The 1992 movie “Bob Roberts” offers an uncannily prescient, satirical look at a candidacy much like Donald Trump’s.

Written, directed by and starring Tim Robbins, “Bob Roberts” is a mock-umentary about an ultra-conservative millionaire businessman—who’s also a folksinger—who  runs for the U.S. Senate in Pennsylvania. He is supported by fanatic followers. He spouts a xenophobic, America-first, me-first, all-about-the-money philosophy. His followers exhibit some very weird, cult-like behaviors, and are routinely violent against people protesting his candidacy. He even hosts a a beauty pageant–and sings the theme song “She’s a Beautiful Girl.”

I had seen this film before, but I couldn’t have known at the time that it would be the script for the Trump campaign. This time around, I was floored by the jaw-dropping parallels. The one big difference is that, in “Bob Roberts,” the media is openly disgusted by his campaign. They do chase around after him in a Trump-like frenzy, but they’re not fawning–more like ogling.

This is a really good movie—its production values, acting and dialogue hold up very well 26 years later. As you watch it, you’ll recognize members of the supporting cast as younger versions of actors who are better known today. You’ll be name-checking all the way through the movie. [Teaser: One of the out-of-control Roberts fanboys is played by a very young Jack Black.]

Also, the folk songs that Roberts uses to promote his philosophy are hilarious. [Tim Robbins wrote them and performs them—straight-faced– as well.] As Roberts, Tim Robbins does a right-wing version of Bob Dylan’s famous “Subterranean Homesick Blues” video, in which key words are hand-written on cue cards that he drops as the soundtrack plays. In another perverse homage to Dylan, he leads swaying, adoring fans and a church choir in an anthem called “ Times Are Changin’…Back.”  He even steals from Woody Guthrie in a song called “This Land Was Made for ME.”  It’s worth your while to listen closely to the lyrics of the Bob Roberts songs, and not simply dismiss them as soundtrack, background music.

“Bob Roberts” didn’t get the attention it deserved when it was first released–probably because it seemed too wacky and improbable. Unfortunately, reality has now caught up with it.

Here’s the trailer:

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On the recommendation of someone who said everyone should see the movie “Rich Hill,” I attended the early show this morning.

I hadn’t read anything about the film before going and didn’t know it was a documentary about three families in Missouri. Rich Hill is near the Kansas border on highway 71 between Kansas City and Joplin. One of the families also lived temporarily in Thayer and Nevada, MO.

The movie focuses on three adolescent boys and lets them tell about their lives in their own way and their own words. To say they live difficult lives doesn’t begin to describe the tragic circumstances they are dealing with. None of the boys has a stable family or capable parents. One boy does receive some affection from his drug-addicted mother and mentally challenged father. The other two boys are constantly criticized for their behavior, which, of course, makes them act out even more.

This evening, I called up the list of programs on my DVR to find something to watch that wasn’t about Ferguson, the police, protests and the racial divide in our country. I chose an episode of Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show,” and the guest was Tracy Droz Tragos, the woman who made the Rich Hill documentary. What are the chances of that?

Jon Stewart tried to describe the living conditions in the places where the three boys lived but had trouble verbalizing something so totally foreign to him. I would imagine the scenes in the movie would be foreign to many of us too, but they are just a short drive away from our safe, comfortable homes. A person doesn’t have to go very far off one of Missouri’s major highways to find conditions every bit as heart wrenching as those in Rich Hill.

Stewart commented that the congresswoman who represents that part of Missouri voted to cut SNAP benefits. I assume he was referring to Vicky Hartzler. Some of the progressive blogs mentioned her several times during the debate last year about the farm bill and food stamps. I’ve become so numb to the injustices committed by our U.S. Congress and Missouri General Assembly, that it takes a movie like “Rich Hill” to force me to experience them as real.

One of the scenes that made me shake my head was in the principal’s office when a boy suffering from having been sexually abused by his stepfather as a child wants to call his grandmother to come get him. The principal follows the rules and tells the boy he can’t keep going home pretending to be sick. In an exchange with the principal, the boy exhibits quick thinking and logic that reminded me of an attorney questioning a witness. But this is the same boy who is confused in the gun and knife store when he can’t find any money in his wallet to buy another knife.

