It is the climax of the movie, and easily one of the most powerful scenes in the history of cinema. Luke Skywalker, facing Darth Vader at the end of “The Empire Strikes Back,” losing both the battle and his hand, crouches precariously on a small bridge over a seemingly bottomless pit. Vader picks that traditional bonding moment to inform Luke that he is actually Luke’s father.
Luke’s whine of disagreement is understandable: His dad is a genocidal planet-destroying maniac, he just lost one of his more useful evolutionary tools and, let’s face it, Luke generally whines about everything anyway.
Darth’s revelation takes all the film’s previous insistence on the easy dichotomy of good vs. evil and throws it, well, into a bottomless pit. Evil can spawn good, and good can become evil, and the lines in between are fluid and ever changing. Suddenly the “Star Wars” universe is much more real and interesting.
It’s all too much for both Luke and “Star Wars” founder George Lucas to handle (they’re really the same: Luke Skywalker, Luke S., Lucas), so Luke, too, leaps into the pit to his “death” — although he instead follows the path of his lost hand — and gets sucked into some kind of venting chamber to be safely deposited underneath Cloud City for easy rescue access.
What a scene! What a moment! What the fuck? I was 8 and a half years old. And in the debates that ensued among my 8-and-a-half-year-old peers (“Is it true?” “No way!”), we discussed the nature of good and evil and moral ambiguity in ways that made us sound more like Old World rabbis than third-graders trying to figure out how to play with our action figures.
And why shouldn’t we? Passion for “Star Wars” is like passion for any religion. Some in Australia are even fighting with their government to have “Jedi” labeled an official religion in that country’s census. And I was a budding acolyte. Every night at bedtime, snuggled in my “Empire Strikes Back” sheets and sleeping blanket, I would imagine myself up on that bridge, confronting not just Darth Vader but all of the universe’s complexities. I knew there would be no easy answers — at least not until the third “Star Wars” film — an agonizing three whole years away.
But I knew there’d be answers. The characters — and thus the makers — of “Star Wars” were my heroes. They wouldn’t let me down.
I was so hooked.
Twenty years later, I find my mind has wandered back to Cloud City; same bridge, same pit. Again, I imagine myself as Luke, only now it’s George Lucas wearing the heavy-breathing Darth mask, standing over my head. And he’s reaching out to me, holding some crappy “Pod Racing” video game, contemptuously chanting: “Who’s your daddy? Who’s your daddy?”
At that moment, I think about how “Star Wars” and Luke’s tale changed my life. And then I think about Jar Jar, those damned Ewoks and how diluted the original impact has become. The “Star Wars” of my youth, like my desire to purchase action figures, left me long ago. What’s left isn’t bad — but while I’m not too old to enjoy a fun movie, I prefer my motion pictures to do something other than have pictures that move.
And so, like Luke, I decide to let go. I leap into the pit — but not to my doom, because I know there is a vent down there. And that vent’s name is Peter Jackson — director of “The Lord of the Rings.”
And as I wait for my ride beneath Cloud City, let me say it for all to hear, and later e-mail me angrily about: “Lord of the Rings” is better than “Star Wars”!
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It’s a tough call to make. Both films — and both phenomena — are worthy ways to spend your cinema dollar. Both films are transcendental — defying genres and expectations, taking the viewer to struggles in fantastical lands and in the process illuminating the struggles within ourselves. That illumination has inspired legions of fans on both sides. J.R.R. Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” has been part of world consciousness for generations, inspiring artists, writers — including George Lucas. “Star Wars” defined modern fantasy filmmaking. (There is no science and, therefore, no science fiction in “Star Wars.”) The way Lucas went about making “Star Wars” and its sequels — from the storytelling and special effects to the marketing — is nearly as much an influence on Jackson as Tolkien.
In her recent Salon article “‘The Lord of the Rings’ vs. ‘Star Wars,’” Jean Tang takes the view that “Star Wars” is the superior effort. She states, quite well, that the simplicity and humanity of “Star Wars,” which led to greater accessibility and ultimately a greater phenomenon, made it superior to the dark, explicit and increasingly humorless “Lord of the Rings.”
Her citing of plot and character problems in “LOTR” is interesting — although one could easily catalog the same of “Star Wars,” if not more so. I tittered at the supposedly fearsome but easily addled storm troopers when I was 8, yet still overlooked that for the greater film at hand. And in that spirit I’ll also overlook the greatest problem with Tang’s article: Why on earth compare these two films?
