rich in Hollywood’s old catechismnnever were abstractions of evil; in thenend they were either examples for thenpoor to emulate, or partners in somensort of moral rehabilitation, or adversariesnin life’s vicissitudes. This kindnof millionaire populism seemed wholesome,nrational and acceptable to everybodynin America; practitioners likenJohn Ford and Frank Capra had nontrouble bringing America to tears ornexultation, and were therefore remembered.nAll this has changed. The starnsystem no longer sustains the conceptnof good versus bad, virtue versus evil;nthe screen presence of the old stars hasnbeen replaced by the mere actorshipnand suspicious business acumen of thenbig names of today, who seem to bendramatic entrepreneurs rather thannfilm artists. Their total indifference tonwhom they portray and by what meansnthey achieve success is appalling. Thenjarring, garish, populist radicalism ofndirectors and producers, which, in theirnminds, gives them a sense of contemporaneity,nclashes so vulgarly withntheir wealth and life-styles that itntransforms them into social and culturalncaricatures. Their product, mostnoften vapid, insipid, and barren, notnonly is unable to generate popular attachment,nbut, derived from a worldnconceptualized at cocktail parties,nsmoke-ins and orgies, it tends to falsifynreality to the point of a luridnparody. Licentiousness versus bluenosenis no longer rebelliously didactic,nas the latter have become the bearersnof some exceptional virtue, while thenformer is now a tacky moral conformism,na commodity mass-marketed likenchewing gum. The value-free, massculturaln”creativity” may, of course,nprove profitable, but artistically cannturn out nothing but trash. In such anclimate, formal astuteness occasionallynoriginates mock sentimentality, technicalnbrilliance, stylized professionalism,ndecadent sophistication, or, at best, anpiece du milieu. For Hollywood, whichnhas always aspired to the status of ann24 inChronicles of Culturenautonomous culture, it means an unprecedentedndownfall. The moviesnlisted below document Hollywood’snnew low.n* * *nEyes of Laura Mars exemplifies thenLiberal Culture’s destruction of Hollywood’snone-time ability to handle positivenfeelings. Declared “”schlocky,”n”boring” or “cheap” decades ago bynthe libcultural wisdom, positive feelingsnhave finally been rooted out andnreplaced by the New Emotionality devisednfrom abomination, fear and violence.nHuman sensibility, wiped fromnthe “schmaltzy” lubricant, becomes innour time hopelessly impoverished,ndried out, reduced from sentiments tonreactions. Eyes of Laura Mars is aboutnempty, worn-out people who live livesnof animalistic loneliness in a self-created,nmodish jungle, and kill eachnother for no reason at all, or at leastnfor no reason graspable by normalnminds. A critic said that it is a movienabout women who need no one. It’s anhalf-truth: it’s about women whomnno one needs and who do not neednthemselves. This extreme alienation isnforcibly made into a new aesthetics, ornat least style. All this style needs is anplot concocted from a sleazy paperbacknpsychoanalysis and a visual paradenof repulsiveness in deed, look andnintention. The cynicism with whichnthe “creators” of such movies — directors,nscriptwriters, actors — go intonosmosis with their “characters” is unmatchednby any period of decadence innthe history of culture. Eyes has unusuallyngory detail, but not to horrify,nrather to anesthetize — a heinous “artistic”nmission. The nonsensicality ofnthe story is overpowering. One feelsnhelpless facing this ugly movie madenby ugly people about ugly people andnenacted by repugnant performers. Onenleaves the cinema with a wary feelingnthat words like “rationality” or “compassion”nhave been brutally evictednfrom a reality on which Orwell wouldnhave wanted to comment if he hadnknown it.nnnAnimalism as fun is promoted in anmovie properly entitled National Lampoon’snAnimal House. The mammalian,ncetacean and avian capacity for merrimentnis known to zoologists; there isnabundant evidence of a rich tradition ofnhumor in the world of primates, fromnwhich we inherited the comicality ofnpranks and high jinks. In their earliestnstage of evolution humans noticed thatna comical tension exists when badnessnis mistaken for goodness, while whatnpretends to be good actually stinks —nthis abysmal enigma of existence beingna veritable gold mine of potentialnlaughter. Ever since, mankind has developednand refined this observationninto some treasures of comedy, but thisnseems to have had no impact upon thencreators of Animal House. Thus, theynonce again revert to the most primitivensource for gaiety: naughtiness aboutnearly sexual drives and the joys ofnrandom destruction — and we allnlaugh, as laughing is an uncontrollednimpulse, often just a mindless contractionnof nerves.n* * *nWars are won or lost; history registersnfew draws, though inconclusivenessnof outcome is a common occurrence.nNeither victory nor defeat hasneasily predictable results. The firstnsometimes turns into lassitude whichnfrustrates and poisons societies. Thenlatter may prove a shake-up for rebirthnand be pregnant with future triumphsnof group will. France did not disintegratenafter Sedan in 1870, but camento nurture a revanchist determinationnamidst the semblance of insouciance.nEngland, after that heroic victory ofn1945, felt only a wish to dismantle itsnhistoric assets.nWhat history was unfamiliar withnwas the spectacle of a huge militarynforce that left the theater of war undefeatednbut disgusted. Mankind hadnnever seen a superior war machinenwhose political owners, in the midstnof action, became suffused with a suspicionnthat the moral costs of wagingn