Author: B.R. Merrick
I
used
to
pay
a
great
deal
of
attention
to
the
Oscars.
I’ve
been
a
serious
movie
buff
ever
since
I
saw
Spielberg’s
“The
Color
Purple.”
Before
you
all
get
started,
yes,
I
know
all
about
this
film.
I
won’t
go
into
details,
or
the
reasons
why
I
continue
to
watch
it
in
spite
of
how
it
disdainfully
showcases
black
men,
except
to
point
out
that
even
though
she’s
a
feminist,
the
author
of
the
book
upon
which
it
is
based,
Alice
Walker,
treated
the
character
of
Mr.____
far
better
than
in
the
movie,
and
her
masterful
book,
“The
Third
Life
of
Grange
Copeland,”
centers
around
a
far
greater
and
more
admirable
male
character.
Feel
free
to
hate
the
movie,
but
I
have
to
admit,
that’s
when
the
love
affair
with
cinema
started
for
me.
Since
then,
I’ve
always
wanted
to
take
movies
more
seriously,
and
a
very
basic
way
to
tell
what’s
good
and
what’s
not
is
to
note
who
gets
nominated
and
who
wins.
Sometimes
the
Academy
gets
it
right,
and
sometimes
totally
wrong.
Then
there
are
a
few
occasions
when
they
mislead
me
into
believing
that
I’m
going
to
enjoy
something
I
don’t.
Such
was
the
case
with
“No
Country
for
Old
Men,”
an
intense
cat-and-mouse
thriller
off
of
which
I
could
not
take
my
eyes,
not
only
for
the
intensity,
but
for
Javier
Bardem’s
mesmerizing
(and
deserving)
Oscar-winning
performance.
However,
I
wish,
like
Nine,”
that
I
could
have
found
the
strength
to
press
the
“eject”
button.
Instead,
I
was
subjected
to
far
more
frightening
and
graphic
violence
than
I
can
stand.
Like
a
bagel
I
accidentally
bit
into
when
I
was
a
teenager
that
was
glazed
with
salt
on
the
bottom,
an
act
that
has
prevented
me
ever
since
from
salting
anything,
this
movie
has
turned
me
off
to
violence
in
a
big
way.
Therefore,
when
I
saw
a
trailer
for
“The
Road,”
starring
the
very
manly
Viggo
Mortensen,
and
realized
that
it
was
based
on
a
book
by
the
same
author
as
“No
Country,”
in
spite
of
the
fact
that
I
found
the
teaser
intriguing,
I
thought,
“No
way.”
I’ve
seriously
had
enough.
Lucky
for
me,
there’s
this
dude
who
calls
himself
Angry
Harry,
who
mentioned
this
guy
named
Paul
Elam.
Paul
and
a
commenter
named
Jabberwocky
calmed
my
squeamish
self
down,
and
assured
me
that
violence
was
merely
incidental
in
the
film,
and
not
the
main
bloody
point.
What
a
fantastic
film.
On
every
level.
Every
man
should
see
it.
This
includes
politicians,
who
for
the
most
part
are
nearly
shells
of
men,
as
far
as
I’m
concerned,
and
even
alpha
males,
who
probably
won’t
get
it,
but
you
never
know.
However,
before
I
can
give
you
the
reasons
why
every
man
should
see
it,
I
need
to
explain
why,
as
an
anarchist,
I
loved
it
so
much,
and
how
it
enhanced
what
I
have
been
thinking
about
lately,
concerning
the
advance
of
feminism
in
our
lifetime.
By
itself,
feminism
could
never
have
gotten
anywhere,
except
on
the
back
of
a
relentless
machine
set
in
motion
and
largely
supported
by
alpha
males:
government.
It
is
the
nature
of
government,
as
I
pointed
out
in
“Coercion
Is
Death,”
to
initiate
coercion
over
everyone
who
inhabits
a
particular
land
mass
(or
masses,
if
you
live
on
an
archipelago,
or
if
you
intend
to
build
and
empire).
