Et Tu Emilio?
I just went to see the new Emilio Estevez movie "Bobby". I wanted so dearly to love that flick. I wanted to send all my friends.
I admit parts of the film are seductive. Place a film in the middle 1960's and my brain will get confused for a couple of hours, my mind will tell my body I'm a youth again. I can again feel the California sunlight, and its cool purple caressing air at sunset on the hairs of my still youthful arm, the air has a faint almost perceptable aroma of sage, orange blossoms, cheap incense from India and change. Time changing time changing time bending life.
Those long far away views of the Ambassador Hotel, once the Crown Jewel of Los Angeles social life, there at sunset, warm, alive again, full of activities, diners, dancers and lovers, the once lost ghost of an old aquientance joyfully glimmering past for a moment, smiling and winking with a "com'on baby, lets roll" flirt as she passes...
The clothing, remember when everyone who walked precinct and petitions wore a coat and tie? Life even in Southern California had some formal aspects, remember Tie Clips? Those gold plated bejeweled male notations of individuality within the uniform of the suit.
Remember when those walking precincts believed in the future, in hope, in of all things, the idea that merely voting for the best person would and could solve the worlds problems? Ah innocence.
Innocence is a bitch. You dont know you have innocence, or what a delight she is while she posseses you, then when your head slams straight into reality and shes gone, innocence is then longed for, but can never be recovered.
My mind smells the incense that isnt really there, I feel the caress of a long lost sunset, my legs stand on that manicured yeilding lawn, then the head slams into that one inch thick rusty steel plate.
There on the screen it's that night. The night my innocent psyche was deflowered by the rapist of world empire. Those small black and white images that ripped me apart inside out in an instant are now gigantic and in color. I am weeping and convulsing in psychic pain. I sit straight up as I realize the real footage is inter cut with synthetic realities. False realities. falsehoods. Lies.
"Where are the security guards? where are the guards dammit? Thats not the kitchen! Its a different freakin kitchen, the volumetrics of the space are wrong! the layout of equipment is wrong. What the Fuck is this shit?" My wife pats my arm and tries to quiet me. I'm embarassing her in her own grief.
In the movie we hear a muffled distant "Kennedy you son of a bitch" twice and we see injured cast members,bloody fallen to the floor, dismayed and confused. We see a fake Senator Kennedy laying on the floor, no security guards tie in his hand and then off to the side no tie at all. "Son of a Bitch!!" I scream. "You lieing Son of a Bitch where are the guards and the tie? Son of a Bitch!!!" My wife is hunkered down now in her chair, she wants the other crying people in the theater to turn back around and stop staring.
All the money on this movie. All the fucking tie clips. Delaying the destruction of the Ambassador just to film this movie. The critical moment. The moment all America will mistakenly believe was the real moment, the synthetic cinematic "truth" and its a GOD DAMMED LIE!! Can I believe they "just screwed up"? How do they spend all that time, that attention, that money and forget the guards clip on tie? The critical touchstone that points the finger to the second gun. It just happens to get forgotten? How do you mess up the most Historically significant instant?
Bobby Kennedy got stabbed in the back with this movie. The cover up continues, even through his so called "friends". With friends like this who needs Republicans and the likes of E. Howard Hunt and Thayne Ceaser?
I'm riding the escalator to the parking garage. In my mind over and over my voice mumbles : Et Tu Bruti? ? Et Tu Emilio, Et Tu Emilio, Et Tu Emilio?
I admit parts of the film are seductive. Place a film in the middle 1960's and my brain will get confused for a couple of hours, my mind will tell my body I'm a youth again. I can again feel the California sunlight, and its cool purple caressing air at sunset on the hairs of my still youthful arm, the air has a faint almost perceptable aroma of sage, orange blossoms, cheap incense from India and change. Time changing time changing time bending life.
Those long far away views of the Ambassador Hotel, once the Crown Jewel of Los Angeles social life, there at sunset, warm, alive again, full of activities, diners, dancers and lovers, the once lost ghost of an old aquientance joyfully glimmering past for a moment, smiling and winking with a "com'on baby, lets roll" flirt as she passes...
The clothing, remember when everyone who walked precinct and petitions wore a coat and tie? Life even in Southern California had some formal aspects, remember Tie Clips? Those gold plated bejeweled male notations of individuality within the uniform of the suit.
Remember when those walking precincts believed in the future, in hope, in of all things, the idea that merely voting for the best person would and could solve the worlds problems? Ah innocence.
Innocence is a bitch. You dont know you have innocence, or what a delight she is while she posseses you, then when your head slams straight into reality and shes gone, innocence is then longed for, but can never be recovered.
My mind smells the incense that isnt really there, I feel the caress of a long lost sunset, my legs stand on that manicured yeilding lawn, then the head slams into that one inch thick rusty steel plate.
There on the screen it's that night. The night my innocent psyche was deflowered by the rapist of world empire. Those small black and white images that ripped me apart inside out in an instant are now gigantic and in color. I am weeping and convulsing in psychic pain. I sit straight up as I realize the real footage is inter cut with synthetic realities. False realities. falsehoods. Lies.
"Where are the security guards? where are the guards dammit? Thats not the kitchen! Its a different freakin kitchen, the volumetrics of the space are wrong! the layout of equipment is wrong. What the Fuck is this shit?" My wife pats my arm and tries to quiet me. I'm embarassing her in her own grief.
In the movie we hear a muffled distant "Kennedy you son of a bitch" twice and we see injured cast members,bloody fallen to the floor, dismayed and confused. We see a fake Senator Kennedy laying on the floor, no security guards tie in his hand and then off to the side no tie at all. "Son of a Bitch!!" I scream. "You lieing Son of a Bitch where are the guards and the tie? Son of a Bitch!!!" My wife is hunkered down now in her chair, she wants the other crying people in the theater to turn back around and stop staring.
After the movie I'm standing at a urinalin the bathroom opposite the concession stand. The guy next to me in the suit starts talking. "Right on, man-the CIA got Bobby." "Yeah, no shit brother!" Both our faces are stained by tears. We wash our hands and then the salted streaks on our faces, but the tears are in deep ruts in our souls.
All the money on this movie. All the fucking tie clips. Delaying the destruction of the Ambassador just to film this movie. The critical moment. The moment all America will mistakenly believe was the real moment, the synthetic cinematic "truth" and its a GOD DAMMED LIE!! Can I believe they "just screwed up"? How do they spend all that time, that attention, that money and forget the guards clip on tie? The critical touchstone that points the finger to the second gun. It just happens to get forgotten? How do you mess up the most Historically significant instant?
Bobby Kennedy got stabbed in the back with this movie. The cover up continues, even through his so called "friends". With friends like this who needs Republicans and the likes of E. Howard Hunt and Thayne Ceaser?
I'm riding the escalator to the parking garage. In my mind over and over my voice mumbles : Et Tu Bruti? ? Et Tu Emilio, Et Tu Emilio, Et Tu Emilio?
posted by Red Taliesin at 3:36 PM
0 comments
