OPINION

What Bush and Batman Have in Common

By ANDREW KLAVAN
July 25, 2008; Page A15

A cry for help goes out from a city beleaguered by violence and fear: A beam of light flashed into the night sky, the dark symbol of a bat projected onto the surface of the racing clouds . . .

Oh, wait a minute. That's not a bat, actually. In fact, when you trace the outline with your finger, it looks kind of like . . . a "W."

There seems to me no question that the Batman film "The Dark Knight," currently breaking every box office record in history, is at some level a paean of praise to the fortitude and moral courage that has been shown by George W. Bush in this time of terror and war. Like W, Batman is vilified and despised for confronting terrorists in the only terms they understand. Like W, Batman sometimes has to push the boundaries of civil rights to deal with an emergency, certain that he will re-establish those boundaries when the emergency is past.

And like W, Batman understands that there is no moral equivalence between a free society -- in which people sometimes make the wrong choices -- and a criminal sect bent on destruction. The former must be cherished even in its moments of folly; the latter must be hounded to the gates of Hell.

"The Dark Knight," then, is a conservative movie about the war on terror. And like another such film, last year's "300," "The Dark Knight" is making a fortune depicting the values and necessities that the Bush administration cannot seem to articulate for beans.

Conversely, time after time, left-wing films about the war on terror -- films like "In The Valley of Elah," "Rendition" and "Redacted" -- which preach moral equivalence and advocate surrender, that disrespect the military and their mission, that seem unable to distinguish the difference between America and Islamo-fascism, have bombed more spectacularly than Operation Shock and Awe.

Why is it then that left-wingers feel free to make their films direct and realistic, whereas Hollywood conservatives have to put on a mask in order to speak what they know to be the truth? Why is it, indeed, that the conservative values that power our defense -- values like morality, faith, self-sacrifice and the nobility of fighting for the right -- only appear in fantasy or comic-inspired films like "300," "Lord of the Rings," "Narnia," "Spiderman 3" and now "The Dark Knight"?

The moment filmmakers take on the problem of Islamic terrorism in realistic films, suddenly those values vanish. The good guys become indistinguishable from the bad guys, and we end up denigrating the very heroes who defend us. Why should this be?

The answers to these questions seem to me to be embedded in the story of "The Dark Knight" itself: Doing what's right is hard, and speaking the truth is dangerous. Many have been abhorred for it, some killed, one crucified.

Leftists frequently complain that right-wing morality is simplistic. Morality is relative, they say; nuanced, complex. They're wrong, of course, even on their own terms.

Left and right, all Americans know that freedom is better than slavery, that love is better than hate, kindness better than cruelty, tolerance better than bigotry. We don't always know how we know these things, and yet mysteriously we know them nonetheless.

The true complexity arises when we must defend these values in a world that does not universally embrace them -- when we reach the place where we must be intolerant in order to defend tolerance, or unkind in order to defend kindness, or hateful in order to defend what we love.

When heroes arise who take those difficult duties on themselves, it is tempting for the rest of us to turn our backs on them, to vilify them in order to protect our own appearance of righteousness. We prosecute and execrate the violent soldier or the cruel interrogator in order to parade ourselves as paragons of the peaceful values they preserve. As Gary Oldman's Commissioner Gordon says of the hated and hunted Batman, "He has to run away -- because we have to chase him."

That's real moral complexity. And when our artistic community is ready to show that sometimes men must kill in order to preserve life; that sometimes they must violate their values in order to maintain those values; and that while movie stars may strut in the bright light of our adulation for pretending to be heroes, true heroes often must slink in the shadows, slump-shouldered and despised -- then and only then will we be able to pay President Bush his due and make good and true films about the war on terror.

Perhaps that's when Hollywood conservatives will be able to take off their masks and speak plainly in the light of day.

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Mr. Klavan has won two Edgar Awards from the Mystery Writers of America. His new novel, "Empire of Lies" (An Otto Penzler Book, Harcourt), is about an ordinary man confronting the war on terror.

I have no reason to whine

There's a nasty rumor going around (I think I started it when a couple of other reps went to Hawaii while I was in Michigan) in the company that for every week you spend in a place like, say......Hawaii or Florida....or any place under a palm tree, you're jinxed and will have a miserable time at some less than a garden spot. It might even involve snow, blizzards or some dull and boring place involving prairie dogs and tumbleweeds. Well, I must have something gosh awful headed my way because for the past 7 months, I've been hiding out under palm trees and could likely be under one for another month. Then, vacation will come and I'll spend the first three weeks of September back on Maui.