OK, they tell the same story for starters. In his landmark 1949 “The Hero With a Thousand Faces,” mythologist Joseph Campbell — who would later use Luke Skywalker as an example for his theories — writes of the “monomyth,” in which a hero leaves the average world for a supernatural one, defeating foes decisively, growing in the process and returning from this “mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow man.”
That could be Luke or Frodo Baggins, from “Lord of the Rings,” sure. Jesus, Moses or Mohammad, too. Even the fun but hopelessly derivative Harry Potter has a place in the monomyth.
So who does it best?
During an online debate of this very contentious issue, a friend of mine summed it up this way: “‘Star Wars’ was a pop-culture synthesis which is now being eclipsed by one of its major source materials.”
Yes, my friend talks that dorkily. When it comes to “Star Wars” and “LOTR,” we all do. We’re paying members of the religion. That’s why one can’t just be content to say: “Both movies are fun. Let’s pay attention to the Enron scandal.”
To a “Star Wars” or “Lord of the Rings” fan, this is much, much bigger than Enron.
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As stories, and as films, it’s almost ridiculous to compare them — especially now. After all, “The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring” is just the first film of a trilogy, devoted to preserving the integrity of books that everyone has either read or is currently pretending to read. “Star Wars,” on the other hand, is an original story, beholden to nothing but George Lucas’ vision, and, forgetting the current prequel trilogy, it’s finished.
Comparing just the first movie of each trilogy is equally futile: The first “Star Wars” (now known as “Episode IV: A New Hope”), which Tang mostly relies upon, is a stand-alone film. When Lucas made it, he had no idea of its success, or that he’d be able to make his grand vision of three, or six, or 12 films (depending on which of his early interviews you believe). So “Star Wars,” the first film, ends.
“The Fellowship of the Ring” does not end. It doesn’t even have a cliffhanger — everyone is already falling off the cliff at film’s end. And because it’s part of a trilogy, the movie introduces quite a bit of material that isn’t going to become particularly useful until later in the series. Arwen, the elf played by Liv Tyler, offers an elvish ex machina rescue, as well as a foreshadowing tender moment or two — but depending on how Jackson follows the books, her role isn’t really interesting until the films that are still to come. And you know those scenes of goblins pulling the trees out of the soil of Isengard? That’ll piss off more than the Middle-earth Sierra Club later on.
For this reason, when I say I’m comparing “Lord of the Rings” to “Star Wars,” I’m really comparing it to “Star Wars” and its first sequel, “The Empire Strikes Back.” Both end on a moment of total transition, both require the creators to plan ahead and to make conscious choices in favor of the story — not just how audiences want movies to progress. I’m also doing this to be fair; to include the entire “Star Wars” oeuvre would mean bashing the unsatisfying “The Return of the Jedi,” Jar Jar Binks and a failed ‘N Sync cameo to come, and that’s just shooting fish in a barrel.
Looking at the story lines, and the storytelling, you see the potential dangers with each film. The epic plotting of “The Fellowship of the Ring” threatens to ruin the movie more than once. Under the auspices of a lesser director, watching the film could be like watching a freight train go by. This happens, then this happens, then this happens, then this happens — as our characters are tossed from action scene to action scene. Tolkien got away with this in the books because his writing was extraordinarily boring. You could never really tell you were being overstimulated.
But Jackson’s ability to explain in simple ways why his characters go from place to place saves us from that fate. There is a clear goal, and every set piece builds on that goal. Additionally, the land tells the story as much as the characters do: Middle-earth is changing, the old ways are passing and every landscape shot alludes to these changes.
“Star Wars” also takes place during a time of transition. Every battered and rusty space transport implies a history of past battles and other stories. We don’t get these deep stories in the “Star Wars” series. Our heroes blithely go from place to place, peril to peril, without the same clear goals. One of the most watchable aspects of the “Star Wars” plots is the focus not on the larger stories, but on the main characters, who affect the big picture, without really being a big part of it. The Rebel Alliance is always just about to start a new mission whenever Luke or Han Solo reach a base. There’s a larger tale going on, one of tyranny, rebellion, political and social movement. But “Star Wars” focuses on the characters, not on that story. So, it makes for easier viewing than “Lord of the Rings,” but it’s not necessarily as compelling viewing.
