Here in this scene from "Network" we have Ned Beatty in the guise of an ersatz messenger of the gods...the gods of the secret cabal of capitalism. In this stately mahogany and marbled boardroom he lays it all out, plain and simple, revealing to the insipid Howard Beale, the epitome of a late '70s malaise-days television prophet, that the world is not what he thinks it is.
Though purposely delivered in an incredibly over-the-top maniacally-comical style the meanings behind the words he bellows out still ring true today. Likely, even more so.
Around the same time that this film was being shown in theaters, I was an innocent little boy just coming of age still doe-eyed and wet behind his small town New England ears. I was only 12. I drank milk with every meal, watched "The Waltons" and "Little House on the Prairie", kissed my daddy goodnight on the lips and knelt down beside my bed to say my prayers each night. I didn't question the validity of what I was taught. I simply believed.
With age comes wisdom, they say, but I think the years help to hone another vital tool of perception that we use to assess the reality of the world around us: cynicism.
This summer, in particular when compared to almost all past summers, has been most revealing to me; exposing the true primal forces of nature. Despite lofty aspirations and the poetic dreams of building the foundations for a future utopia, mankind is no closer to that ideal than they were in the Stone Age. Some things never change. The basest of urges still drive us. They're just better hidden now. Most of the time.
Last night, David and I had words. Finally. It had been a-brewin'. His pathetic lying and obfuscation caught up to him finally and despite being offered several opportunities to rectify the situation by simply coming clean and being truthful, he continued to rant on and on, like a 21st century Howard Beale. Yet his make-believe message was disintegrating right before him and he refused to see it.
After smoldering in a heap of defeated detritus once his situation's dire consequences were finally accepted by him, he decided to act on base instinct as a result of an adrenaline cascade to his brain. The choice was fight or flight. Since he had not a single pitifully inferior arrow in his quiver, and I had the equivalent of a Foundation Trilogy's Galactic Empire personal forcefield beaming its electrified glow all around me, he chose to flee.
So now, yet again, we've lost another night shift person. Again in a blaze of drama and controversy.
I do feel bad, you know. He did have his charming attributes and it was amusing to have Algonquin Roundtable dialogues with him. Plus, he has, if his homelife tales are to be believed, been lugging around quite a lot of baggage over the years. From a childhood of radical cult-religion brainwashing to a young adulthood filled with broken get-rich-quick dreams gone sour, he's now facing possible homelessness and bankruptcy due to his wife's chronic diseases and his ongoing inability to hold on tight to a logical framework of reality. Or even a simple freakin' job.
Maybe he can get some bloated corporate kook like this Ned Beatty character to fork over start-up capital for his tooth-whitening business idea? Sad truth of it is, if that did ever happen, it'd be David who'd be metaphorically in the middle of the woods, hunkered down in a fetal position, tighty-whities bunched down around his ankles and squealing like a pig.