“We do not believe any group of men adequate enough or wise enough to operate without scrutiny or without criticism. We know that the only way to avoid error is to detect it, that the only way to detect it is to be free to inquire. We know that in secrecy error undetected will flourish and subvert.” –J. Robert Oppenheimer
This Stormwatch Monday Open Thread remains open – VERY OPEN – a place for everybody to post whatever they feel they would like to tell the White Hats, and the rest of the MAGA/KAG/KMAG world (with KMAG being a bit of both).
Thanks to TradeBait’s recent story centered on Elvis Presley, I was actually in an Elvis mood when my wife – an Elvis fan long before we met – decided that “we” were going to see the new Elvis movie at the earliest opportunity.
Not having been to very many movies recently, I’m pretty much immune to most of the propaganda, in part because it jumps out at me AS propaganda. During “trailer time” they were laying it on THICK. I think that EVERY single message had AT LEAST some propagandistic edge – and MOST were straight-up PC messaging.
The political correctness effects of BlackRock, DIE (diversity, inclusion, equity), ESG (environment, social, governance), and “The Black List” (Marxist filter on financial backing through POC puppets) are all extremely visible in everything – product ads – trailers – public service messages.
It’s not like I’m “opposed” to some of these ideas, but the heavy-handed, communistic, “struggle session” nature of the messaging is just CRINGE CITY.
I mean, good grief. I thought that Dove Soap was going to commit hara-kiri for having utterly failed black America in some way that I still don’t grasp. PUHLEASE. You sold soap, for crying out loud. And you sold it to everybody! Black people too! Give yourselves a pat on the back and GO HOME. You’re ridiculous!
(I can’t find a video of what I saw, but this is just a hint of it.)
So anyway, I was primed for all kinds of cultural Marxism when the Elvis show began.
The opening sequence did NOT disappoint in that respect. A Tom Hanks dream sequence, filled with occult and pedophile symbolism, just had me shaking my head.
Flying spaghetti monster squids with the boy love symbol?
Snow globes heavily veering into crystal ball territory?
The movie had no place to go but up.
AND IT DID.
It’s hard for me to describe what this movie is, but I can say that it grew on me, until I felt very satisfied at the end.
It’s more like a work of ART trying to explain the SOUL of Elvis Presley, than anything else. And oddly – uniquely – this movie does so through the eyes of a rather brilliant CON-MAN manager, who used that same deep understanding of Elvis to first “own” and then manipulate him.
Elvis loved what he did. He loved music. He loved the crowd. He loved performing. He loved his parents – forcing himself into an unending vow to “take care of them”, no matter the costs.
Elvis Presley was one of those brilliantly over-performing co-dependents – no bones about it – and the movie shows it.
Judging from my own memories of history, the movie “got it right”, too, although I think the movie played some things (like infidelity, overweight, and drug use) more metaphorically than factually, while still admitting them unflinchingly. There was a lot of “compression”
The movie did NOT show the “Rat Ranch” – but it showed the same thing differently and in several ways. Names and locations were chosen to fluff and protect the legend just a bit.
Things WERE highlighted or magnified in focus to show why Elvis always crossed racial barriers in his appeal.
Like I said – it’s ART – not a documentary.
One thing which is actually cool is Tom Hanks’ disturbing accent, which was intentionally over-done in order to make viewers realize that “something was amiss” with Presley’s manager, Col. Tom Parker. In reality, people sometimes took a while to pick up on Parker’s accent, which sounded “regional Southern” yet somehow “off”. The accent betrays a secret which was in some ways part of the downfall of both Elvis and Parker, but I won’t spoil the movie by going into the specifics. Just know that Hanks was asked not to do his subject’s actual subtle accent, but rather to “push it” so that listeners would pick up the clue. See THIS LINK.
There are other breaks with reality which – well – I’m less willing to defend, except to call them artistic license.
Just watch this trailer. You only need to see about a minute of it. Look for what is best described as the “pink scene” around 50 seconds in.
If the “pink Elvis” bothers you, trust me – the movie is far more blatant, and even pushes the “trans” stuff into the narration. You could say that there is an “appeal to gay revisionism”.
