The Night of the Hunter

Saturday, 17 March, Year 10 d.Tr. | Author: Mircea Popescu

Motto :What a fellowship,what a joy divine,
Leaning on the everlasting arms
Leaning,
Leaning,
Safe and secure from all alarms.
Leaning,
Leaning,
Leaning on the everlasting arms.

The Night of the Hunteri is an old piece of pantsuit agitprop deeply relevant to public discourse today because of the naive, credulous and unrefined manner in which it tips its hand.ii

To understand each other : our colonies in North America have known three social models of manhood. In historical order :

  • the fop of (originally) Boston and then (by inheritance) New York, that guy dangling a tennis racket Humprhey Bogart spent the first half of his career trying to escape ;
  • the actual male, of Pennsylvania and the rural original colonies, inherited by Chicago, Detroit and the Alamo, that guy whom women serve, on their knees, and naturally ;
  • the Western steer, principally of California and its cultural dependenciesiii, aka Zed's gimp, a thoroughly decerebrated slave, there to move weights around at the behest of the female in the saddle.

We won't go into all the intricacy of historical detail -- as to what the cultural ascendancy of California in the decades after the war both means and was driven by ; as to how New York malesiv briefly experienced a Chicago infatuation leading to some type two resurgence between the wars ; as to why exactly Texas (and its Mississippi and Ozark cultural dependencies -- there's a reason Alabama's barefoot) is Texas and how Detroit intermediated that southern migration of the scions of the sanded port of Penn. Suffice to say that when Lilian Gish says into the phonev

Miz Booher ? Rachel Cooper. Get your state troopers out to my place.

you immediately see exactly what Ballas meant by

Ok, but what happens when violence finds you and a hero is needed?

That's why the end of Gran Torino fits so well -- this is a *spoiler*, though they don't so much foreshadow this ending as they do scream it at you from the opening scene-- he goes to confront the bad guys and dies in a hail of bullets -- the end which is so obvious and predictable but at the same time the only one that would speak to this generation of narcissists: when we need a hero, heroes are obligated to rise up and serve, but please have the decency to die afterwards so we can go back to second guessing the ethics of your actions.

We hate to be reminded that there are others who are better than us; but, for the love of God, please let there be people better than us.

(besides, of course, his self-inclusion in the "we" of the female herd).

Thus equipped, we can actually understand this story : a little boy is confronted with the choice (and a seemingly unreliable female sibling, that he never trusts but who nevertheless never betrays), in the shape of his father, an actual man, dropping the bomb on him. Another actual man, deeply, fundamentally and irredeemably hostile, takes up his little boy milk scent, and is pressing down the doors -- and god almighty I'm hardpressed to think of anything more satanic than the (exceptional!) Mitchum character going down that hill crest under the moonlight singing the mottovi. "Doesn't he ever sleep ?!" is exactly right. But no -- evil never sleeps.

As depicted in the film, the little boy cracks up under the burden, and returns the package. "It's too much! It's too much!" he cries. For many fenotypical boys manhood indeed is too much, which is why "go West, young'un" is such a commonplace. Go there, it's where Rachel Cooper coops up all the insufficients, there'll be a pair of lederhosen and the occasional apple waiting for you in Californy! Take the first left after Frisco.

Pretty much the entirety of contemporary discourse as well as behaviourvii is laid out, plainly and unobfuscated, for your viewing pleasure. If going through it will be enjoyable or annoying... well... I'd rather set that down to mood.

In any case, remember : there's nothing more rural, provincial, unrefined, acultural or plain old uninteresting than California. And for very good reasons, at that.

———
  1. 1955, by Charles Laughton, with an exceptional Robert Mitchum and a well pickled Lilian Gish. []
  2. More in-depth discussion of how this works can be had over at Consumerism is not the answer, though it will put you to sleep ; or, American History X. []
  3. Why did you think women had the vote in Oregon ? []
  4. At all historical points cosmopolitan, which is to say not cleanly subscribing to any particular current. This then was seized upon by the usual sort of poisonous jewry, who spun it into myriad tendentious misrepresentations, all directed at somehow obfuscating the true source of the difference in models. In spite of their best efforts however, it's plain evident that neither the marx-ziggler concept of "class" nor any other such low rent nonsense has any bearing on the matter.

    Yes the foppish and the "criminal" (aka poor) sections of New York went Southern just as the "middle class" (aka "church going") sections went Western, hence the know-nothing movement and the draft riots (you know about these, by the way ? what do you know ?) and the Volstead act (to "break the power of the publican", you understand) and so following. These demographic considerations are caused by, and not the cause of, the deeper and more fundamental gender role divide. []

  5. And note how this quote is universally truncated on the net today, into either the mendacious through omission

    Get your state troopers out here. I got something trapped in my barn.

    or else out-and-out counterfictive retcons a la

    Then, she phones the State Troopers to come and arrest the Preacher, telling an officer: "I've got something trapped in my barn."

    Admire the instinctive shitheelery baked in, "an officer". Right ? []

  6. I've searched ; no one sings it better. No one else even understands what the fuck the song is even about, buncha tonedeaf retards the lot. []
  7. As a for instance : the Mitchum character subtly takes advantage of a) the fact that there's such a dearth of actual men in the pantsuit space and b) the unescapable universal that the women composing it are just as eager as any other women to give themselves into the hand of a man by pretending their idiotic nonsense. He's a preacher, don't you know, much like the con men selling useless rifles and assorted nonsense to oldsters are "conservative". If they weren't, they wouldn't advertise on naive-old-losers.com, would they now!

    Is this different from today's beta male "transsexuals" trying to fit in among the herd ? Different how ? "Virtue signalling" is just the first step on the road to the knife. The step just before hormonal supplements. What, you didn't know ? And what else didn't you know, you thought "vegans" eat lots and lots of soy for their convictions ? What fucking convictions ? []

Category: Trilematograf
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