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Still, the heart and soul of both films is character, not plot. After all, we remember “Star Wars” not as the tale of a vast and unmanageable empire, but as Luke’s transformation from Toshi Station mall rat to mystic Jedi knight. Frodo Baggins, the hobbit hero of “The Fellowship of the Ring,” also yearns for adventure. He idolizes his weird Uncle Bilbo’s adventures, adventures that could take him from the boring but idyllic life in the Shire.
But when a wizard named Gandalf shows up with an all-important adventure that has to start immediately, what does Frodo do? He panics! He goes only reluctantly, always under the impression that he’ll get to go home once the first step is through. Frodo doesn’t just whine like Luke, he winces, cowers and weeps and is pretty much uncool through most of the film. And as such, the hobbit Frodo — unlike fun, daring hero Luke Skywalker — becomes more human than the human Skywalker.
Luke is what whiny dorks daydream they would be. When adventure comes calling, they’d sign up immediately, and succeed totally. Frodo, on the other hand, is the way we are: comfortable in our inadequate lives, yet terrified of change. I cry like a baby if the candy machine at work is on the fritz. If I were being chased by some spectral hooded spirit out for my blood, I’d likely go catatonic.
Despite his fears, Frodo goes on his quest — after all, it wouldn’t be much of a monomyth or movie if he stayed, but you never lose the feeling of trepidation that Frodo has. Even if there weren’t computer-generated baddies stabbing him at every turn, you know he’d still be bummed about leaving town. His companion Sam is quite vocal about his concerns. He may dream of the outside world, but the reality of going there is awkward and horrible, and it’s not often you see an action-adventure film that details homesickness as a movie-long affliction.
This is not pretty heroism. No one daydreams about feeling obligated to go on an adventure. You want to be like selfish, shallow Luke, who goes because … well, it’s the coolest thing to do. His Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are murdered, and for a while he even believes his father was killed by Darth Vader. Yet avenging their deaths is never on his mind. Their doom just makes it all the easier to cut ties and take off with the first trained British actor who passes by.
But in real life, it’s obligation that drives history’s heroes, not boredom. Gandhi didn’t start a movement because he grew weary of cricket. Lincoln didn’t seek the presidency because of log cabin fever. That Lucas was never able to give his characters similar motivations is just a symptom of a shallow film.
But shallow is fun — you need only compare each of the secondary characters. If you’re looking for entertainment rather than case studies in human frailty, then by all means, get that “Phantom Menace” DVD. It’s not just Luke vs. Frodo: The “Star Wars” characters are who you’d like to be; the “Lord of the Rings’” various wizards, elves and hobbits, by contrast, are who you are more likely to be in similar circumstances — especially if you’re like me, and are already short and have hairy feet.
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And in the end, it may be that lesson in responsibility that makes “The Lord of the Rings” such a great film. Both “Star Wars” and “Lord of the Rings” are focused on the cartoon battles of good vs. evil, but “LOTR” takes it a step further and says we all have a responsibility to do what we can in that battle.
I cried during Gandalf’s speech to Frodo when he speaks of the responsibility to bear great things, and the strength required to succeed. No one seeks these burdens, but those who receive them must rise to the challenge. It’s a practical message in the most absurd setting, and it’s hardly a salve in the post-Sept. 11 world. There’s no “it’ll be OK” tacked onto the end — and we have no way of knowing if happy endings are in store for the future. There are no similar guarantees in the real world.
Though I’ve read the book, and pretty much know what happens to the ring, I have no such preconceived notions toward the real world. Will I ever lose the sick-to-my-stomach anxiety I still have every morning when I pick up the paper or see an airplane over my head? Will it get worse today? Will we accidentally bomb the wrong people again, or will we ourselves be bombed again? What is my role, what can I do, and if MSNBC says that Americans are recovering, why am I still nervous when I get in an elevator?
So, I go see a movie. And though I wish I could be a hero, with old man Kenobi whisking me away to a place where I can join an easy good vs. evil fight — I know it’s not that simple. So I have old man Gandalf telling me that it’s not for me to choose my burden but just to choose how to bear it. And I have Frodo grotesquely weeping to remind me that as far as burdens go, simply getting up in the morning isn’t too bad.
“Star Wars” broke out of its formula only once; that classically Oedipal scene in Cloud City is the pinnacle of it. But like Luke’s hand, it dropped into a pit, and the series returns to easy-to-stomach simplicity. As if to drive the point home, the bad guys are ultimately defeated by warrior Care Bears.