By
itself,
feminism
is
basically
powerless
to
force
itself
onto
anyone
other
than
another
feminist.
Men
like
me
don’t
do
this.
My
general
attitude,
in
spite
of
my
Religious
Right
upbringing,
when
confronted
with
opposing
beliefs,
viewpoints,
and
behaviors
face-to-face,
has
always
been,
“Hey,
whatever
floats
your
boat.”
Anarchy
has
only
augmented
that,
and
I
have
now
joined
in
by
floating
my
own
boat.
It
has
always
been,
and
always
will
be,
alpha
males
who
set
about
sinking
the
boats.
Their
general
attitude
is
opposite
mine.
It
largely
consists
of,
“Screw
you.
That’s
mine.”
I
have
never
liked
men
like
this.
That
is
why
I
had
such
a
hard
time
with
Bardem’s
character
in
that
horrific
film.
The
kindly
old
gentleman
who
offered
assistance
on
the
side
of
the
road
did
not
deserve
to
get
punctured
in
his
brain.
The
alpha
male
takes
and
hurts.
All
I
do
in
the
presence
of
one
is
get
taken
from
and
hurt.
In
general,
I
don’t
care
for
gangster
movies,
either.
Why
would
I
want
to
indulge
in
watching
alpha
males
take
from
others?
As
far
as
I’m
concerned,
they
deserve
their
comeuppance.
There
are
certainly
a
few
alpha
females
out
there
(okay,
probably
more
than
a
few),
but
in
general,
when
a
woman
says,
“Screw
you.
That’s
mine,”
she
is
unable
to
take
on
her
own,
as
an
alpha
male
would,
unless
she
has
a
gun,
which
is
seldom.
It
reminds
me
of
an
interview
with
a
nineties
gay
male
porn
star
I
read
in
a
magazine
a
long
time
ago.
He
was
a
former
bouncer
at
a
gay
bar,
and
he
remarked
that
he
had
to
be
careful,
because
gay
men
would
get
“bitchy
like
women,
but
they’re
strong
like
men.”
An
effeminate-acting
gay
man
may
seem
like
a
weak
female,
but
have
you
forgotten?
He’s
200
pounds
with
thick
arms.
That’s
the
essential
difference
between
alpha
males
and
alpha
females.
And
alpha
females
know
the
difference.
Men
conceive
of
guns,
design
them,
gather
the
resources
to
make
them,
hire
workers
to
fashion
them,
hoard
them,
sell
them,
make
improvements
to
them,
study
them,
share
information
about
them
with
like-minded
alpha
males,
obsess
about
them,
write
songs
about
them,
paint
them,
draw
them,
praise
them,
covet
them,
buy
them,
steal
them,
show
them
off,
practice
with
them,
bond
with
their
sons
using
them,
dream
about
them,
mimic
them
with
their
dicks,
etc.
Alpha
females
know
this.
Alpha
males
know
alpha
females
know
this.
The
power
struggle
begins.
When
power-hungry
feminists
see
the
opportunity,
they
pounce
on
the
government
created
by
these
men,
and
the
revenge
fantasies
begin.
Alpha
males
with
fewer
guns,
less
money,
and
less
smarts,
along
with
the
rest
of
us
males,
suffer,
along
with
a
great
many
women.
Even
if
feminism
went
by
the
wayside
tomorrow,
this
would
still
be
the
case.
It
is
the
smartest
(and
sometimes
luckiest)
alpha
males
who
sit
at
the
top.
I
had
an
alpha
male
dog
as
a
teenager.
(Cute
story:
As
a
puppy,
he
would
hold
his
cloth
leash
in
his
mouth
when
I
took
him
out
for
a
walk.
“Screw
you.
I’m
taking
you
for
a
walk!”)
He
could
bark
any
other
dog
into
submission,
and
he
always
did.
My
non-alpha
male
father
remarked
that
in
a
pack
of
dogs,
ours
would
either
be
dominant
or
he
would
be
dead.