I think about the conversations I’ve had with friends about why parents don’t take more responsibility for their children’s education. How can parents not know when school is beginning? Most of them have television, and they must see the “Back to School” ads. How can they not be curious enough to find out when the first day of school is? Why don’t they feed their kids a healthy breakfast and get them to school ready to learn?

This movie made me realize I’ve been asking questions based on all the wrong information. I’m reminded of a recent panel discussion about gun violence where the superintendent of the Jennings School District described why the school provides breakfast and lunch on Saturdays for their kids. She said that, in some cases, it’s a long time from Friday night to Monday for kids dealing with events in their neighborhood that no kid should have to experience.

The kids in Rich Hill shouldn’t have to live in such abusive situations either. Jon Stewart and the filmmaker talked about the boys’ resiliency. One of the boys is, in fact, the parent to his mother, father and younger sister. He keeps hoping God will help his father find permanent employment. When he realizes his father is not mentally or emotionally capable of sticking to one job very long, he rationalizes that his dad has hopes and dreams like anyone else. No rancor. No accusations. After failing at everything else, the dad decides to go west and look for gold or silver. He says he wants to have enough money to take his two kids to Wal-Mart and give them each $400 to buy whatever they want. The postscript on the screen after the movie said that the mother died of an overdose and the boy is living with his father and sister in Colorado.

As we left the theatre, my friend said, “Well, that was depressing.” That’s all she will probably think about the movie, but I always want to understand and ask why things are the way they are.

From “The Other America” by Michael Harrington to “Rich Hill” by Tracy Droz Tragos, have we, as a society, made any progress in the poorest parts of rural America? From the Civil Rights Acts of the mid-sixties to protests in Ferguson, have we made any progress in our attempts to treat all groups with respect and dignity?

Looking back 50 years, I think we can say, yes, there have been some good things happening. Child molestation is a serious crime with serious penalties. In the movie, the stepfather wasn’t arrested because the police said there wasn’t enough evidence. The boy’s mother is now in jail for trying to kill her husband. I’d like to think the police would handle a case like that differently today.

We’ve made progress in many ways, but, in many parts of the country, we still seem to be falling deeper and deeper into helplessness. I have to agree with those who say some people create their own failures by the choices they make. I’m thinking about how almost everyone in the movie smoked, including the 13 year old boy. One of the mothers lights her cigarette from the heating coil of the toaster. Several of them were smoking in bed. Where do they get money for cigarettes? One of the boys calls his grandmother and begs her to spend part of their food stamp money on an energy drink for him. She explains she has only $200 for the whole family, and it has to last a month. The boy who gets kicked out of 6th grade for assaulting other students plays violent video games at home. It makes me wonder what in the world those parents are thinking.

But then I see commercials on TV where scantily dressed supermodels are taking big bites out of enormous hamburgers. I see ads telling us to relax, pamper ourselves, call in sick to work to go to a baseball game, borrow money for cars we can’t afford, TGIF. No one ever says they are anxious to get back to work on Monday. We never hear people talking about how they love their jobs and feel good about making a contribution to society. We leave all of that to charities, churches and other non-profits.

I keep going back to a book I read in the early 1990’s by Neil Postman. Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business was published in 1984 and analyzed how television and other forms of visual entertainment were changing the basic ways people see and process information. Most of Postman’s predictions have come true. We have become consumers not just of material things we don’t need but of political propaganda intended to keep us ignorant. There are ads on TV telling us how to get out of paying taxes. We’re encouraged to blame everyone else for our problems and sue anyone who causes us distress. There are lawyers who will gladly champion just about any case where there is money to be made. We’re more interested in the sex lives of celebrities than in what our kids are learning in school. Newspaper articles discuss what percentage of the tax “burden” the middle class bears. I remember when newspaper articles began with the facts (who, what, where, when and how) instead of an emotional story about one of the people in the story. Education has to be “fun” or kids tune out. But so do their parents, so what can we expect of the kids?

Obviously I am not talking about 100% of Americans. No need to list the hard workers and their achievements. They get their share of attention, and good for them. But can we honestly say the values needed to keep a society functioning properly are strong enough to keep us afloat much longer? The stock market is doing great, but wages haven’t kept up with inflation. CEO’s earn 400 times as much as their employees. Corporations are not embarrassed about using “inversion” tactics to open an office overseas and avoid paying taxes. Sea levels are rising but we can’t do anything about it because fossil fuel companies control Congress and the media.

