was under way; and the oil men, having made so bold as to select the candidate, now had to finish the job by persuading the voters that he was a great and noble-minded statesman. Also they had to pay a part of the expense, which would come to fifty million dollars, so Bunny learned from the conversations at Paradise and Monastery. This was several times as much as would get recorded, since the money went through local and unofficial agencies. It came from the big protected interest, the corporations, the banks -- everyone that had anything to get out of the government, or could be squeezed by politicians; the process was known as "frying out the fat." The oil men, having grabbed the big prize, were naturally a shining mark for all campaign committees, county, state and national. Dad and Mr. Roscoe received visits from Jake Coffey, and from the bosses of the state machine, and listened to hair raising stories about the dangers and the situation.

It was necessary to persuade the American people that the Democratic administration for the past eight years had been wasteful and corrupt, ignorant and fatuous -- and that was easy enough. But also it was necessary to persuade them that that an administration by _______________ was likely to be better -- and that was not so easy.

________________________

The name that I left blank, in this case, was Warren Harding. But I'm sure you can insert more than one contemporary Republican sewer maggot.

Just Call J.T. Brother Carrie

Once upon a time the United States of America was run by fiscally conservative Republican Episcopalians. Though not precisely socially progressive, they were, at least, not aggressively wacko religious zealots and were supportive of the arts and humanities. Meanwhile white trash evangelical zealots worked minimum wage jobs, hung out in tent rallies, wore clip on ties, ate a lot of fried slop and often weren't even registered to vote. Something happened along the way during the 20th century, and we now have the current political scene that seems to have a gun at the head of the heart, head and soul of the nation by leaders who seem hell bent to pushing the country on the fast track to be a developing nation with a small elite and subservient, obedient drones while the United States of Europe continue their reign as the economic and moral beacon in the world.


How did we get to this point over the past century? There Will Be Blood, freely borrowing from Upton Sinclair's Oil doesn't fully answer that, but shows how a century or more ago oilmen were transparently amoral opportunists, and evangelical Christians were marginalized, exploited bumpkins who seemed to come in sharp conflict with them. How did these once arch enemies come to be such loving bed fellows and ultimately invite Mormons into their menage a trois? Was it the oilmen who, as the film's protaganist Daniel Plainview explains, he needed a sweet face to help him gain land and mineral rights? Or were the evangelicals always such hungry little whores that climbing in bed for the devil was a no brainer once they realized the financial benefits of such an engagement?

Junk Thief balked when he saw that the film had a 153 minute running time, but just seeing a wealth of tough men in some pretty fantastic headgear for more than two and a half hours was more than worth the price of admission. (Junk Thief is desperate to know the source for Daniel Day Lewis' hat during the 1911 segment.) Seeing so many familiar locations such as San Luis Obispo County as the music of a member of Radiohead was a pretty heady experience. Was Daniel's Daniel a pretentious channeling of John Huston's Noah Cross from Chinatown? Oh, who cares. And who was the oilier of the two leading men -- the oil tycoon or the preacher boy. Mr. Plainview's obvious moniker was appropriate. He was a man who may have said "I don't like to explain myself", but at least he had not real contradictions. Oh, except for the asking Jesus for forgiveness scene.

When Paul Thomas Anderson and Wes Anderson emerged as key new auteur directors of the mid-1990s, Junk Thief leaned more towards the latter Anderson with his fey details and came to bemoan P.T.'s rhapsodizing of the less than benign porn industry. Junk Thief really wants to keep liking the Anderson that introduced Dalmation mice and did his best to like Darjeeling Limited (which he did, but like the title, with limited enthusiasm). In the meantime, the other Anderson has slowly progressed, but There Will Be... is an enormous thrust forward, exploding like a gusher in the desert.

Having spent the bulk of his life west of the Mississippi, Junk Thief has known many people who resemble these characters, and their motivations are not mysterious to him. Anderson managed to capture the essence of father-son relationships from that part of the U.S. which greater poignancy minus sentimentality than anyone in a long time.

The Sinclair-inspired film has greatly inspired Junk Thief to pick up a copy of Oil since the movie only covers the first two chapters of the book which spends most of its length following the life of H.W., the "son" of Daniel Plainview. Does he really go to Mexico? Well, Junk Thief needs to know. In the meantime, tonight he will be enjoying a mid-1990s documentary on Upton Sinclair's run for governor of California in 1934. How ironic that as a child, Junk Thief's father always filled the Oldsmobile at Sinclair even if it was higher than Texaco or Phillips 66 so Junk Thief could play with Dino. This also reminds him that in
this blog entry, Julie Klausner revealed that her drag name is Downtown Sinclair. As a great fan of Sinclair's contemporary Theodore Dreiser, Junk Thief has recently become enamored by the 1952 celluloid adaptation of Sister Carrie, surprised that he found the middle-aged Olivier to be as fetching as Daniel Day Lewis at about the same age, slathered in oil and limping along. Both are decidedly physical performances, and the American accents are soon forgotten in both role. And, of course, they both had great headgear. Just call Junk Theif Brother Carrie in the meantime.