This
was
one
of
the
most
correct
things
Dad
ever
said.
This
is
how
alpha
males
are.
Feminists
are
aware.
Like
minarchists,
those
who
believe
in
a
small,
constitutionally
limited
government,
feminists
see
a
system
that
isn’t
going
to
go
away,
so
why
not
use
it
to
their
advantage?
This
is
what
was
going
on
when
Betty
Friedan
wrote
her
seminal
“The
Feminine
Mystique.”
America
was
a
brand
new
empire,
at
least
to
the
rest
of
the
world.
(The
empire
was
building
before
the
ink
was
dry
on
The
Constitution,
but
we’ll
leave
that
for
another
rant.)
By
the
late
Fifties
and
early
Sixties
when
Friedan
was
researching
her
book,
women
had
enjoyed
more
than
a
decade
of
corporate,
imperial
luxury.
The
poorest
of
American
housewives
could
expect
what
Stephen
Sondheim
wrote
in
“America”
from
“West
Side
Story,”
sung
by
Puerto
Rican
immigrants
who
came
from
nothing:
“I
like
to
be
in
America!
O.K.
by
me
in
America!
Ev’rything
free
in
America
For
a
small
fee
in
America!
“…Automobile
in
America,
Chromium
steel
in
America,
Wire-spoke
wheel
in
America,
Very
big
deal
in
America!
“…I
like
the
shores
of
America!
Comfort
is
yours
in
America!
Knobs
on
the
doors
in
America,
Wall-to-wall
floors
in
America!”
All
this
prosperity,
so
effortless
and
available
even
to
the
poorest
among
us,
and
now
we’re
bored.
I
believe
Friedan
when
she
remarked
at
how
surprised
she
was
to
have
these
women,
who
were
virtually
strangers,
talk
to
her
about
their
sexual
fantasies.
When
you’re
bored,
a
sexual
fantasy
or
two
usually
does
the
trick.
The
point
of
the
empire
was
to
ensure
that
the
minions
(that’s
you
and
me)
are
happy,
the
ruling
elite
have
a
comfortable,
easily
controlled
populace,
and
the
empire
remains
forever
and
ever.
We’ll
leave
aside
the
glaring
fact
that
no
empire
on
this
earth
has
ever
lasted,
and
it
wasn’t
because
modern
technology
wasn’t
available.
Empires,
based
on
initiatory
coercion,
are
death-oriented,
and
must
therefore
eventually
die.
Feminism,
the
whore-wife
of
empire,
is
also
death-oriented
and
won’t
last
long
when
the
emperor
is
finally
dead.
When
life
comes
this
easily
and
quickly
—
when
machines
can
now
take
care
of
the
house,
and
since
all
women
on
this
land
mass
have
been
subjected
to
numerous
systems
of
coercion,
one
especially
egregious
one,
government
schooling,
that
spends
countless
hours
drilling
into
you
the
idea
that
the
empire
of
which
you
are
a
part
is
the
best,
with
the
best
government,
and
the
best
way
of
life
—
why
not
grab
at
the
reins
of
power
and
wield
a
little
more
of
it
on
behalf
of
other
bored
housewives?
I
have
no
doubt
that
the
sometimes
stifling
manner
of
suburban
culture
was
not
sufficient
for
women,
but
then,
I
don’t
think
it
was
sufficient
for
men,
either.
Small
communities
and
big
cities
have
always
been
a
bit
more
spontaneous.
People
tend
to
gravitate
to
one
or
the
other.
Suburban
life
is
good
for
a
few
things,
and
where
it
can
grow
organically,
I
would
think
it
would
have
the
appearance
and
attitude
of
small
towns.
But
so
much
of
modern
community
planning
requires
the
input
of
a
coercive
body
of
people
in
order
to
ever
come
about
(zoning,
building
permits,
property
taxes
to
keep
out
the
n*ggers,
et
cetera,
ad
nauseam).
