Kevin Costner, among my top ten actors, is starring in Swing Vote, a film that appeals on many levels. Based on the previews, my expectations were low.
Pleasant surprise! Entertaining from the beginning, it’s one of those films to which audiences demonstrably relate, the subject we love to hate being politics. But there’s much more.
Creating historical precedent, the presidential election hangs on a single citizen’s vote. Bud (Kostner) is a soon to be umemployed, underachieving egg factory worker who lives with his preteen daughter in adverse conditions. But he isn’t concerned — about anything. Molly, overly responsible for her age, takes care of Dad, nagging and urging civic behavior upon this beer swigging, woefully uninformed father.
Both presidential candidates court him in a parody of the lengths — or depths — a politician will sink to for a win. During a visit to Air Force One, to which Bud drives Richard Petty’s Dodge, the incumbent president, also the conservative, Kelsey Grammer, serves beer and employs THE football in an analogy of football and politics. They play poker, just two good old boys hanging out.
Dennis Hopper, the left, the greener party condidate, instantly becomes pro-life after learning that Bud might not like abortion. He throws a party featuring chipped beef appetizers — like Bud’s Mom used to make — and Bud’s old band, “pulling a few strings” to get them out of prison.
Bud has no political position — he lives for the next six pack — but reporters drag half opinions from him and the race is on to fuel each candidate’s show of agreement. Politics as carnival — the biggest clowns the candidates.
Neither campaign manager has a problem with an instant 180 shifting of their man’s stand on the issues to get Bud’s vote. They are the film’s bad guys.
But redemption comes to the others. The candidates emerge with consciences, and the reporter, who has betrayed Molly’s confidence, gives her the tape. Bud, who has received bags of mail from citizens with real needs, has an awakening, and before he moderates a debate, in an ill-fitting cheap suit, delivers a guilt-stricken monologue that drew tears from most.
Finally, at his humble voting station Bud approaches the booth in which his vote will determine the election. Molly, who has been the instigating factor in Bud’s alteration all along, tries to follow him in. With a smile, he stops her and dramatically and proudly, I think, pulls the curtain. In this counrty voting is a very private thing. They both get it.
And we don’t know how he voted. (One viewer at the Monaco shouted “That sucks!) But that’s not the point. A voter finally understands the freedom and weighty responsibility that he has in the right to vote, not in ignorance, but informed. We know that the country will ultimately win.
Particularly refreshing is the fact that neither current political party’s view are favored. And while “it’s not that simple,” this process of ours, the film provides a clean, entertaining reminder about areas that have gone amuck in the system and the posibility of their correction. Good timing.
“Passion” for Poetry in New York
August 26, 2008 · 9 Comments
And this latest effort at promotion proves it. At various city venues the Poetry Brothel convenes for readings of high quality, literary works, poetry, by names and no-names alike. People like you and me.
Apparently the accoutrements feature heavy velvets, feathers, gambling tables, a bar, along with The Madame and her male partner, Tennessee Pink.
But the REAL reason patrons are there is the poetry.
The website posts the offer, “Want to be a poetry whore?” If you do, you’ll get to read your own original work to the sincerely interested literary set. For a price. (We’re not a non-profit, Pal.) For a higher fee, visitors can get a private reading.
Poets have to make a living, too, Maybe they became addicted to poetry early on. Maybe they have no training for other lines of work, so writing and reading “high quality” poetry is all they can do. Society has forced them to choose this dubious occupation. At least some New Yorkers care enough to give them a chance.
I wonder how many Robert Frosts and Walt Whitmans out there will have their talents recognized and thus be discovered through this new kind of outlet? What a service is being provided! What irony! Capitalism applied to poetry. Principles of marketing 101. Advertisers have always known this: Poetry sells!
American ingenuity is what it is. We know that given the right environment almost every normal person will appreciate poetry. We’ve been using faulty, inferior means — a classroom and a textbook — not to mention those sadsack English teachers. Now wonder they hate it.
On the other hand, I fear that if the concept proliferates, other industries will follow suit. Next thing we know there’ll be “performances” of various types at baseball games, recreational parks, and concerts.
But then again, maybe people who love a good concert, don’t need extras to get them to go.
Categories: English matters · Poetry essays/criticism · Social commentary
Tagged: Add new tag, entertainment, humor, New York, poetry, Poetry Brothel, reading, Social commentary