Back in Christmas of 07, I found myself looking for Santa Claus in Honolulu and maintained there until May. Since May, I've been in St Augustine, FL (except for a hiatus in the Land of Lincoln for a week in Springfield, IL).

Eventually, though, you begin to take the greatest of spots for granted and fight boredom like any other place. Usually, it's wandering around in old town St Augustine under the live oak trees draped with Spanish moss doing some serious people watching. Occasionally, I might ride south to Daytona Beach to flea markets and motorcycle shops. More often than not, I walk the beaches. In the two summers I spent here before, tourists kept the streets and beaches crowded but with the price of gas, the crowds are just not here as before.

Two or three things I observed, gave me pause. One thing was the red sand was actually little broken pieces of shells mixed with sand. Millions of broken shells turn the beach into streaks of rust colored sand.

Another thing that made me stop and think was the sign at the beach warning that this was protected habitat of the Anastasia Island Beach Mice. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat???????? Give me a break. There's a $20,000 fine for disturbing these things. Right up the beach is a huge state park where those mice can proliferate but the sign was right in hotel and restaurant row. I'm wondering if the Orkin man is allowed in the city limits. ( You know you can click on these pictures to enlarge)

Okay, here's the third thing. This isn't hate or criticism so don't get those knickers in a bunch and just cool your jets. After finding the beach mouse sign, I was wandering down the beach and something else that just didn't fit. What had caught my eye was the two black women suntanning. One had carefully untied the top of her bikini so she would get even exposure on her back while laying there on a beach cot. What I don't get was...........how was she going to have tan lines in the first place. She was about as tan as one could get just by birth. It just didn't make sense. There's just some things we'll never understand.

Wild Hawg

I guess it's just trying to stay relevant in a world changing quickly and in some way or perhaps it's just one way a guy advancing in age can relive his youth and rebellion in a small way.

Sunday night, with my long 4th of July weekend rapidly closing, my wife and I didn't want to mess up the kitchen nor felt like standing in line at some restaurant pretentiously advertising fine dining. She called Abdul at the Lebanese restaurant and ordered a chicken shawarma plate to go. Firing up Boudreau, I rode up to Prairieville to fetch dinner, wheeled into the parking lot and hit the kill switch next to a Jeep Cherokee.

After I came out, I placed the dinner packet in the rear bag, threw my leg over the seat and hit the starter. When it fired, I heard some kind of horn or chirp noise. I wondered if I had inadvertently armed my motorcycle's burglar alarm but thinking about it, somehow it just didn't seem like the same sound. I rolled the throttle back again and made the engine rev a short bark and heard the chirping again. Each time I revved it, the chirp would sound so I soon discovered that it was coming from the Jeep. My Harley doesn't have straight pipes but it isn't a quiet contraption either so I wondered what would happen if say a very loud noise were produced. I rolled the throttle grip way back and wooohaaaa......Boudreau let out a blast and the Jeep began to "wonk-wonk-wonk-wonk" loudly.

I calmly slipped my bike into first gear, leaned sharply toward the road and grinned broadly as the Jeep continued to bellow. It felt good to feel as if I could still be a nuisance to society even if it was just in a shopping center parking lot in front of Albasha's Lebanese Restaurant.

Wanna know what drives me crazy?

Walking into Applebee's, the maitre de of sorts looks up with a toothy grin and asks, "How many?" "How many what?", I 'm thinking but knowing there's not a soul withing a quarter mile coming in behind me, I look back over my shoulder for a second and look back at her, raising one eyebrow and respond, "Just me !" Maybe she was expecting a bus load to drop out of the sky. For some reason, that just drives me insane.

Oh, and drive in fast food joints. Invariably, you order a double possum burger with no cheese and tomatoes with two orders of fries and oleander dipping sauce, they'll charge you for it and won't be in the bag. So, beckon the kid through the hole in the wall trying getting her to retrieve the last items while holding up what looks like a Mardi Gras parade behind you. The oleander sauce turns out to be catnip but you want to get out of there so bad you drive off with it and decide it wasn't worth the hassle to drive through again.

Something else gets my goat too. There was some kind of company man in the Publix Grocery Store greeting people as they came into the store. He chirps up and says condescendingly, "Good morning, young man!" Good grief, I'm 65 years old and a one eyed monkey would know I wasn't a "young" man.

What's up with the waitresses at Denny's for crying out loud? It makes you think you're in a truck stop. "Hello, Sweety", "More tea, Hon?", "Anything else, Darlin'?" Should I leave a tip or buy a dozen roses?

Although they may be curmudgeons, Andy Rooney and W. C. Fields are looking more and more like sages to me lately.