So who can blame those people at the bottom of the economic ladder for not setting goals, planning ahead or trying harder to be self-sufficient? Letters to the editor blame parents for not providing a stable, healthy learning environment for their kids. But what if those parents didn’t have a nurturing home as children, and their parents didn’t either?

I don’t know the answer, but I suspect it will take programs like that in the Jennings District to open up opportunities for success to students whose families are not up to the task. Students in that district receive good nutrition, after school tutoring and activities, home visits by school personnel including the superintendent, help with buying uniforms and keeping them clean, and challenging classroom activities. Not to mention dedicated teachers. To increase attendance at PTA meetings, parents receive a bag of groceries as they leave. This may be what will have to happen all over the country. There probably are many more examples of communities raising children and giving them the positive environment they need to develop character and ambition.

In Missouri it will be an uphill battle because there are profiteers who have been sabotaging districts that need more help, not defunding. They set up impossible goals and then punish districts that can’t compete. Anyone who goes to see “Rich Hill” will recognize the futility of making more and more demands on students whose splintered lives make it impossible for them to meet our expectations.

I, for one, will not be making any more judgmental comments about a world I know nothing about.

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I was 17 and skeptical when I saw the movie poster for Chicago 10 at the Missouri History Museum where I work. The exaggerated cartoon figures seemed almost comical and when my boss tried to tell me that was I was about to see was like none of the other documentaries we had screened I was decidedly doubtful. Then it began. Then it changed me.

It was in fact, like nothing I had ever seen. It was a partially animated documentary based on the infamous court transcripts of the equally infamous Chicago 8, a trial so infamous that I had never heard of it. The Yippie Party had been omitted from my history textbooks. I had no idea that for three days in 1968 Chicago became a police state. So when I saw the video of Abbie Hoffman and Jerry Rubin dance across the screen, when I saw the mob “take the hill” and one man plant the Vietnam flag on a statue only to be beaten by police, and when I saw Bobby Seale gagged and bound, demanding his right to be heard, my pulse raced and my all of my perceptions, about the sixties legacies had to be reconstructed.

As protesters shouted, “The whole world is watching” I watched. When the tear gas and the beatings began, I saw the smallest battle of Vietnam play out outside the Hilton Hotel in downtown Chicago. It was vulgar. It was terrifying. It was radical. And I wished I could’ve been a part of it. I couldn’t keep from feeling a grudging admiration for the radical young men and women who were willing to be beaten if it brought peace. I wanted to join the movement.

The convention was the democrat’s nightmare incarnate. It exposed the cracks in the party’s foundation that had been becoming more and more prominent as LBJ’s war progressed. It was probably the most derisive moment within the Democratic Party in recent history.  It was a plea to start anew and it was a battle; the Yippies’ Last Stand, against a violent society that allowed Vietnam to happen. It was “The Second American Revolution” that heralded Nixon’s presidency.

Yet, the way they protested was actually quite ingenious. Everything they did had a purpose. They created what they called, the Yippie myth and made outlandish claims such as they’d poison Lake Michigan with LSD (clearly impossible) and they would burn Chicago to the ground, claims that were almost as outlandish as the lies coming from Vietnam. They were careful to preach for peace and their recruiting tool was simple, Chicago was a human be-in, they would be-in Chicago’s parks for the convention and that would be enough.

The Chicago 8 used the trial for publicity, to expose the court system as corrupted. They were charged with conspiracy so they answered the phones calling themselves “the conspiracy.” It was all a challenge to authority. It forced Chicago and America to show its totalitarianism thereby proving what the Yippies ultimately wanted to say: Violence was ingrained deep enough in our society it could be exercised on peaceful protesters. They were not just fighting for Vietnam; they wanted to “create a society where Vietnam could never have been possible.”

I admired the radicals. Their demonization seemed like a double standard. The media and politicians could demonize protesters but wouldn’t dare attack Kennedy’s personal life. Their propaganda was extreme, and their language was vulgar but they had to be extreme, they had to be the polar opposite of war.