That’s not a bad thing. After all, these are only movies. And when I just wanted a movie to be a place where bad guys lose comically and you could go from bored teen to messiah in just three movies, well, “Star Wars” fit the bill.
I don’t remember what I went into “Lord of the Rings” expecting, other than an unsatisfying image of a Balrog, but I came out with so much more. The film transcended itself and took me to a place I hadn’t yet been ready to go. This absurd film of hobbits and dwarves and goblins and orcs said enough things to me about living a real everyday life in 21st century America to make it seem truly possible.
So maybe it’s not so much that “Lord of the Rings” is better than “Star Wars,” but that “Lord of the Rings” is somehow more real than “Star Wars.” And right now, that’s what I wanted.
There’s a scene at the end of “Fellowship of the Ring” — easily one of the most powerful in the film, and one that perhaps one day will also take a throne in the annals of cinematic history — when Frodo’s devoted friend Sam risks drowning rather than let his friend head off to certain death alone. In the books we know Sam fears water — but the movie doesn’t delve into that. Jackson focuses instead on Sam’s simple devotion: Sam wades into a river after Frodo’s boat. Underwater and close to death, we see Sam go limp, until Frodo’s arm juts down, grabbing Sam’s wrist. There’s a pause, then the two hands clasp.
Sam isn’t alone in being pulled up from the brink. We were, too. George Lucas knows how to make money better than he does how to make films, and it’s clear at this point that Lucas doesn’t give a damn about the depth some of us wanted to give to his best movie. It was just a movie, and we should just shut up or move on.
And the nice thing is now we can. Because it’s obvious that Peter Jackson is as earnest as, well, Luke Skywalker, and Jackson wants his films to be more than that.
I really wanted to like the concert. “United We Stand” it was called, an all-day benefit Sunday at RFK Stadium in Washington. I really wanted it to be a great time.
We all did. After all, what’s not to like about helping the victims of the terrorist attack on the Pentagon? And if it involves a day of performances by more than 20 of the biggest stars of pop music — so much the better, right?
Organized by Michael Jackson, and scheduled to be broadcast on ABC in November, the theme of the show was “What More Can I Give” — not coincidentally Jackson’s new Sept. 11-related single, being debuted live that evening. Unlike New York, D.C. has had few opportunities to publicly grieve and give support to one another. This show seemed a good opportunity to give back to the community, and spend some time healing with 50,000 of my neighbors.
Unfortunately, among the things being given back were the invites to perform by top billers Mick Jagger, Kiss and others. None of them showed up. With other announced participants Ricky Martin, Aaron Carter and MC Hammer MIA, the lineup for the show had become rather fluid. So much of the lineup had been replaced by showtime that it was an altogether different show than the one fans bought tickets for.
But the organizer, Clear Channel Entertainment, part of the massive radio and concert promotion firm that dominates the music industry right now, was a professional outfit — the sort of operation that could handle anything, right? And hey — it was a benefit concert. It didn’t matter who performed — everyone will like the concert for the cause, right?
Right?
No. To all of the above. This was the worst benefit concert ever. As President Bush might say: “The cause is just.” But the show was just terrible.
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There is much reason for hope early on for the show. After all, it is billed as the first time the Backstreet Boys and ‘N Sync ever shared a stage — unless you count the Super Bowl. It is the first time Michael Jackson has performed since … well, there was the MTV Video Music Awards, and a couple of shows before Sept. 11. It is the first time Mariah Carey has performed since her various breakdowns and her unrelated crappy movie was released. It is the first time I had ever seen any of the above in concert, but only because I don’t get out much.
The Backstreet Boys open with a heavily harmonized “Star Spangled Banner,” which was also how the group kicked off the Super Bowl. In fact, over half the set is similar to what they played during the weekend’s other big rock benefit, Paul McCartney’s Concert for NYC. No problem, but you would have thought that with the advance warning, and previous night’s practice, the technical problems would be worked out.
They aren’t. The audio is choppy, and continues to be so for the following act, Crystal, and ’80s rocker Huey Lewis. No one worries. It is early — they are just working out the bugs!
Note: This is foreshadowing. They never did work out the bugs. Apparently, Roosevelt Jr. High School’s 8th Grade AV Club was unavailable to do sound and tech, and they had to get a less-experienced crew.
Some early highlights:
James Brown’s mike is silent for the first half of “Living in America.” Maybe he just isn’t singing, but I doubt it. No one sweats that much mutely lip-syncing.
