The Moral Decline, Continued...

By now, you've probably figured out that the movie I'm referring to is The Wizard of Oz. I'm sure that surprises you. You're probably saying, "Mark, are you on drugs? That movie is as innocent as a fluffy baby chick!" Well, for your information, I'm not the one on drugs: that would be the movie's demure young protagonist, Dorothy Gale.

Oh, the filmmakers hid Dorothy's addiction quite well, but all the signs are there. They didn't actually show her satisfying her drug craving, but the minute that tornado hit the farm, the stress forced Dorothy to give in to her illicit need. Remember how she cried out, "Auntie Em, Auntie Em!"? Do you suppose she was trying to summon Aunt Emily?

I'm afraid not.

In this case, "Em" stood for Marijuana. Wacky terbacky. The devil's lawn clippings. And how are smoking sticks containing that hideous plant fabricated? Anybody who has seen a Cheech & Chong movie can answer that. The marijuana is placed on a small piece of paper and then twisted into a tight cylinder. That's just what she called out for next: "A twister! A twister!"

So, at some point during the tornado, Dorothy lit up a marijuana twister and before you can say, "Purple Haze," she was happily engaged in a rollicking technicolor brouhaha, the likes of which the world had never seen before. Soon, Dorothy was dancing with pint-sized, lollipop-licking villagers, traipsing through poppy fields, negotiating with a crazy wizard, fighting off a legion of flying monkeys dressed as bellboys, and talking with crabby trees that could fling their own apples. She even matched wits with a sharp-tongued, green-faced witch who was so utterly filthy, a quick bath (courtesy of a bucket of water) reduced her to a steaming puddle of slime. To prove her victory over the witch, Dorothy had to steal a blatant phallic symbol... the broom that the witch loved to stick between her bony legs and ride through the skies.

Considering the scope of her mind-boggling delirium, it becomes clear that Dorothy must have laced that joint with some animal tranquilizers, or maybe some magic mushrooms she found growing behind the barn. Once the world cast its collective peepers upon that elaborate, hyperactive drug-trip, the human race began a long, slow descent into Freak-Out-Ville, culminating in today's mega-violent, booty-crazed mass media and jaded society.

But that's not all. The Wizard of Oz also destroyed male role models in the movies for all time. The Little Tramp may have been poor, but at least he had character. He was a real stand-up guy. Dorothy hung out with the three sleaziest male leads ever to lurch across the silver screen.

First there was the Tin Man. Why such a cheap, flimsy metal? What's up with that? Why couldn't he have been made of good, wholesome American steel? A guy made out of tin would be easily dented and rickety. I wouldn't store a moldy sardine in his ramshackle chassis.

Next up was the Cowardly Lion. This effete, blubbery mass of shivering nerves would have been scared shitless if a windblown autumn leaf flew too close to his pudgy muzzle. That was supposed to be the King of the Beasts? He was nothing but a wussy pussy.

But by far, the very worst character in that tragic trio was the Scarecrow--a flea-ridden sadsack, a lopsided bundle of filthy old rags stuffed with straw. He wasn't even stuffed with hay, which at least would have had nutritional value for cattle. Do you know what farmers do with straw? They spread it in a farm animal's pen, for the creature to sleep on... and also to poop on. Basically, the Scarecrow was some kind of walking, talking livestock toilet.

So there you have it: drug-crazed Dorothy Gale sashaying down the Yellow Brick Road with a crummy discount robot, a flabby housecat with an anxiety disorder, and a living outhouse in a cheap suit. A pretty picture indeed. Any young American male watching that movie, hoping to find a cinematic standard to which he could aspire, would be sorely disappointed. Sadly, Dorothy's feisty little dog Toto was the only male in that movie with even the slightest degree of machismo.

There's really nothing that can be done to correct the damage done over the years by Dorothy and her mangy miscreants. Their movie's phantasmagoric drug-dream has turned our world into a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah. And like many of those parents I mentioned earlier, I dread to think what will become of today's young people, surrounded as they are by vice, violence and unbridled lechery.

If only there were adults in the world who would actually watch movies and listen to music with those young people. That way, if the young people had any questions, those adults would be there to explain specific concerns. Wouldn't that be nifty...?

Oh, but what good does it do for me to wish for impossible things? It would be great if such adults really existed, but how would they be recompensed for their time and effort? Would the government pay them? That would probably mean an increase in taxes, and people wouldn't go for that. Maybe the parents of the young people could pay them. Or maybe...

Hey, maybe the parents could do it themselves! That would save them a lot of money, and instead of blaming the media for everything their kids did wrong, they'd be taking a little responsibility themselves. With that in mind, I guess it's not really right for those parents to blame the media...

And, I guess it's wrong for me to blame Dorothy Gale for the moral decline of Western civilization. I'm sorry, Dorothy. I just got caught up in the moment! I now see that I was reading a lot of my earlier observations into your movie. For example, I suppose maybe... just maybe... that "twister" line might have been a reference to the tornado. And I'm thinking your three buddies probably aren't so bad after all.

I'm sorry, Tin Man.

Sorry, Cowardly Lion.

And Scarecrow ... considering what I said, I apologize to you most of all.

END