The Charlotte News

Tuesday, July 21, 1942

FOUR EDITORIALS

Site Ed. Note: We think we may have figgered out what that "Egg-wipt" was. It's sort of akin to "ubiquitous", as referenced by FPA's elegy quoting the recently deceased Heywood Broun back on December 21, 1939. You know, the crack about the papoose.

And, we think we may have even figgered out to what the "400" referred in the putative Bible quote which wasn't, on July 13. It was, we offer, "The 400 Blows" by Truffaut.

Anyway, it's sort of what you might call a green 'Snare.

The front page today is here. It's about the same as the rest.

We don't know what exactly Commander Bower meant when he said in Commons that the Home Secretary's powers had become so outrageously enlarged, establishing a precedent of such dictatorial magnitude, that Hitler would be envious, that they "would have terrible contingencies later on". Contingent on what? Didn't he mean "ramifications"?

We learn that Thiokol, a polysulphide rubber, was on its way as the saving grace to all the petty creeps thripping in their pitty pace of slime.

On the editorial page, "Israel's Army Begging" tells of the 100,000 Jewish troops in Palestine, already trained and ready, available for the fight in Egypt. It urges the Allies to get cracking and use the manpower that is closest to each theater rather than wait for the green troops to receive further training in Northern Ireland before being shipped a much longer distance, to the shores of Tripoli.

Meanwhile, both the front page and the editorial page report of the Churchill conference ongoing in London at 10 Downing with the Allied commanders, to engage a plan by which an invasion might be accomplished to open a second front to relieve Russia from the onslaught of the Nazi horde. The thought now was that it would be a smaller one, perhaps in Norway or along the French coast, a glorified commando raid of a sort. The editorial counsels, to the contrary, a "big push". The plan would, however, take another turn, as we have mentioned, big though it would be.

The little piece culled from the Atlanta Constitution informs of the wisecracking Jackleg lawyer cross-examining the bootlegged witness. He knew how to lawyer, unlike the recently attorned who, most of the time, we find, are Jackbooted wise-legs. But that's another story.

They who bargain with forked tongue, often get bit. Churchill said that, with respect to Lady Astor of Virginia.

We hope that's not too prolix or complex for you today. We're feeling mostly lazy and so shall leave it at that.

We do add a little note, however, on a movie we started watching last night, called "Brother's War". Oh, brother.

After about an hour of this film, we gave up. We watched instead the "extras" on the disc, to learn that the movie was made in Petaluma, California by a bunch of rank amateurs, as we had already discerned. (There was one guy in there who was an "icon of monster movies", but we missed those.)

This one takes the cake. It is possibly the worst war film ever made.

It is set on the Polish border with Russia in spring, 1945 as the Russians prepared to move toward Berlin--never minding that they had moved into Germany before spring. But that's beside the point.

The point of this film, if there is one, is to inform of the sad plight of German Masons who, we are told, were interned in concentration camps or joined the German army.

Masons--with their immutable characteristics, tattoos of the Masonic emblem emblazoned on their arms, where otherwise there would be swastikas.

The film shows the German soldier as the hero, along with some hapless English observer on the Russian front, each alike subjugated to the bestial whimsy of the big, bad Rooskies--who, this film seemed to have forgotten, were our Allies in the war. (To be fair, it does, about an hour into it, finally prevail upon the viewer to inform, in the mode of a quip, that the Germans had invaded Russia, not the reverse, as one would think viewing the first hour. Perhaps, they finally decided to consult an elementary school textbook, which perhaps one or two of them could read on the subject of the war, and discovered their folly. "Whoops. Danged if it ain't the reverse. Shoot, we don't have the danged money to reshoot all them scenes, do we? And, besides, the farm owner t'other day told us to to get the heck outtahere 'cause his sheep are comin' t' pasture next week. Oh well, cheerio, carry on, stiff upper lip, you know. Bombs away.")

The Hun, as the gentle warrior, we now understand, was sensitive to a fault. The boot-kicking Rooskies were badder than bad, man. Redder than Red. And were afoot of a plan to invade Berlin and take over Germany and Poland, and the Englishman somehow--though the movie doesn't bother to tell how--had stumbled upon this nefarious operation and had to get to the Allied command double-quick, man, like you know, before the Rooskies got to Berlin, presumably to prevent the entire Cold War, or something like that, and so prevails upon the generosity of the oppressed German Mason, beaten mercilessly by the big, bad Rooskies, to assist him. "Hey, you got any more hooch?" (We didn't quite get beyond that point though as we were laughing too hard by then. This was a comedy, wasn't it? (The heavy Roosky music by both Rimsky and Korsakov, though, leads us to doubt it. What happened to the "Roosky Sailor's Dance"?))