The pre-taped audio track for pre-teen C&W sprite Billy Gillman gives out midway though his single “Down Here on Earth.” The kid soldiers on, and gives one of the best performances of the entire event.
There is a pixel problem on the Jumbotron. It distorts the logo for the concert, making it “Unit We Stand.” Various immature people in my row find this quite amusing. OK, only me.
It takes one hour to set up a mike for Carole King’s acoustic rendering of her classic “Far Away. The settings are too high; the mike is “hot,” making her even more shrill than usual.
John Stamos and Kevin Spacey welcome us to the show, three hours after it has already begun. However, the too-high volume, mixed with poor acoustics, and RFK’s delayed echo, make their potentially inspiring words totally and completely incomprehensible.
O Town, from the ABC show “Making the Band,” performs, and unfortunately, you can hear them perfectly.
The performances get better as the day wears on, though the waits between sets make the development absolutely meaningless. They really should have called this thing “United We Please Stand By, We’re Experiencing Technical Difficulties.” Each time a good band performs, the audience leaps up and cheers, inspired, energized. Then, after 15 minutes, the stage goes black, and it’s back to sitting in the seats for a half-hour, stewing.
Which is too bad, because there were strong performances from a diverse lineup: Aerosmith and Bette Midler, Al Green and P. Diddy. Less-strong performances from Ce Ce Penniston and America lead one to wonder, with the show three hours behind schedule, why they are there, and, more important, why we have to wait 30 minutes for their performances.
The most surprising set of the night is by hip-hop artist Pink, who is neither hip-hop nor pink. Sporting blond locks and no pink clothing at all, she performs not “Lady Marmalade,” her hit of the moment, but two acoustic — heck, let’s call them folk — songs. One is “My Vietnam,” off her newest album, and the other was Janis Joplin’s “Me and Bobby McGee.” It is the latter that was surprising, with Pink matching Joplin’s throaty words with gritty enthusiasm — yet showcasing a wider range of notes than Joplin ever reached. It is great. Color me impressed. Ugh, did I actually just write that?
In the stands, however, people are getting antsy. As night begins to fall, concessionaires are running out of food and beverages. The waits became interminable, and surreal, as John Stamos pops up from time to time to welcome us, yet again, to the show. He proclaims that we would see several bands that have already performed, and promises a good time.
I guess they want multiple takes for the TV special. We cheer well for the cameras.
Long after fan-base bedtimes, ‘N Sync finally performs. The mass exodus upon its last number looks like a refugee crisis out of Khandahar. Stamos encourages the rest of us to stay. To be on the safe side, he records a “Thanks, good night!” for the cameras, while there is still enough crowd to cheer.
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I’d like to take a moment to reflect on the common wardrobe theme of all the performers: The flag.
Destiny’s Child: Flag pants. Each member has her own variation. All three were nice, but I’d look silly in them.
Steven Tyler of Aerosmith: Leather flag jacket. Flashy, and looks warm. Could prove popular this winter, but I’d look silly in it.
J.C. of ‘N Sync: Heart-shaped flag T-shirt. Makes him look like a patriotic Care Bear. He looked less silly than I would have, but still quite silly.
James Brown and P. Diddy: Flags as capes. Very dramatic, but just an etiquette note. You can’t let them drag on the ground like that. Weren’t you ever Boy Scouts? Now they have to be respectfully burned.
Pink and the bassist of the Goo Goo Dolls: Button-down flag shirt. Nice! But the downward-facing flag is backward on it. The field of blue is supposed to go over the left side, not the right, which is a sign of distress. I don’t know why they both have this shirt, or why both were in distress. Maybe they are acknowledging the bored plight of the ever-waiting audience.
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The waits continued, the show seemingly lasting forever. Most of the performers have to enroll their kids in the D.C. school system. Rod Stewart is now a naturalized U.S. citizen. Whomever you came with you’re now legally married to. DMV employees in the audience have gotten impatient and left.
The stadium is totally out of food. Tired and hungry, we scan the skies in hope of a U.S. Army humanitarian aid drop of MREs.
In the bleachers, people have swiped toilet paper rolls from the bathroom, and are flinging them into the crowd. Hunger has devolved us. Soon, we’ll be rendered into Michael Jackson-craving monkeys, slinging our feces to and fro.
The earth slows. The molten core of the planet cools. Glaciers spread, then melt. Mountains crumble. Seas rise, then fall. Some future evolved species, maybe the dogs, will happen upon the ruins of the stadium. They will find us all frozen, yet still plaintively awaiting word from John Stamos saying we can go home.
