Public Enemies

Scanning, as I do for all movies, the reviews for Michael Mann's Public Enemies, I ran across a critique by the San Francisco Examiner that the movie didn't seem to be about much more than the rather pathetic, gritty life of John Dillinger. Though the review gave me pause, I didn't let it stop me from seeing the film. I like gangster movies. And I don't miss many Johnny Depp films.

I saw Public Enemies on Saturday, and I can't figure out for the life of me what the Examiner is talking about. Certainly, the movie tells the rather simple story of 1930s gangster John Dillinger, one of the country's last successful old-time bank robbers, who relied on the technology of modern guns and modern cars to run roughshod over Chicago. And it tells the story with remarkable restraint -- almost dispassionately. Played wonderfully by Depp, Dillinger is sympathetic, but not heroic. He is troubled, but we aren't given any particular insight into what plagues him. He is touching and tender in love, but we have no sense that he deserves a future with the hatcheck girl he pulls in from out of anonymity (Marion Cotillard, so memorable in La Vie en Rose, does a great job here).

But the film is about much more than Dillinger. It is about the new stirrings of federal crime investigation and prosecution. It is about the great, clunking machinery of the federal government being used to swat away, like so many flies, small-time criminals. And, it is about the potential, not yet realized in 1933, of that machinery--its ability to reach mobs and syndicates and, in the 21st century, terrorists. Here, you see modern federal crime-fighting in its infancy, but nonetheless as equiped as it is today--with phone tapping and even torture -- to show its muscle. Marvin Purvis, who chases Dillinger for J. Edgar Hoover, celebrates the modernity and efficiency of the federal machine. Played by a grim, tightly wound Christian Bale (who would benefit from a real study of southern accents), Purvis distances himself from the blood and humanity of his own job, pursuing his quarry with machines and with underlings who are variously ineffective and over-zealous. His superiors jockey for public sympathy in the press, emphasizing the danger Dillinger poses and invoking a need for public safety.

Is Public Enemies a critique of the federal machine that now pursues small-time terrorists in the shadows, by wiretapping and torture? It is hard to say. It is definitely not a celebration of it. But the film shies away from normative positions, for the most part. It seems, rather, interested in finding, and exploring, the moment at which someone turned on the switch and cranked up the motor. Whether we are happy with the swath the machine has since cut across American history is, I think, up to us.

Mark Sanford

I don't believe any human fraility -- even the fraility of hypocriscy -- is particular to one party or the other.

I feel sorry for him. The human heart is so much more complicated than many people understand.

And I profoundly resent that I must be witness to his private pain, and that of his family.

Passages

My daughter graduated from college this May. She has done a spectacular job since Julien was born. She went back to school, applied herself, and worked hard at being both a mother and a student. We are very proud of her.

My oldest son also graduated--from high school. He will be moving to Houston in August to attend Rice. We are also very proud of him, but we will miss his quiet presence.

Home from a trip to Missouri to celebrate these passages with our extended families and to see my new nephew. The family continues to grow. Another new baby is expected in September. I turned 48 on Sunday. These are good days for reflection.

Hard Lessons

We took the kids to see Up on Saturday. It was the first weekend day of release, and the theater was packed. I had purchased tickets on Fandango, so I thought we would get good seats. But I was not prepared for how many people had come early. After we got our snacks, we went to back to the audiorium; there was already a long line of folks waiting for the cleaning crew to finish. Drat.

We took our place at the end of the line. A young boy, maybe 10, like Avery, or maybe eight, walked up behind us.

Is this the 4:30 one?"

I told him it was. He did not like that answer, and he looked up and down the line.

"For Up?"

Yes, I told him.

"3D?"

Yes. He had the right movie. There was just a frustratingly long line to get into it.

A few minutes later, his Dad arrived, carrying sodas and candy. He, too, surveyed the line.

"Why are you all the way back here?" he said to the kid.

The boy shrugged. "There's a line."

"Well, let's go on in," his father said.

The boy looked skeptically at all of us standing like cattle waiting for the hay to drop from the truck. "Can we?"

"Who says we can't?" his father asked.

So they traipsed up to the front of the line, and I saw them disappear into the theater. Seconds later, they came back out. The boy looked embarrassed, and angry, and disappointed. He trudged toward the end of the line, his father following.

"Hey," his father said when they reached us, "you were standing here."

"No," the boy said, "now we have to go to the end. We left the line. We don't just get our place back."

I wished he hadn't been embarrassed by his father. I wished it had worked out, so his father would be a hero to him. But, as his father followed him on to the end of the line, I also hoped that there would be more failures like this one and that the boy would learn those lessons that seem to come so hard these days: wait your turn; be patient; you are not so important; practice fairness.

Who Made You What You Are?

Last night, we attended a ceremony for summa cum laude students at Nicholas's high school. Each student was allowed to choose someone who helped them succeed at school; they invited that person to the ceremony and spoke briefly about his or her influence. Some invited elementary or middle-school teachers. Some invited parents. One invited a boy scout troop leader. It was very moving.

And it made me think about whom I would invite. I came up with three possibilities: Dr. Donald Holliday, an American Literature teacher in college, who fired me up about American literature, and made me a life-long thinker and reader of it; Michael Ariens, a law-school professor, who inspired me to be mentally tough; or my husband, Duane, who believed I was smart and encouraged me to go find out.

Who would you choose?

Notre Dame

Sometimes I think the man is fearless What a powerful speech. I hope folks were listening.

The money quote:

And this doubt should not push us away our faith. But it should humble us. It should temper our passions, cause us to be wary of too much self-righteousness. It should compel us to remain open and curious and eager to continue the spiritual and moral debate that began for so many of you within the walls of Notre Dame. And within our vast democracy, this doubt should remind us even as we cling to our faith to persuade through reason, through an appeal whenever we can to universal rather than parochial principles, and most of all through an abiding example of good works and charity and kindness and service that moves hearts and minds.

For if there is one law that we can be most certain of, it is the law that binds people of all faiths and no faith together. It's no coincidence that it exists in Christianity and Judaism; in Islam and Hinduism; in Buddhism and humanism. It is, of course, the Golden Rule -- the call to treat one another as we wish to be treated. The call to love. The call to serve. To do what we can to make a difference in the lives of those with whom we share the same brief moment on this Earth.

"Temper our passions." I like that.

Day 7

Of living with "flu-like symptoms." Flu -- and its swine variant -- have been ruled out. Whatever virus it is, it's awful.