I may be mistaken about this point, but I’m pretty sure I’m not. It is my distinct impression that “Elvis the Pelvis” was a lot more about “manly macho” than about “tranny pink” and “girly make-up”. There is a distinct “LGBTQCIA” nature to the retelling that just does not comport with the reality of Elvis Presley.
Likewise, there seems to be much more “ESG” in this Elvis, than in the one I remember. Yeah, Elvis was no bigot, and he had a very subtle way of not dignifying the bigots who hated him, but there seems to be an effort here to turn Elvis into a fist-raised civil rights icon, which I somehow missed. The Elvis I remember was perhaps the most successful “can’t we all just get along” type who never even had to say it. I say we should give him credit for being the KING of that approach, because I’m pretty sure that’s gonna be fashionable again, and in a big way.
And there’s more, in the way of classic cultural Marxism. There is an extended sequence which pivots on “out-of-style traditional Christmas entertainment” as the boring cultural bad guy of the plot, threatening to undo poor Elvis, and that negativity is just SO typical of H-wood’s subtle communist psychological programming.
On the other hand, some of this stuff is actually a reasonable part of the artistic compression – such as highlighting that MLKJ was already speaking on the negative side of rock and roll culture for kids.
Complicated business.
So YEAH – there’s a good bit of lefty psy-op under the hood. Be AWARE of that to defuse it, or just don’t even bother seeing the movie, if Hollywood politicking crosses your red lines.
BUT – like I said – it’s art. It tells us as much about THIS time, as it does about THAT time.
Technically, the movie does a lot of things right. The women’s costuming and hairstyling is fantastic – watch for a few Oscar nominations. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen so many women in a film showing the actual beauty of women in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s.
Austin Butler as Elvis Presley is VERY GOOD. He won me over to the point where the real Elvis footage at the end served as a “high five” for a job well done.
The Presley family felt the same way – they got “carried away” by the performance, just like I did. Same with my wife – the “real” Elvis fan. She loved it.
I had some fun watching this next video after the movie, because all the actors are so much more “2022” in reality, than they were in the flick. The differences are striking. They’re all modern Hollywood dweebs in “reality”, but in the movie, they do seem far more “real”, as part of the past. Or is that just me? (*sigh*)
Compare the lady playing young Priscilla, above, to her transformation in the film, shown below.
I know that picture on the right probably makes the movie look like it’s all a bunch of grins and giggles – well, just think of that same gal throwing a mean fist of pill bottles across a Vegas penthouse, after Elvis shoots up the place, before she walks out.
There’s no whitewash – BUT there was also some extremely convincing romance and love shown – even when it all falls apart. I feel like I really gained some needed insight into the relationship of Elvis and Priscilla. I feel like something healed.
So there you have it. An interesting movie. Glad I saw it. Consider a viewing yourself – especially of you love his music. There’s a LOT of good music in this movie.
W
“Go for the art, not the history or the politics. Stay for the music.”
This is TradeBait’s first authored post – upgraded (at my insistence) from a comment he made on today’s open thread. I look forward to many more!
Time for a TB story as eyes roll. It’s OK, it’s your day off. Wolf said he looked forward to these in his other recent thread. The Elvis movie is currently the talk.
My direct connection to The King was from afar. Living in the Delta for a dozen years, he was an icon of course. In his later, jelly donut, porker years I saw him at a Showcase of the Stars charity concert in Memphis at the Orpheum. Thought he was going to split his sequined pants, but I digress. FWIW, Graceland makes for a good day spent if you liked him.
For a number of years I passed by a place on a state highway at the border of Arkansas and Missouri in the bootheel several times per week. After arriving there in the 70’s, I learned from the locals that during the late 40’s into the 60’s there was place at the state line called The Rat Ranch. It was still standing, but the only business still operating was a liquor store when I lived there. Apparently, things happened there every weekend for decades – partying, music shows, gambling (Illegal – including slots) and such. Use your imagination and you will probably be correct since there was also a rent by the hour fleabag motel there. The authorities looked the other way because they were on the take. One such sheriff during the period was even later convicted for his involvement by a future GOP Senator who was AG at the time. Said sheriff had an ownership interest it appeared, so he he could not claim he did not know. He was convicted of lesser charges. He appealed and through Governor’s office pressure on the state supreme Court he saw his conviction was overturned. Said sheriff later was overwhelmingly voted back into office and ran an illegal bookie operation in his well known (regionally) restaurant’s office. There are even connections with people who were reportedly involved in the planning of the MLK JR. assassination – which would not surprise me at all.