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Why we stay: It’s a benefit concert, for Chrissakes. Besides, after all this time, we’re soldered to the seats with butt sweat.
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The crowd iss nothing but unruly by the time the oft-napping roadies bring out a strange little box of mirrors and lights, such as Siegfried and Roy might make endangered tigers disappear within.
But no tigers come, just more roadies. For 45 minutes they continued to tinker with the box, until the crowd has had enough.
It’s time for a united audience to take a stand.
The boos start quietly, then grow to a fevered pitch. The roadies get a bit nervous, then flee. Suddenly, poor Mariah Carey appears from offstage, with little introduction, singing a torch song that sounds slightly unexpected.
We made Mariah appear with our boos! It’s a lesson we all file away. And her song “Never Too Far” elicited some non-boos too. For some reason, she can’t hit any of the high notes, but that’s OK. All is forgiven. By song’s end, she disappears in the box, with the cheers of exhausted fans behind her.
The lights dim. This is the biggest production value of the evening. We are all quite excited.
And then: It opens up. Just that. It is just a big dumb mirrored box with the ability to open up. Carey sings something from her failed movie “Glitter,” complete with copious “Glitter” logos in the graphics on the screens. In the box, there is a prop glittered telephone, and a flashy glittered motorcycle. Neither is used for the song. They serve no purpose. She doesn’t even look at them. There are more “Glitter” logos. The song “The DJ Saved My Life” makes no reference I could decipher to telephones and motorcycles, or the Pentagon — unless the DJs are lingo for 911 operators. The crowd is dumbfounded and silent. Aware she has lost us, Mariah asks the crowd to “make some noise.”
We do. It is not, however, a good noise.
Now, it may be mean to boo a woman suffering from depression. At a benefit show. But then again, it’s a benefit show, and we are there to support terror victims, not Mariah’s new CD. The “Glitter” logos lighting the Jumbotron seem cheap and crass, like advertising at a wake.
And after all that time, she doesn’t even use the motorcycle in the song? I’d boo my own mom.
I’m sorry you’re depressed, Mariah. But no one misses you after your bodyguards and dancers pull you offstage, seconds after the song ends.
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It is quite late, after midnight. There are maybe 1,500 people left at the show in a very large stadium, and every one of them needs a nap.
The organizers have to be cognizant how far this show has slipped from them, yet they do everything in their power to make things worse. They bring Chris Tucker out to introduce Michael Jackson, to booming cheers — and then, nothing. John Stamos comes out one last time, and introduces Michael Jackson, to booming cheers. And then nothing. Stamos then reintroduces Michael Jackson, since he screws up the first time by referring to our city as Los Angeles, not Washington, D.C.
We learn the reason for the screw-up when he rudely informs us he is leaving, flying back to the coast. The Firestone Tire factory has less hissing. Stamos is an idiot. The Olson Twins would have had more support as emcees.
When Michael Jackson takes the stage, and yes, he ultimately does, it is as showy, egocentric and craven as you could imagine.
It starts with a film retrospective of Jacko’s humanitarian work in Africa, to the instrumental strains of “We Are the World.” What this self-stroking has to do with the Pentagon was unknown as of press time. Maybe a promise to the hungry Pentagon survivors in the crowd that he will feed us, too?
But the response he gets from the crowd is nothing short of mass cultlike love. As he appears onstage, breaking instantly into “Man in the Mirror,” there is more screaming and dancing than even ‘N Sync enjoyed. No one cares about the ego, about the waiting, or, it would appear, about the Pentagon at this moment. They are here for Michael.
And he is in top form, near as I can tell. His dancing was on. Meanwhile, the video played on, images of JFK, RFK, MLK, Jesus … you see Mother Teresa, hear applause, and think it was for her. But no, it is just M.J. dancing on a steam grate. His stage presence was greater than all who came before him. When he climbs onto a cherry picker that takes him slightly above the front rows of the crowd, it is impressive. When he jumps off onto the stage, it gets me out of my pissy funk. It’s a fun song, so who cares how pretentious and inappropriate the video is? This is his concert, and for many in the crowd, it is worth the wait.
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A quick observation. At some point, a woman runs up onto the stage and grabs Michael, hugging him, and screams “I love you” over and over to his face — you don’t have to be a lip reader to see those words. It seems like minutes before security notices and pulls her off. Through it all, a showbiz trooper, M.J. keeps singing, and doesn’t miss one note.
