Fred Astaire

Source: Public Domain

I’ll report some good news for a change. Perhaps the most important event this year outside the presidential election is the imminent collapse of the so-called diversity, equity, and inclusion con, the poisonous hokum that is finally being exposed as such. Just think of it: $8 billion a year of your taxes is spent telling Americans in training sessions, workshops, and educational material that they are, depending on their race and gender, victims or oppressors, and that America is a nation of white supremacy. 8 billion smackers per annum to spread this bull, and then there are some who say that Musk’s new department for government efficiency is not needed. The DEI mindset is dominant in human resources departments and on college campuses. No wonder people finally got together and voted for the Donald—anything to get away from the scourge of DEI. But as the great Yogi Berra said, nothing’s over till it’s over, so let’s not count our blessings yet. It is telling that the ghastly New York Times chose to spike its reporters’ work on the study of DEI. Academy and the media will continue to embrace DEI and will not give up easily. Well, defunding the police and allowing open borders led to a Trump victory, hence DEI will only improve matters for conservatives.

And there is more good news. Turner Classic Movies, which has recently gone too woke for my taste, had a whole afternoon of Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers musicals, and I set aside everything I was doing and watched nonstop. What can I say or write without using superlatives? The deep sophistication of the music in these films is no accident, just look at who wrote it: George and Ira Gershwin, Irving Berlin, Jerome Kern, all giants. We have committed cultural suicide these past 25 years, what with rap noise now listened to even by white folk who are able to read and write—barely, that is.

I wish I could do justice to the music and the dancing of a Fred and Ginger film, but words fail me. Here’s Fred dreaming about and missing Ginger: “The way you wear your hat, the way you sip your tea, the memory of all that, oh, no, they can’t take that away from me.” It’s all just great words and music, even a soaring happy song about “that laugh that wrinkles your nose.” Ginger Rogers danced as well as the greatest of them all that was Fred Astaire, and as it has been pointed out, she did it backwards and in high heels. She has the most beautiful, sexy back, fantastic legs, and the face of an American-born blonde cheerleader. I’ve been in love with the characters she’s played for more than fifty years.

Films such as Top Hat, Swing Time, Shall We Dance, Carefree, and The Barkleys of Broadway are innocent, full of fun, but so delightfully bursting with talent, they leave an audience gasping for more. The music and the dancing reflect the incredibly gifted people who created them. This is why today’s movies are not only unwatchable, they are as grueling and as horrible as they are endless.

It takes a very untalented person to produce such horrible films as are being made today. Not only are they repulsive with the constant use of the f-word—a sure sign of someone totally lacking flair and intelligence—but the horrors they produce are not even scary, just disgusting; science fiction ditto. I’ve never sat through one of these nightmares but have had glimpses of them when looking for a golden oldie or in ghastly commercials before I have a chance to switch channels.

There’s no generosity, no civility, just repulsive behavior in today’s movies. Graphic violence and vulgarity are the forte of these brain-rotted, untalented slobs who have replaced the great directors and screenwriters of yesteryear. And what a great bunch they were. The heightening of reality, the emotional truth of life with visual metaphors; theirs was movie magic. They were driven by enthusiasm for excellence rather than the facility of the project or money. They created roles that embodied the best qualities of man, the total opposite of modern movies. Look at the heroes of The Best Years of Our Lives, Gone With the Wind, The Razor’s Edge, Casablanca, The Quiet Man, The Killers, The Asphalt Jungle, I could go on and on. And for light entertainment, just look at the miracle that was Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing the night away in a beautiful nightclub with everyone in tails or ball gowns, as well as with perfect manners. And sit right down and have a good cry for the good old days. And pledge that you will never, ever see another blood-splattered ghastly horror movie ever again. And that if you ever run into one of those so-called directors you will cover him with excrement, preferably human rather than the equine type.