Said sheriff was a connected, Dem criminal. The neighboring Missouri county sheriff was a white hat at war with the criminal before his conviction. Originally from Texas, he ran a cleaner ship and would put you down if you did the things in his county that the criminal pushed in his. Unfortunately he died of natural causes in his mid-80’s in the mid 60’s.
I lived there – both counties at different times of course. I knew the criminal sheriff (long since deceased) and the bookie, even though I do not gamble. Past associations being what they are and all.
So what does all that have to do with The King? The King performed at the Rat Ranch on weekends in his younger days before “making it”. The locals told the story that he was a truck driver running a route from MS up and down the highway through the area into St. Louis. After his deliveries he stopped there on weekends to perform. The patrons of the Rat Ranch were all skin colors, but mostly AA locals. Do you now better understand the soul in his music and support from the AA community? He honed his craft there and at other places around the Delta until his “discovery”, Sun Studio and the rest.
But wait, there’s MOAR! Some dozen years later after I left the Delta and long after The King had died, I had the occasion to meet and get to know more deeply one of his former back-up singers and long term friends. This fellow had known The King as a young teenager who would attend his concerts. It was the great bass, JD Sumner of the Blackwood Brothers and later, JD Sumner & the Stamps fame among other groups. Elvis and JD were tight, so much so JD said Elvis was who got him through his own battles with the bottle, while he would be there for Elvis in his many personal struggles. For what it’s worth, these discussions with JD were just the two of us many occasions because he had moved to east TN in the years before he died. The place where he lived was owned by a friend and business associate. We had deep discussions about our faith (which was shared) and he would discuss The King often. He said a lot of what was reported about Elvis was bunk, but kept the interest levels up. JD said that personally he had left organized religion, that he felt closest to the Lord with his music and involvement with the Gaither Homecomings. Quite a remarkable man with much Americana in him to tell. I loved those hours with him.
I can still see JD tooling around the resort in which he lived and crossing the busy tourist covered highway in an imitation Rolls Royce golf cart our friend had bought him to use around town. Law enforcement had been instructed to just let him go where he wanted as long as he did not cause an accident. One final thought, most who heard JD were very aware of just how low his voice would go. During the primary years of his career, he was thought to be the lowest pitched bass in southern gospel music. Besides having this gift from God, he attributed being able to retain it to being a smoker. Which was probably related to his cause of death just a few days short of his 74th birthday from cardiac arrest since he had also dealt with lung issues.
This is the thread for all your best funeral stories!!!!!!! Let it rip!
Today, the news will be all about Congressman Elijah Cummings. OMG, CNN pundits and MSNBC pundits are all wearing black today. They’re all using their low and somber voice. By the end of the day, I’m betting, someone will blame the death “dear sweet Elijah” on President Trump. Would anyone be dumb enough to take that bet? After the debacle of the McCain and Bush funerals, I’ve decided to be proactive about the DC funeral process, and make it FUN! Of course, no disrespect intended.
This should get you all in the mood: Remember, we’re supposed to be mourning.
Of course, we have to have food for a funeral. There are older people in our town who go to every funeral in the newspaper, just for a good meal. Funerals in the south are an outright feast. And yes, we have “funeral food”. Tops on the list is green bean casserole.
And since the 1960’s, deviled eggs are required funeral food. At our church, for every funeral, Grandma Della was assigned the deviled eggs. Since Grandma died, I assumed the deviled egg responsibility (it’s a heavy burden), and I even have the deviled egg plate.
Grandma Della’s funeral was the best funeral I’ve been to in the last 20yrs. She was a community grandma to all my girlfriends so they all knew her. We had a great time. She lived a good and full life, no tragedy, no one wailing and crying. We even lit fireworks late in the evening. Heck, I didn’t go to bed until 4:30am, finally tucked in by one of my best girlfriends.
The best mock funeral we ever did was for Michael Jackson. I dragged out the Halloween mock casket decoration for the occasion and bought some flowers from Wal-Mart for it. It was terrific and a fitting tribute. We all agreed to wear black, and something that had sequins in it. One of my girlfriends went all out and wore a black lace shroud looking thing. We wailed and moaned along with the news and then we danced. We ate well and danced some more…. cuz, it was Michael Jackson. We drank Bloody Marys all day long. Ahhh yes, Michael Jackson’s funeral was Grade A at our house.