But there’s the problem. At several points, the crazed fan’s face is closer to the mike than M.J.’s mouth. Yet we never hear her voice, we only hear Michael. Maybe she is just mouthing the words, respectfully, so as not to ruin the song! Maybe the ever-alert audio crew — folks I wouldn’t trust to press play on a tape recorder — are able to mix her out of the sound on the fly!
Or maybe M.J. is lip-syncing. I doubt we’ll ever know.
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Another observation: Like James Brown and P. Diddy, Jackson drapes himself throughout his song with an American flag, and uses it for effect throughout the song. However, at a particularly enthusiastic moment, he swings it around, and throws it to the ground, the flag hanging limply off the lip of the stage for the rest of the song.
Someone has to discourage the use of the U.S. flag as prop by musicians until they attend some kind of seminar in Not Desecrating the U.S. Flag for Dummies.
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Finale time, and a now costume-changed Gloved One (who wasn’t wearing any gloves, but it’s fun to call him that) begins to speak. Calling for a time of healing, he introduces his new song, “What More Can I Give.” There are many other songs this evening written for and dedicated to the tragedies — even more performed in New York on Saturday, and who knows how many more are down the pike? But with “We Are the World” on his résumé, Michael Jackson has the inside track on writing the song, and we all wonder what it would sound like.
As promised, he brings out many of the performers from the day. ‘N Sync. The Goo Goo Dolls. Mariah Carey. The Backstreet Boys and Aerosmith had to head off to other concerts, but luckily there were several performers and actors to take their place, many of whom had nothing to do with the show. But not one note is sung before the real star of the show appeared.
I’m talking, of course, about Technical Problems. M.J.’s mike — in fact, all the mikes it seemed — were hot, and squealed throughout the song. The other performers seem lost as they sing, if they sing at all. Michael runs like a cheerleader down the line, trying to get them in order. At one point, several techies run in front of the stars, trying to pull cords. How these people are employed during a time of recession I’ll never understand.
And as the song ends, the smoke machines come on, filling the stage with gray clouds. Then glitter cannons go off, and the sky over RFK was filled with fluttering, shiny, multicolored pieces of tinsel.
Yes — for a finale of a Sept. 11 benefit show, the stage is covered in smoke and falling debris.
The song is a disaster, and with its merciful end, the show does well. But Michael speaks: They’re going to do it again!
But not for us in the audience. He thanks us and tells us to go home.
- – - – - – - – - – - -
The walk from the stadium is not a happy one. For 12 hours of attendance, there was maybe four or five hours of music. Many in the crowd grumble about being unwilling extras. They should: This was supposed to be a benefit concert, but it turned out to be as fake as the applause they’ll add to the retaped “finale.” We were not informed on our tickets that the show was merely a chance for Mariah and Michael to plug new music, or for ABC-TV to plug John Stamos’ new TV show.
If there’s any justice, no one will watch Stamos. If there’s further justice, no one will watch this benefit, or even ABC, ever again. I’m really hoping for charred earth retaliation right now. That the victims of the Pentagon disaster will see some charity from this cluster fuck of a show is the only worthwhile aspect of the day, and probably the only thing keeping the masses from rioting. Just to be on the safe side, there appears to be more armed police as we leave then when we arrived.
The stadium behind me, my mind harks back to an early technical problem. It caused an attendee near me to misread the title of the show as “What More Can I Stand?”
No more benefit concerts, that’s for sure.
START HERE:
1. The Florida Supreme Court has voted 4-3 to allow hand recounts in the 2000 presidential election. The Bush campaign has appealed to both the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals and the U.S. Supreme Court, asking for an injunction.
If Bush’s appeals are heard by the Supreme Court, go to 2. If the appeal is ignored, and the count commences immediately, go to 4.
2. The U.S. Supreme Court meets, reviews the case and makes a ruling.
If it decides not to hear it, or that the Florida high court was fair, go to 4.
If it decides that the ruling is full of it, and subsequently tosses it out, go to 5. If it repeats itself, and asks the Florida Supreme Court to review its decision and send it back, go to 11.
3. The recount is finally completed! What an effort!
If they finish by Dec. 12, go to 6. If they finish after Dec. 12, and find that Bush wins, go to 5. If they finish after Dec. 12, and find that Gore wins, go to 7. If they don’t finish by Dec. 18, go to 5.