It wasn’t just their message that was intriguing. It was their speeches and actions. I will never forget hearing Abbie Hoffman respond to reporters when they asked him what his price would be to call off “the revolution.” His answer was “my life.” I’ll never get over the chants of the “whole world is watching” from the convention that preceded the violence. And I’ll always have an image of Bobby Seale being bound and gagged in his chair still struggling to demand his right to defend himself.

During Hoffman’s testimony he called himself an orphan of America.  I could relate. There are undeniable parallels between our society today and the turbulence of 1968. Just like Vietnam, I live in a world where Americans have been lied to about war. I live in a world that was shocked by 9/11 similarly to the shock of JFK’s assassination. The sixties were the epoch of assassinations. Today, guns are taken up against children in our schools. The destruction of the Voting Rights Act has pulled us into the past. Modern America is closer to sixties than it ever has been before. As a millennial. I can look back at the era of turbulence and relate it to my life.

But unlike the protesters in Chicago, the youth in America is refusing to stand up. Our technology is no longer used as a tool for activism but as a distraction that lets us isolate ourselves from the issues. Unlike the rich meaning of rebellious protest music from the sixties, today’s popular music feels soulless, and meaningless. We live in a world where all the components are there to create a movement, and to create change, but no one is willing to take a stand. No one wants to stand up for the greater good.

Now I realize that the Chicago 10 made me awaken to my reality. It’s a reality that desperately needs change. The world of the protesters at the Chicago Democratic National Convention and my own are so similar, so why do I feel so far away from the era of change?  We are making the same mistakes today but have forgotten our spirit of activism.

And I am an orphan of America. Here. Ready. Waiting for a movement.

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Directed by Paul Greengrass, and starring Tom Hanks, with outstanding performances by a group of Somali actors, Captain Phillips can be viewed and enjoyed purely as a well-made, based-on-a-true-incident action/adventure flick. But beneath the surface, there’s more to think about. Fortunately, Greengrass has avoided the temptation to club us over the head with the subtext, allows the story to tell itself, and lets viewers draw their own conclusions.

Even a casual viewer can intuit that there’s more to the story than just the action. I left the movie theatre wrung out from the suspense—even though the real-life 2009 incident has been extensively covered by the press, and even though we know the outcome before the film begins. But I also left thinking about one particular theme that played out on several levels: Virtually everyone in the story was playing the role of pawn in someone else’s game. Phillips may have been the only hostage held at gunpoint, but he was not the only person in the story who was being manipulated by factors beyond his control. Here are my ideas about some of the other hostage scenarios that were at work during the Maersk Alabama incident.

Pawn hypothesis 1: Captain and crew

At one point, when it’s clear that they’re in danger of being boarded by Somali pirates, members of the crew angrily remind Captain Phillips that this is not what they signed on for. But Phillips—a company man whose duties include protecting the cargo—reminds them that they did, indeed sign on for this dangerous route. Perhaps [I’m speculating here] they were getting extra pay for the hazardous duty, and perhaps that extra pay was an incentive that made the risk worthwhile. Or perhaps, as has been alleged [but not depicted in the movie], Captain Phllips, in an effort to be a better company man, steered the Maersk Alabama on a fuel-saving shortcut that took it too close to pirate-infested waters. Later, 16 of the 19 Alabama crew members sued Captain Phillips for damages, claiming that he ignored warnings of piracy and the admonition to keep ships at least 600 miles off the Somali coast. The Maersk Alabama was attacked 380 miles offshore. Ultimately, the workers were at the mercy of management and their own economic needs, and management itself may have been co-opted by a corporate culture of cost efficiency.

Pawn hypothesis 2:  Pirates

The Somali pirates, while doing a lot of improvising, were anything but independent players. Only one line of dialogue in the movie hints at the reason the pirates are so intent on taking the ship and holding it for insurance ransom. Captain Phillips says to them, “You’re not fisherman anymore, are you?” That sentence refers to the dire economic and environmental circumstances that have driven some former Somali fisherman into the dangerous world of hijacking cargo ships off the horn of Africa.