Masons.

The scene that finally topped it all was where the camera shows the intense close-up of the ordinary, friendly German soldier offering the arm clasp to his new comrade in arms, the Englishman, also a Mason, as the Englishman, (without a British accent, of course--hence we have to be informed constantly that he is an "Englishman" for the ADD crowd, or, for the more advanced viewer, "The Limey"), struggled up the bleeding two-foot high slope to hug his new brother, the German Mason. Hence, we assume, "Brother's War". But, as we said, we didn't get that far.

We assume that perhaps the Neo-Nazi Party of America, or at least of California, financed this job, and it was one, probably to try to finance their medication bootlegging.

If we were the Little Man, famed of the San Francisco Chronicle, we would've not only left our empty seat behind as a sign of utter and complete contempt for this revisionist garbage, the idea for which was probably culled from some rightwing manifesto from out the Wicked-pedia, or some similar homespun publication--(did you know that Richard J. Reynolds was a savory business man?)--not only that, we would've gone beyond that statement entirely and ripped the whole seat completely out of the theater and hurled it unceremoniously at the screen, violently so, as we almost did anyway in our den; nay, more, visited the local Army-Navy Surplus store, bought a few World War II surplus grenades, you know, like in "Falling Down", and hurled them into the theater, to express our extreme displeasure at being charged to watch this tank opera with only one tank.

Hint: when on a tight budget, do not try to make a war film about World War II--unless it is a comedy or a very small film with a couple of intense characters and a little art to it, such as "Hell in the Pacific".

Masons.

About the only manner in which one might find any enjoyment from this film--wherein the Rooskies, save one, don't seem to have any real accents and the Germans neither, speaking pretty much like, you know, people in Petaluma, California, dude, (for apparently, they couldn't afford a dialogue coach and never even watched bad 1960's war operas--heck, just rent a couple of old James Bond flicks and try your hand at mimicry next time), is to turn off the sound and provide your own dialogue. Those absentee accents weren't part of the "art" of this woeful mess either, we assure. As we said, some have accents, some don't, and some do some of the time but not at others. ("Wow, dude, let's go surfin'. Who needs voice coaching? I can talk real good English, can't I? Subtitles? That would mean you'd have to hire someone on the crew who could read and write, wouldn't ye? Not in the budget, my friend. Push on.")

Well, it's not surprising that this farce was made on a farm in Petaluma, California.

We hope that these folks keep their day jobs.

But, if you're in the mood for some unplanned laughs, rent this turkey, as we did, from one of those $1 a night boxes in the supermarket and have at it.

We'd suggest that the producers perhaps plan to repackage it and box it under another name, with a whole new soundtrack substituted.

Did you ever see Woody Allen's "What's Up, Tiger Lily?"

Probably a similar plot would suit this one fine, all about the need to get the Englishman to the Allied lines before the Rooskies got there so as to foil the plot by the Rooskies to poison the German water supply with molding chicken salad sandwiches on wheat toast. You know, "What's Up, Tiger Lily?" meets Herr Doktor Fremdliebe, or something like that. That'd be the suggestion we would make anyway. Could become a really hot property then in Hollywood, man.

Anyway, we think we may return it now and wait until the new version comes out, titled, "Brother, That Was Some One-Tank and One-Howitzer War Alright on the Farm Up Thar in Petaluma--Did You Seize It?". The new director, undoubtedly, will be Stoned Olivier and his dog, Frozen Cheeseit. The new writer, Mason Jarhead. The new musical director, Level Square. The new editor, Will S. U. Cutter. The dedication, in memory of Sir Oswald Mostly Oz-Walled.

Sorry. We feel better now.

Oh, we forgot. The notes in the "extras" tell us parenthetically that Heinrich Himmler was a Mason. And so was Herman Goering. Just what inferences we are supposed to draw from that, we don't know. For the notes, replete with missing words and improper sentences, don't bother to tell us. Only that Hitler ordered the persecution of Masons--presumably, for their immutable characteristics.

Where is Masonia anyway?

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