So I just managed to catch the first episode of Sacha Baron Cohen’s “Who Is America?” (2018), and it was predictably jaw-dropping. (I recently ran a couple of clips here at the blog that Showtime had released concurrently with the show’s July 15th premiere.) I’d rate the first episode a perfect 10 for being both hilarious and an absolutely biting half hour of … prank comedy? Subversive documentary? Performance art? I think any of those labels might apply in varying degrees, depending on how you view Cohen’s work. It’s wacky stuff.
I opine that Cohen is a creative genius. We can all debate the ethics of the imposter interviews that are his trademark (and there were a couple of moments during 2006’s “Borat” that made even me squirm). But nobody can deny that the man is exceptionally good at what he does. And I don’t think that his success derives from the false personas he adopts when sitting down with political figures. (There are several new ones that he’s created for the show.) They are funny by themselves, but not hilarious, and countless comedians can perform a character. (One of Cohen’s creations, the “Finnish Youtuber,” even reminds me a little of Dana Carvey.)
Cohen has something more. If I had to guess, I’d say that it’s a skill set that matches closely with that of any standard con-artist, allowing him to gain his interviewees’ trust to an extreme degree. I’m willing to bet that he works hard at building rapport with his subjects long before the cameras start rolling, and that the feckless nature of his false identities further puts them at ease.
Anyway, Episode 1 features interviews with Bernie Sanders and Trent Lott. A clip from the Sanders segment is below. He acquits himself far better than other participants, although I also think Cohen went far easier on him. (There isn’t actually a joke at Sanders’ expense; it’s really just Cohen’s character clowning.) The humiliating interview with disgraced Sheriff Joe Arpaio doesn’t appear until Episode 4, but I just had to include it here.
This is utterly bizarre, utterly funny stuff. I highly recommend it.
Here are three things you can do to show that support.
You can state that you oppose the president’s repeated statements that those news agencies he determines are “fake news” are not “the enemy of the American people.”
You can condemn threats of violence against news reporters.
And you can state your support for unfettered access to White House press briefings for all credentialed reporters, whether they are considered to be right-leaning (like Fox) or left-leaning (like CNN).
And you can share your stance with other Americans. In the Information Age (or Disinformation Age, depending on how you view it), your voice will reach farther than ever.
Hey, gang. This site’s web address is now “ericrobertnolan.com.”
I’m not sure if this will affect anyone who might have the old address bookmarked, so I thought I would let you know. (I know you can’t bear to go without my unique brand of online nerdery.) 😉
I’m not terribly happy with this reading — I had a cold at the time, and it certainly sounds like I rushed through it a bit. I still have fun with the poem, though.
That moon still sails past my window every night.
*****
“Roanoke Summer Midnight”
Its midnight moon is newly minted coin —
a white-hot silver obol
forged in burning phosphorus.
The crisping clouds around it blacken.
Its silhouetted mountains
are great blue gods at slumber
the faded-haze azure horizon’s
giants in the dim.
Those slopes have known a billion bones of hares
that raced upon them other midnights, then,
pausing, one by one,
drawing up their downy legs at last to final sleep.
Where the Shenandoahs’ driving
beryl falls to black,
aquamarine to onyx,
lay legions of hares — generations resting.
There are the hills where ivory
rabbits sleep among gods.
Ahead and under moonlight
the curving rural road obscures its end.
At right, an intersecting well-lit modern block
confuses the curling topography.
The fresh and symmetrical asphalt’s angle
mars the winding thoroughfare with order:
a ninety-degree anachronism.
That new and perfect subdivision
affronts the corner’s antebellum chimney,
broken down to stones and overrun in lavender
— its lilac colors driven plum by sunset.
That last century’s smokestack
was itself effrontery once
to the formless places where natives stayed
their only edifice the stars,
their only currency the blinding coin of moon.
Eyeing, then, the summits’ crowning cobalt
driving down in royal blue to coal,
I hope to one day take my rest
there, in the darkening indigo,
alongside giants,
among white rabbits in myriad easy stillness,
to pause myself at last and sleep beneath
what meadows stretch in cerulean dark,
where hares will race like moon-kissed silver,
or comets of darting pearl.
Church Avenue between the Circuit Court and the Texas Tavern. The impressive church that you see (this town has a lot of them) is Greene Memorial United Methodist Church.
5th Street Overpass near the Virginia Museum of Transportation. Mill Mountain is in the background. If you look closely at the sixth photo, you can see what looks like a gutted fighter jet to the right of the two antiquated trains. I can only assume those are connected with the museum. (So, too, is the rusting hulk in the seventh.)
Eric Robert Nolan, Author 