My Funeral Story of How I Met Big T’s Family– please add your wild funeral stories as well.
Funerals in the north are just not the same, unless it’s a real Irish wake, and then it’s fun. Big T has an enormous family. Before we got married, the wife of his favorite cousin, Dee, died suddenly from a brain aneurysm at age 51. Dee and I were very close and I had my doubts about her husband’s ability to pull off a fitting funeral (Dee was the engine who owned the biz, made decisions for the family). As soon as we got the news about her death, we immediately flew to Boston. Dee’s husband and kids were a wreck, and the details of the funeral were turned over to me. I was far enough removed.
In the south, when a funeral occurs, we keep a legal pad and good pen, 0n the center hall table by the front door. This way we can write names down for everyone who brings food or houseplants, so we can send them a thank you note after the funeral. For my Grandpa’s funeral, I wrote 179 thank you notes. Grandma Della’s funeral, all my girlfriends wrote the notes with me so I can’t remember how many there were….. lots.
For Dee’s funeral, one neighbor brought the family some purchased Oreo cookies. What the h3ll? That was it? Who were these cold and calloused people? Big T tried to dampen my expectations about northern funerals, but I was miffed. The prior year, Dee was voted the top biz woman in the whole state. She was a powerhouse with an infectious laugh and above all, she was a straight shooter. Loved her. Her husband was lost, Big T’s favorite relative. It was hard. After assessing the immediate situation at her house, we went back to our house and I made 28 quarts of chicken pot pie filling, killer recipe, with a light French tarragon sauce. It was the best and biggest stock pot I’ve ever owned. Big T bought it for me on sale, a real prize. He helped me cook late into the night, I mean, someone had to eat, right?
Next day was the inventory of the clothing, meeting with funeral directors, and trip to the florist. I had a list. Big T was confused and mind-boggled. What was wrong with him? Hadn’t he ever done a funeral before? Clothing was not adequate. Big T went off with his cousin, to the department store, to outfit. Big T was a snazzy dresser, appropriately conservative, and did a great job. I took care of her daughter and grandchildren.
At the florist, and Dee’s husband was too shaken to do anything and crumbled. Big T handed me his AMEX, and told me to figure it out. I got it done, yellow roses, hand held bouquet of forget-me-nots from the grandchildren. Had to fight with the florist for the forget-me-nots. (I was in BOSTON, wtf? Did they not have appropriate flowers in the whole damn city?)
Meeting at the church, music selections, pallbearers chosen. Checking off the list.
The viewing the day before funeral went well, but it was dicey. It was the first time I met Bit T’s extended family, his parents, his sister’s family, cousins, and his ex-wife was there. All kinds of high-brow going on. I think they expected me, from Mississippi, to be wearing a red lacy negligee and reside in a trailer park. Ha! Disappointed. They were fascinated with my son, Gunner, and I had Gunner spit-polished for the occasion, gray suit, white turtleneck, oxford loafers. Big T’s dad was the state’s superior court chief justice and a 6’4″ mass of a man. He wouldn’t let Gunner go. Hundreds of extended family and biz relationships showed up. Good. Happy for Dee. She deserved the best.
Ceremony at the church was exquisite and the family looked great. It was February and the graveside ceremony was bitter cold. Everyone was freezing, I was wearing a fur coat, haha, the south wins again.
The after funeral party was to be held at an uber wealthy cousin’s home on the ocean in Cohasset…… it was catered! It was out of my control and they were so wealthy, I thought everything would be fine. Nope.
A catered funeral???????? I thought I was going to die. I huffed and puffed to Big T in the car the whole way there. Where were my girlfriends when I needed them? How insulting for Dee, who was a real girlfriend. Okay fine, fit in with the family, right? We arrived to this multi-million dollar mansion with broad sweeping views of the ocean and I dutifully took second tier in the background…… I was helping the passel of kids change into play clothing so they would not ruin their good clothes…. I brought a beautiful baby blue Lauren sweater for Gunner to wear with suit pants and some tennis shoes. The sleeves were a little too long for him and he fussed. I told him to shove up the sleeves. I was getting the kids situated…..
