PLAGUE DIARY 43: SKY WRITES REVIEWS OF OLD BAD HOLLYWOOD MOVIES TO KEEP HIM SANE DURING THIS TIME OF HORRIFIC INSANITY

Our Miss Brooks (1956)
Her last line is to a chimpanzee, and that pretty much says it all. Believe it or not I had high hopes for this one, because I do love Eve Arden so much. It’s  one of those middle class comedies that is crafted not to offend. The opening is promising, The new teacher Eve Arden arrives in town and finds the biology teacher — Mr. Boynton (Robert Rockwell) — exercising, shirtless — and even without taking into consideration 1950’s pre-male-body-fascism standards, that’s a lovely sight. When Rockwell says he is a biology teacher she eyes his hairy chest: “Biology — I love it.” And when he says he exercises just to “keep his red corpuscles going,” she says “I bet you have lots of them.” This is what we love Eve Arden  for — the wise, world-weary quip. (Because we don’t expect women to be wise or world weary, but Eve Arden always is.) The squishy sentimental core at the heart of Our Miss Brooks might be unwatchable if it wasn’t for her cynicism. When the lecherous Don Porter propositions her, Eve Arden says — “That look in your eye makes me feel like I was curled up in a wienie roll.” These quips are not as potentially savage as the ones she gets to unleash as a real outsider — not part of any action but just commenting on it — in films like Anatomy of a Murder or Mildred Pierce. Because one has the feeling that Eve Arden could make out quite well without a man, so it’s unsettling to see her in a movie about a woman who dreams of settling down with one. Speaking of which, I have always somewhat enjoyed my own personal non-status as ‘a loud-mouthed fag who will never be taken seriously by anybody.’ I do adore not being at the centre of things, and not being loved. Yes it’s true I have a hankering for applause, but the applause always goes away, and I am always just as alone after it’s over as I was before. Because the easiest way to be alone with one’s thoughts is to be despised. And to be actually despised one has to speak one’s mind in a rather blithe and naive fashion, which I’ve always done — but also confess everything, especially things no one really wants to hear. I like to separate the men from the boys early on; I like to let you know the worst about me first, because if I do, and you are still around, there’s a possibility you might love me. Ergo, I tell you I have a small penis. Or that I murdered someone. All lies of course. Cuz I ain’t gonna get no love from nobody by pussyfooting around. The character Eve Arden usually plays is what is called —in dramaturgical terms — the  ‘raissoneur’ which means the person who doesn’t take part in the action but watches it, understands it deeply, and explains it all to the audience. Here goes. Today I decided the only interesting people that will be left after whatever COVID-19  becomes next (because it will never actually end) will be the very rich and the very poor, because they are the only ones who remember how to live. As you may or may not have perceived, this COVID-19 hysteria is all part of an world view that has been approaching for decades. It started with AIDS, and moved closer with environmentalism and ant-smoking campaigns, and finally climaxed with the woke movement. The notion is that the puritans were right, and our health, our environment and culture are disintegrating, and they only way we can  fight it is to stop doing the very things that make life worth living. But it’s only the middle classes who believe that, because neither the rich nor the poor have any intention of giving up sex, alcohol, jet planes, drugs, gender, self-destructive behaviour, and an obscene obsession with body parts that are too large to even describe in words —  in lieu of caring for their fellow man. If jetting about the world is banned at the end, then the rich will just buy private jets — and you can all screw yourselves. And on the streets, life is so cheap that they’ll be drinking, injecting, (look both the window, if you can) and hugging, and doing it in the streets, now that the weather is better and they don’t care about the cops, and they don’t care about tomorrow, and you don’t really care about them anyway, so what the f….? Whom am I to talk? I am middle class — of course I friggin’ know that. The only thing I can say on my behalf is I’ve spent my life reaching for the gutter — and I know that only a middle class person with enormous privilege would actually aspire to be there. But I’ve found myself there many a night — because as much as I might enjoy my house and my lovely job I cannot stand the people who are my economic compatriots. The end of the world won’t come from COVID-19 or climate change, it will come from middle-class people with noble ideals who believe that we need to care for each other and the world more. And now I have revealed what  I need more than anything — and what  I have in common with the very rich and the very poor. The very rich and the very poor are often drug addicts, and do a lot of wild and crazy things. Certainly it’s partially because they can, but also partially because they — like me — are simply terrified of being bored. I have filled every day with stuff to do. I don’t have any time. The other day I practically ruined my relationship with someone by sending off an email in a  hurry, because I just didn’t have a millisecond to waste. And I thought, how can I not have enough time -- with isolation and social distancing? Every every second of my day is scheduled because I am terrified of leaving a moment empty. And you can go all middle class zen on me and say — well I should be able to deal with nothingness. Well alright I’ll admit it, yes I have meditated, and it did work for me a bit, but basically I got bored with it. Yes I did. I know that shows how shallow I am — but I’ll ask you one simple question. Is being alive not just being stimulated? And is not being stimulated just being dead? When I see that somnambulant Justin Trudeau step forward and start jawing his way towards mediocrity, I fear for all Canadians, the ones who say ‘let’s not rock the boat’ and ‘things will be okay,’ the Canadians who elected Stephen Harper for 9 friggin’ years because the economy was doin’ just fine. Jesus Christ, today I was standing with my best friend staring at a friggin’ cardinal! A friggin’ cardinal! We heard it and then we were looking for it in the backyard. Really. ‘Oh where is it? It’s in a tree.' Are we actually talking about friggin’ cardinals now? And we were hardly drunk at all. I didn’t realize — ’til after — how insane that was. I didn’t have the heart to tell her what we just did. But she’s the only one who said — (when I told her I need to have every moment in my life filled now because I’m afraid I'll end up alone in silence):  ‘Welp —I’ll always be here.’ Jesus Christ. I hope she reads this and knows saying that kept me alive for one more day. Because I’ve tried everything to scare her away — but for some reason — I just can’t make it happen.