EDITORrnThomas FlemingrnEXECUTIVE EDITORrnScott P. RichertrnSENIOR EDITOR, BOOKSrnChilton V/illiamson, ]r.rnASSISTANT EDITORrnAaron D. WolfrnART DIRECTORrnH. Ward SterettrnDESIGNERrnMelanie AndersonrnCONTRIBUTING EDITORSrnKatherine Dalton, Samuel Francis,rnGeorge Garrett, Paul Gottfried,rnPhilih Jenkins, J.O. Tate, MichaelrnWashburn, Clyde WilsonrnCORRESPONDING EDITORSrnJanet Scott Barlow, Bill Kauffman,rnDonald Livingston, William Mills,rnWilliam Murchison, AndreirnNavrozov, Jacob NeusnerrnFILM EDITORrnGeorge McCartneyrnFOREIGN-AFFAIRS EDITORrnSrdja TrifkovicrnLEGAL-AFFAIRS EDITORrnStephen B. PresserrnRELIGION EDITORrnHarold O.J. BrownrnCIRCULATION MANAGERrnCindy LinkrnPUBLISHERrnThe Rockford InstituternA publication of The Rockford Institute.rnEditorial and Advertising Offices:rn928 North Main Street, Rockford, IL 61103.rnWebsite: www.chroniclesmagazine.orgrnEditorial Phone: (815)964-5054.rnAdvertising Phone: (815) 964-5813.rnSubscription Department: P.O. Box 800,rnMount Morris, IL 61054. Gall 1-800-877-5459.rnCopyright © 2001 by The Rockford Institute.rnAll rights reserved.rnChronicles: A Magazine of American Culturern(ISSN 0887-5731) is published monthly for $39.00rn(foreign subscriptions add $ 12 for surface delivery,rn$48 for Air Mail) per year by Tire Rockford Institute,rn928 Nortli Main Street, Rockford, IL 61103-7061.rnPrefened periodical postage paid at Rockford. ILrnand additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER:rnSend address changes to Chronicles, P.O. Box 800,rnMount Mon-is, IL 61054.rnThe views expressed in Chronicles are thernauthors’ alone and do not necessarily reflectrnthe views of The Rockford Institute or of itsrndirectors. Unsolicited manuscripts cannot bernrehimed unless accompanied by a self-addressedrnstamped envelope.rnChroniclesrnVol. 25, No. 9 September 2001rnPrinted in the United Stiilcs of AnierirarnPOLEMICS & EXCHANGESrnOn CelebrityrnI must take up computer and mouse inrnindignation. How could you includernElvis on your “celebrity” cover? Whatrnpossessed you to put the King amongst arngroup of the world’s great sleazeballs?rnAnd at the head of the table? Have yournno shame, gentlemen?rnTrue, the King was famous, and true,rnin his latter years, he was slave to a gaudyrn(though I would contend endearing) vulgarityrnwhich I suppose Nabokov wouldrnhave called “poshlust.”rnBut Elvis had nothing in common withrnthe wretches who besmirch your cover.rnHe belongs with Little Richard, BuddyrnHolly, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, andrnMerle Haggard (whose tribute album tornElvis is unforgettable). Leather jacket orrnjewel-studded outfit, he nevertheless belongsrnto the world of real American song.rnYou rightly scorn a new kind (or shouldrnI say mutation) of fame, which has no existencernapart from the money pot—thusrnthe thief and harridan Hillary Clinton,rnthe grasping and corrupt Jesse Jackson.rnOne could go on about the rest.rnBut the point remains. Elvis does notrnbelong in this picture. He was a Southernrnboy who made good and was destroyed byrna world in which the rest of the people onrnyour cover flourish. That alone shouldrnhave given you pause. That you neglectedrnthis obvious contradiction should berncause for deep second thoughts and longrnfaces in your office.rnAs Merle Haggard has said, Elvis hasrngone from Graceland to the PromisedrnLand. Can you say that fate awaits anyonernelse on your cover?rn—Robert AlpertrnNewton, MArnDr. Fleming Replies:rnOur issue took up the arhficial constructionrnof celebrity, and if Elvis was the kingrnof anything, it was of hype. Even beforernCol. Tom Parker took over his career,rnElvis had shown a predilection for TinrnPan Alley over authentic rural music,rnand while he did have talent, the samerncan be said of many celebrihes who havernbeen hyped beyond their level of competence:rnJudy Garland, Norman Mailer,rnLeonard Bernstein—the list is endless.rnElvis’s rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes”rnis wonderful pop music, but it soundsrnphony after you go back to Carl Perkinsrn—who actually wrote many of thernsongs he performed. In the limited worldrnof Southern pop culture, Elvis—from therntime he recorded the execrable Lieberrnand Stoller composition “Hound Dog” tornhis sub-adolescent movies to his reincarnationrnas a postpubertal Wayne Newtonrn—strikes a false note. Elvis stands inrnthe same relationship to Carl Perkins andrnLittle Richard as Pat Boone stands tornElvis. He’s not the King—he’s not evenrnthe Duke of Earl.rnOn Morality in FilmrnIn his review of John Boorman’s The Tailorrnof Panama {In the Dark, June),rnCeorge McCartney comments in detailrnand at great length on what he perceivesrnto be the film’s merits. Some of these arernreal, though hardly worthy of the extravagantrnpraise that McCartney bestows. Hernespecially praises Pierce Brosnan for hisrnportrayal of a superficially suave, callous,rnruthless and generally revolting intelligencernagent. Besides the lavishness andrnextent of its praise, what is striking aboutrnMcCartney’s review is that it does not sornmuch as mention one of the movie’srnmost prominent features: its blatant andrnprotracted pandering to the presumedrnlascivious appetites and lurid imaginationrnof the audience. So the agent is arnbrutal manipulator, a rake and an inveteraternwomanizer: Why dwell on what isrnso quickly obvious, why describe everyrninstance and nuance of dissolute behavior,rnespecially if it happens to be sexual?rnNo artistic need is served. McCartneyrnrecognizes that Brosnan’s character is repulsive,rnbut instead of objecting to thernprolonged depiction of it, he calls it “fascinating,”rnas if anything of value might berngained from elaborate exploration of anrnessentially vulgar, sordid, and one-dimensionalrncharacter. The filmmakersrnseem really to enjoy this part of theirrnwork. They adopt a cynical perspectivernquite in tune with that of the intelligencernagent. What little survives of real lovernand integrity at the end of the action fi-rn4/CHRONICLESrnrnrn