….until Big T came in and tapped me on the shoulder. He said, “I think they might need some help in the kitchen.” I frowned, “Not my kitchen.” There is one universal rule about a woman’s kitchen, don’t intrude unless invited by the mistress of the house. I was the interloper from Mississippi, and this kitchen was as big as my first apartment. Big T nudged me, “You really need to be in the kitchen.” He was insistent and there was a problem……. no food out and over a hundred people at the house. Kids were antsy, low blood sugar, the liquor was already flowing, and we were already out of ice.
I entered the kitchen on tiptoe. Not my place. Did not want to offend. But by then, everyone knew who I was, knew all about me, my son, my business (hmmmm wonder why?). Big T introduced me all around. There were 20 women in the kitchen and they all knew each other. I was intimidated…. but the kitchen was a disaster in the making.
Come to find out, the funeral wasn’t really catered. They just picked up incredibly expensive frozen casseroles from fabulous local Italian restaurant. When we all returned from the funeral to this spectacular home, there was no food ready, only commercial size frozen casseroles in enormous aluminum tins laid out on a center island which was the size of a ship’s hull. One niece was attempting to chip at a meatball casserole with an ice pick, killing the meatballs. In other words, we had no food and it would take at least 2-3 hours to warm it up. Only one 30″oven in this massive kitchen, 22 casseroles and only 2 would fit into the oven at a time, four burners, all electric.. not even a gas burner. We were screwed and the mistress of the house was in full meltdown. I was told “she didn’t cook much”.
Big T shot me a glance, as in, “I told you so”. Deep breath, time to dive in. I hugged the mistress of the kitchen and assured her everything would be okay, “We do this all the time.” I was lying through my teeth. We would have been prepared, but it was okay. I asked Big T to go out to the car and retrieve the approx. 23 quarts of remaining Chicken pot pie and told him to go to the store and “buy them out of Parker House dinner rolls + 12 bags of ice + bourbon”. We divided the Chicken Pot pie to warm it up faster.
Very quickly, the women in the kitchen settled into a natural rhythm. Some took places by the sink to wash and dry, others chopped and polished dishes and silver. Odd dynamic but we laughed while we worked. Girlfriends are gonna girlfriend. While the pot pie was warming, I rummaged through her frig. Enormous selection of cheese, olives, crackers, etc. I sent another person out for deli meat, while another sliced up cheeses. House had a dish pantry with some of the most beautiful porcelain I’ve ever seen…. time to get it out, dust it off and use it. I found linen which still had the tags on it, a wedding gift, and the owner had college age kids (never used it until today).
Hors d’oeuvres were out by the time big T returned. I sent two people next door to borrow their oven, and another two people to borrow the other neighbor’s oven. At first, they looked at me like I lost my mind. They don’t talk to their neighbors, but it was an emergency. It worked. We served the kids and a few adults the chicken pot pie over rolls, and they ate almost all of it (15lbs of chicken went into that pot – they were hungry). I noticed my future sister-in-law standing over her children, shoveling chicken into her mouth, picking food off their plate (mental note).
Eventually, the other casseroles thawed and bubbled up. The aroma of Italian red sauce took over the house and men began to invade the kitchen. It turned into a real family affair with people eating out of pots or straight from the counter cuz they couldn’t wait any longer. Someone turned on the Sinatra and we danced in the sunroom. The sound of pool balls cracked as the men settled into the game room. Big T ran errands all day. He was a blessing in disguise, he would be a terrific husband for some lucky woman (me).
As we were ready to depart, I went to a back bedroom to retrieve my coat. All the other coats were on one side of the bed, piled high, and arranged in a mish-mash. On the other side of the bed, Gunner was sound asleep with three other little girls underneath my fur coat. What a picture they were. The sleeves of his sweater were completely stretched out. He played so hard and kept pushing the sleeves up, now they were at least 6″ beyond his fingertips. The girls who had bows in their hair were bedraggled and drooling. They had a wonderful day. To be a child among a passel of cousins are among the best of days. As I stirred the kids to move my coat, sure enough, Gunner had a hole in his suit pants at the knee. He was such a boy.
And that’s how I met Big T’s family…….. at a funeral for my girlfriend, the best of friends, dearest Dee.