After a civil war in 1991 wiped out the last vestiges of an organized government in Somalia, the country’s coastline—a rich fishery—was left unguarded. Fishing fleets from all over the world swooped in, overfishing the area, depleting its underwater population, and making it virtually impossible for low-tech, Somali fishermen to compete. Some nations also used the unprotected Somali coastline as a convenient dumping ground for toxic waste–further degrading the natural habitat that supported local fishermen. Deprived of their livelihood, some of those fishermen turned to piracy. Others—some who had never been fishermen at all—saw an opportunity to make money by hijacking commercial cargo ships. And some, as is implied by the movie, became the bosses who motivated and controlled pirates like those who tried to hijack the Maersk Alabama.

Pawn hypothesis 3: Military

While the rescue of Captain Phillips and the Maersk Alabama appears to be a legitimate engagement for the U.S. Navy, it’s worth examining this incident as an example of the uses of U.S. military power—or the military power of any nation, for that matter. It’s important to remember that most wars have been fought over resources. So, when politicians talk about “protecting American interests,” they’re referring as much to American corporate interests as they are to America’s security interests. I’m not sure if, in my pawn theory, that makes the U.S. Navy a pawn for protecting the Maersk Alabama, or if it makes the Maersk Alabama and its crew the pawns in U.S. foreign policy. Either way, it’s worth pondering the role of the U.S. military.

Pawn hypothesis 4: Heroes

Finally, on a more macro level, I can’t help thinking that the whole portrayal of the Captain Phillips saga is part of the hero game played by American media. Contemporary mass media have created a “hero industrial complex,” in which central players in a variety of episodes are glorified and lauded as heroes. After the Maersk Alabama incident, Captain Phillips was seen as a hero who offered himself as a hostage to protect his crew. Even Phillips—the real one—has called that portrayal media hype. Captain Phillips, while showing that the captain was at gunpoint when he entered the lifeboat, still leaves the impression that the man was heroic. Casting Tom Hanks—an actor with a very high likeability quotient—certainly adds a halo effect. And while this particular movie did a reasonable job of sticking to the facts on record, it still glossed over some details and skipped most of the back story of the pirates, in the pursuit of a bankable movie. Yes, it’s just a movie–we can expect poetic license and suspension of disbelief. But too many hyped-up news reports and Hollywood movies–ostensibly based on fact–do history a disservice by distorting—or at least oversimplifying—reality as a way of creating a feel-good-America story and, of course, driving up ratings and selling tickets.

I enjoyed Captain Phillips as an adventure story, and so will many others, I’m sure. I only hope that people will take a few moments, after catching their breath, to think about the deeper issues that lie below decks.

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The Jan. 1, 2009 headlines said: “22-year-old, unarmed black man fatally shot by BART police.” For too many Americans, it was just another example of—choose your cliché from the list—[police brutality] [urban crime] [gun violence] [New Year’s Eve drunkenness] [racial profiling] [rowdy teenagers getting in trouble..again].

The headline gave the surface view. The stereotypes in the list kicked in immediately. In reality, we found out in the days that followed, the incident was some of the above, all of the above, and none of the above.

That’s what the newly released movie, “Fruitvale Station” makes you think about. In telling the story of the last day in the life of Oscar Grant, “Fruitvale Station” avoids clichés and hype, hewing closely to the events leading up to Grant’s death, handcuffed, lying on his stomach on the BART station floor, and shot in the back at point-blank range by an overzealous, or confused, or panicked, or racist [choose your descriptor] transit cop.

It’s not a “true-crime story,” in the usual sense—the ones that are ostensibly “ripped from the headlines” and then embellished with outrageous special effects and plot twists.  Nor is it a superhero story. There are no car crashes, heroic rescues, exploding bombs, severed body parts, or slo-mo shots of bullets. Rather, it’s the straightforward story of one troubled young man, trying to put his life back together for the sake of his girlfriend, his mother, and the four-year-old daughter he adores.

What we see in this movie—as opposed to the typical American blockbuster—is Oscar’s humanity, the complexities of his circumstances, and the pressures closing in around him. He’s multi-dimensional—not just a “punk,” as he might be stereotyped by his prison record—and not a punk transformed into a saint. He makes some bad choices. He has trouble controlling his anger. But he’s warm, tender and involved in the details of his daughter’s life [in one scene, he fixes her hair]. He wants to do better, but turning things around is complicated.

