Exit Stage Left - Please, continued

The view from inside the cashmere castles of the insulated jet set is a little different than that from underneath a broken-down minivan. Aside from politicians, there probably isn’t a group of people on earth more out of touch with crap-stained reality than these pampered posers. Legend has it that Barbara Streisand has rose petals sprinkled into her toilet water. Problems are what “the help” has. Babs’ biggest worry is that her farts won’t be perfumed.

Lest we suspect that their howling is indeed driven by some humanitarian motive, I feel compelled to point out that this same crowd seemed oddly silent when their poster child, Bill Clinton, was bombing aspirin factories in Somalia and refugee convoys in Kosovo. Apparently, the only bad war is a Republican war, one that is justified by the cold-blooded murders of 4,000 of our countrymen. If it’s to divert attention from a Democratic sex scandal or other Capital Hill hijinks, war is just what the script calls for. So aside from being vacuous, their criticisms are duplicitous.

The tactic here is obvious. Since America is terrified of anonymity, any association with the glitterati, regardless of how tenuous, accords the empty masses a brief illumination they would otherwise lack. They can become one – at least ideologically – with someone “important.” Perhaps during the association, they’ll get a chance to actually touch the hem of one of their gods’ bathrobes. No one dares question Michael Moore because he’s important. Peasants don’t upbraid their betters. If he says war with Iraq is wrong, then by Sam Goldwyn, it is wrong! Never mind the informed opinions of military experts and intelligence agents who point to a growing menace from the increasingly unstable Iraqi regime. A disheveled tugboat of a movie maker says we have no business in Iraq. That ought to be enough to turn those ships around and ground those airplanes!

The tactic is visibility. If Gus stands on a soapbox and rails against Saddam Hussein, a handful of passers-by might hear a couple of words over the street noise. But if Rosie O’Donnell belches some platitude about giving peace a chance, she is on every talk show from coast to coast, and every magazine in the checkout line. Would you rather advertise your product on a kid’s party balloon or the Goodyear blimp? Visibility sells.

Which is fine if you form your opinion from talk shows and tabloid newspapers, and are willing to trust the opinions of ill-informed blowhards. But if you want the facts, and want to make your judgment based on evidence a bit more solid, visibility isn’t enough. It doesn’t really matter if some silicone starlet raves on about an issue any more than it matters if a star football player endorses a certain brand of colored water. The product – and the issue – speak for themselves. And frankly, I don’t relish the notion of the Screen Actor’s Guild vetoing American foreign policy.

These folks are experts on one thing: making themselves look like something they’re not. Lying is their stock in trade, harmless enough when employed to entertain the masses at their modern-day Punch and Judy shows. But their paltry calling becomes downright dangerous when it creates the illusion of knowledge in heads so hollow they whistle in a strong wind.

One thing every good actor knows is when it’s time to leave the stage. There’s nothing more pathetic than one whose talent is so meager all he can do is play the Fool.
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