Greetings to the People’s Republic of the Internet! This
is Left Thumb reporting for duty. It’s been far too long, I know, I know. As I
wander back into the hypothetical and strictly mental office space of the
Thumbs—remember, we were always pressed for funding because SOMEONE never
donated*—a few thoughts pop into my head.
First, it’s really dusty around here. Seriously, it’s
about as dusty as the part of Ayn Rand’s brain where thought occurs—that’s how
long since we’ve really poked around in here, aside from some of Right Thumb’s
self-styled “solo projects.”
Speaking of those solo projects—that was the second
thought. It happens to be the Christmas season presently, which means I
recently watched the incomparable classic It’s
a Wonderful Life. And when I look back at all the recent Star Wars posts I
can’t help but think: this is like
Clarence giving me a glimpse of what the blog would look like if I had never
been born. Don’t get me wrong—Right Thumb is an indispensable half of the
greatest dynamic duo ever to grace the planet.** But without both halves, the
cozy, all-American Bedford Falls that is Two Thumbs Sideways shrinks into
something more like Pottersville, a pale and perverted imitation of itself
where everyone ends up kind of cranky.
With that in mind, here’s what I don’t have to offer you:
1) a good excuse for my three-year absence; 2) a joint post, which is really
what this blog needs so desperately; or 3) a satisfying explanation for why monkeys do not ride goats off into the sunset.
But here’s what I do have to give, in increasing order of
importance: 1) a bite-size reflection on the greatest movie of the season, It’s a Wonderful Life; 2) a respite from
Right Thumb’s sanctimonious slashing of subpar Star Wars films; and lastly, 3)
your long-awaited dose of classic Left Thumb wit, whimsy, and wonder. I promise
the rest of this post won’t be quite so self-referential and self-reverential.
At least, I’ll try.
Question posed: Why
do we love George Bailey so much?
Admit it: you love George Bailey. If you don’t, just stop
reading. There’s no point in continuing because too many of our basic
conceptions concerning reality are so out-of-sync that we can have no
meaningful conversation whatsoever. Everyone loves George Bailey. If you don’t,
you’re officially not part of “everyone.”
There are the obvious reasons, of course. He’s likeable,
he’s funny, and he can apparently dance the Charleston pretty well. And of
course, he’s Jimmy-freaking-Stewart, which always helps. Even when our man
Jimmy plays an obsessive acrophobic stalker in Vertigo, we still like him. He’d probably even be likeable if
Michael Bay had directed every single one of his movies, and the entirety of
his screen time consisted of him slowly walking away from massive explosions—without
looking back. (Actually, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’d be
pretty awesome.) Still, in the case of George Bailey, there are deeper reasons
at work, of which I’d like to point out just two.
Numero eins: George
is someone to whom virtue does not come easily. He drags his feet all the way to his
own sainthood, and we drag our feet with him. We feel his pain as his dream of
attending college dies—not once, but twice. We feel the guilt-tinged disappointment when
he and Mary skip their own honeymoon to keep the Building and Loan afloat.
Opportunity after opportunity for escape eludes him and it eludes us. The pain
of sacrifice is palpable even as we know exactly what needs to be done—and even
though we know it will end up better
in the long run. It still hurts, and that rings true. George’s reluctant
heroism is in contrast even to some of Stewart’s other most notable characters
on screen. Mr. Smith, the hero of the “other” Capra/Stewart classic, is such a
good guy through and through that he feels somewhat saccharine—the conflict is
purely external, between Smith and the corruption in D.C. The drama comes from
how out of place he is, not from any real internal struggle or journey. Kind of
like if there were a movie about Right Thumb calmly becoming a lumberjack and
growing a big bushy Bunyon-beard. Please, dearest internet—someone make that movie.
Number deux: George
is constantly taking one step forward and two steps back. In his early twenties
he rightly calls out Potter for his nefarious scheming, but later in life is
almost willing to take a job from him. He seems fairly happy at points with his
marriage, children, and friends, but when the excrement hits the proverbial air-conditioner,
all the old demons come back, and he starts wondering if his life has amounted
to anything at all. The promise of the “other life” he (and we) could be living
never fully leaves him alone despite knowing it to be a fantasy. George has no
great momentous conversion experience that settles his doubts once and for all,
never to return. (At least, not until the end of the story, but that is more or
less due to divine intervention which is kind of the whole point.) Again—it rings
true to reality. For example, I used to operate under the illusion that when a
person committed their life to prayer—say, oh I don’t know, in a Carthusian
monastery—they become holy and never looked back. They certainly would no
longer be the kind of people who were preoccupied with washbasins and things
like that. But then I watched Into Great Silence and I realized that during our time on this side of the
grave (which, if you're a Trappist, may not be long if the Carthusians have
anything to say about it), we will always be fighting our own foibles and flaws.
Right Thumb and I will always have to struggle with pride based on our superior intellects, and our blog cover models will have similar issues with their delirious good looks. It’s just the way it is, and
George Bailey helpfully reminds us of such important things.
So, that about sums it up. Are these groundbreaking
thoughts? Surely not. But remember that It’s
a Wonderful Life does not require groundbreaking thoughts. It is that which
we break ground in order to reach.***
Yours in peace, love, and Battlestar Galactica,
<< L % E /\ F + T -<>- T * H {} U ~ M # B >>
* That someone is you. Just in case you were wondering.
If you’d like to repent of your miserliness at this late hour, feel free to
send a check our way. Send it MY way, actually, as Right Thumb actually has
what they tell me is called a Paying Job™ and seems to add a few inches to his
plasma screen every week or so. I, on the other hand, subsist on mozzarella sticks
and hopeless dreams. Anyway, just be sure to put “Left Thumb’s Corner Office
Fund” in the check memo. Alternatively, “Search for the True Academician” still works.
** Condolences to the following runners-up: Batman and
Robin, Han and Chewie, BCATSK (Right Thumb might disagree with that one…heh), Mario
and Luigi, Michael Jordan and Scotty Pippin (it’s always amusing to see how
many family members faint when I use a sports reference), Sherlock and Watson,
KD and Russell Westbrook (for those still standing), peanut butter and jelly,
and Calvin and Hobbes. Sorry, not sorry.
*** I thought this line was a pretty profound ending for such
a sapient piece of prose, but Right Thumb sadly informed me that it’s only a step
above the great tragedy of Miracle on 34th
Street: “Which is worse: a lie that draws a smile, or a truth that draws a
tear?” For that, friends, I am truly repentant.