In other words, Oscar Grant is portrayed as a person, not a type.

Watching this powerful, emotionally wrenching story unfold, with its simply told, up-close feel and dialogue that sounded spontaneous and authentic, I couldn’t help thinking about my own prejudices and stereotyped views of “criminals,” “victims,” and people who are culturally different from my own white-bread expectations.

And, of course, it made me think about Trayvon Martin, George Zimmerman and my own—possibly prejudiced and stereotypical—reactions to each of them and to the equally tragic story that played out in Sanford, Florida.

I highly recommend that you see “Fruitvale Station.” It will open your mind, and your tear ducts.

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The new movie, “42,” tells the should-be-well-known story of Jackie Robinson, the first black player in major league baseball. For American sports fans of a certain vintage, the breaking of the color line in major league baseball in April 1947 is a familiar story of courage and grace under fire. But for baseball agnostics and for younger generations, the facts–and worse yet, the meaning–of Robinson’s story are already getting lost in the shuffle, only 60+ years down the line.  Sadly, the movie also offers yet another example of how some of the  hard-won social breakthroughs of the 20th century have been allowed to erode–or have never really been completely accomplished at all.

So, “42” comes at an opportune time. Although I’m skeptical–as I have written before–of movies claiming to be “based on a true story,” I didn’t fact-check this one, because it seems to have gotten the basics of the story right: Branch Rickey, who ran the Brooklyn Dodgers in the 1940s, decided to add a black player to his roster–perhaps, as is suggested in the movie, because of a personal hurt he experienced as a child–or perhaps because he recognized that the Negro leagues of the era had exceptional ballplayers whose skills could provide the advantage Rickey needed to win a World Series with his team, and of course, sell more tickets. Legend–and this movie [plus an earlier version made in 1950]–has it that Rickey chose Robinson because he was a speedy base runner with a great bat, and because he seemed to have the grit necessary to withstand the racial hatred that was bound to come his way.

History tells us that Rickey was right, even if the story has been idealized by Hollywood. And, to its credit, “42” doesn’t hold back in depicting the virulent racism that Robinson faced. The “n word,” as we’ve sanitized it in our contemporary, politically correct world, is used abundantly. We hear fans screaming it, players and managers taunting Robinson with it, and even children shouting it out. We even read it in hate mail Robinson received via the Brooklyn Dodgers front office.  Through it all, Robinson holds his temper–publicly–because he knows that to act as an angry black man would be to confirm the racial stereotypes of those who hated him for his color and for his audacity in integrating the white-man’s game.

What I took away from “42” was not just that Branch Rickey was a shrewd baseball man and perhaps a social iconoclast, and not just that Jackie Robinson was a remarkable baseball player and accidental role model who refused to crumple under pressure.

I left the movie theater remembering that, 60 years later, Barack Obama’s quest to integrate the white-man’s White House was a story with many parallels to that of Jackie Robinson. I thought about the many attempts, during the 2012 presidential election, by Republican state legislatures to game the voting system in a way that, essentially, disenfranchised black voters. And a few days later, I read that, in April 2013, the governor of Georgia refused to support the idea of a racially integrated high-school prom in a school district in his state.

How naive of us to think that Jackie Robinson, Brown v. Board of Education, Martin Luther King, the Civil Rights movement, the Voting Rights Act, and the fact of President Barack Obama had settled the race issue in America.

Similarly, other 20th century battles that many of us thought (okay, hoped) were settled are still not done: Supreme Court Chief Justice John Roberts has called Roe v. Wade “settled law.” But even that pronouncement doesn’t put the reproductive rights issue to rest. Workers’ rights and collective bargaining–painstakingly won over many years of the early 20th century–are under fire and are being undone at an alarming pace. And for all of our pride in the progress of women in the U.S., we still haven’t passed an Equal Rights Amendment to the constitution, and the closest we can get to pay equality for women is the baby step of the Lily Ledbetter Act.

It’s sad and disillusioning for a lifelong, card-carrying, bleeding-heart liberal like me. I can only hope that history is cyclical, and that the pendulum will swing back again toward expanded human and civil rights, and  more empathy and generosity of spirit–and that the lessons we should have learned from stories like that of Jackie Robinson won’t be lost forever.

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