4. The recounts are on!
If the courts specifies exactly what kind of ballot markings count as a vote, go to 9. If the courts continue to leave this matter vague, go to 10.
5. It’s all over! Bush wins! Or does he?
If two electors defect from Bush and vote for Gore, go to 22. If all the electors do as they’re told, go to 23.
6. As of this writing, Bush started up with 154 votes over Gore, so with the count done …
If Gore gains more than 154 votes, go to 12. If Bush maintains his lead, go to 5.
7. If Dec. 12 comes and goes without the recounts being completed, the members of the GOP-led Florida Legislature have made it clear they want to vote their own slate of pro-Bush electors to the Electoral College.
If they decide to vote their own electors, even if Gore wins, go to 8. If they don’t, go to 19.
8. It’s a crazy Electoral College crisis! If Gore won the vote in Florida, then he has rightful claim to the 25 Florida electors. But the Legislature sent 25 Florida Bush electors too! We’re bordering on chaos here! It’s time for Congress to step in. Go to 15.
9. Thanks to the clear specifications by the Florida 2nd Circuit Court, there is no debate over what qualifies as a vote, and it’s done in a timely manner. Go to 3.
10. Confusion reigns, in the counting rooms and among pundits discussing the recounts. There are several more court cases slowing this down. Go to 3.
11. The Florida Supreme Court rethinks everything, and sends it back with the clarification requested by the U.S. Supreme Court. Go to 4.
12. Gore is the rightful winner of the Florida election and the Electoral College.
If Bush and the GOP bow out gracefully, go to 18. If they don’t, and the Legislature votes Bush’s electors in anyway, go to 8.
13. Regardless of whether Bush or Gore won, the Florida Legislature has sent its own folks to the Electoral College.
If this happened, and Bush was still the vote winner as of Dec. 18, go to 6. If this happened, and Gore was the winner as of Dec. 18, go to 8.
14. Civil War! Tanks roll into Washington as fires fill the congressional halls and the White House turns red with blood. Yes, for those of you who remember the classic Choose-Your-Own-Adventure “UFO 54-40,” this is one of those surprise endings you can only find by cheating. But in this bizarre election year, anything is possible, so there you go.
15. Only two years after the impeachment of President Clinton, Congress again will determine the fate of the leader of the free world. This is serious stuff. It’s now early January, and in a cold winter session, both the House and Senate have to decide which Florida slate is legit, and they have to agree! The GOP controls the House, the Senate is split 50-50 with Al Gore himself being the tie-breaking vote! It’s chaos again.
Do the House and Senate disagree? Go to 16. Does the House vote for Bush and the Senate tie for both Gore and Bush? Go to 20. Do a couple of Democratic senators decide to break ranks and vote for Bush? Go to 5. Does Congress decide to seat Gore? Go to 18.
16. The Congress can’t agree; House and Senate are divided as to who will be the next president of the United States. Jan. 20 is coming up. So, under the federal Electoral Count Act of 1887 it falls to the chief executive of the state with the confused slate to make the decision. In this case, Florida Gov. John Ellis “Jeb” Bush.
Does Jeb decide to avoid the wrath of history? Go to 17. Does Jeb go ahead and pick his big brother, even if the Florida Supreme Court is threatening him with contempt? Go to 5.
17. Don’t delude yourself. Go to 5.
18. It’s over! Gore wins! He has successfully won the most contested election in peacetime U.S. history and right-wing talk radio has more fodder than it can deal with for four years. But who cares, there’s a lot of Tipper smooching ahead, America!
19. Yeah, right. Go to 13.
20. Al Gore has to break the tie. But is it a conflict of interest to vote for yourself at a time like this? Gore decides that it is unethical to vote for himself, and recuses himself. Go to 21. Gore votes for himself. Go to 16.
21. It’ll be a frosty day in Hades before that’ll happen. So go to 18.
22. Two electors, citing Gore’s win in the popular vote, decide to give the election to him. It seems like constitutional chaos, but it’s all part of America’s arcane system.
Does Al Gore accept these defections? Go to 18.
Does Al Gore make a moving speech to the American people, stating that he doesn’t want to win on a technicality? Go to 21.
23. Ladies and gentlemen — Our 43rd president: George W. Bush. America unites around him, and Fox News struts around with an “I told you so” smirk about its collective news face. Meanwhile, federal agents storm the Voter News Service headquarters just days after inauguration …