Beyond
the
overarching
system
of
coercion
known
as
government,
there
are
the
softly
coercive
traditional
roles
for
men
and
women,
once
crucial
to
our
very
survival,
many
no
longer
necessary,
but
tradition
speaks
louder
(and
more
coercively)
than
individuality.
In
spite
of
modernity,
we
are
still
quite
tribal.
So
we
have
bored
housewives,
malcontents
like
Friedan,
government-planned
suburbia,
and
a
system
of
coercion
in
which
these
women
have
all
been
indoctrinated
to
place
their
trust.
This
is
what’s
otherwise
known
as
a
powder
keg.
It
also
would
have
been
impossible
without
the
efforts
of
the
alpha
males
to
coerce,
coerce,
and
coerce
some
more.
“Give
that
to
me.
I
have
a
date
with
an
alpha
female,
and
she
wants
some.”
What
does
this
have
to
do
with
the
haunting,
dark,
and
exquisitely
beautiful
movie,
“The
Road”?
Well,
the
movie
takes
as
its
premise
a
great
conflagration
of
the
earth,
accompanied
by
massive
earthquakes,
which
wipe
out
swaths
of
humanity,
virtually
all
animal
life,
and
kill
all
crops.
What’s
an
alpha
male
to
do?
They
congregate
amongst
themselves,
riding
about
the
wasteland
formerly
known
as
America,
shooting
at
will,
taking,
and
generally
causing
distress
to
anyone
unfortunate
enough
to
come
into
their
path.
We
are
talking
about
a
rapidly
diminishing
food
supply,
since
the
only
things
left
to
eat
are
canned
goods
and
other
humans.
(There
is
a
particularly
disturbing
scene
in
the
middle,
where
a
hapless
mother
and
child
are
running
from
some
of
these
alpha
cannibals.)
What
about
the
rest
of
us?
How
would
we
fare?
As
someone
who
believes
that
the
state
is
not
the
answer,
I
found
my
own
beliefs
challenged,
making
the
film
darker
than
it
already
was.
Ultimately,
however,
I
found
the
direction
of
my
present
thinking
enhanced,
and
in
a
way,
cemented
by
the
unfolding
of
the
story.
It
centers
on
Viggo
Mortensen
as
Papa,
and
his
prepubescent
son.
They
wander
further
and
further
south,
perhaps
clinging
to
the
idea
that
they
might
eventually
meet
up
with
the
boy’s
mother,
who
has
left
their
once
happy
home,
in
a
desperation
that
does
not
disparage
women,
so
much
as
show
how
different
people
would
react
to
such
an
unprecedented
world
event.
The
abandoned
father
and
son
have
adventures,
conversation,
bonding,
fear,
arguments,
and
live
the
lives
of
refugees.
It
is
extraordinary
to
watch
the
level
of
intimacy
between
these
two:
one
man,
and
one
soon
to
be.
It
is
the
very
essence
of
what
a
father
and
son
relationship
should
be.
In
spite
of
the
difficulties
facing
a
father
who
knew
a
completely
different
world,
the
primal
frustration
is
never
taken
out
on
the
son.
Beyond
that,
Papa
constantly
imparts
to
his
son
preparatory
advice,
which
will
come
in
handy
late
in
the
film,
as
it
reaches
perhaps
its
most
touching
moment.
Anybody
who
thinks
this
is
a
misogynist
film
due
to
the
mother’s
flight,
or
the
relative
absence
of
female
characters
in
the
movie,
must
watch
until
it’s
all
over.
Only
then
can
you
understand
why
this
is
the
first
film
I
have
ever
bothered
to
completely
review.
It
is
truly
magnificent.
Beyond
the
wonderful
father/son
relationship
you
are
privileged
to
see,
the
movie
ultimately
hints
at
the
necessity
of
men
in
order
to
build
the
world.
Although
it
never
happens
in
the
course
of
the
film,
you
get
the
sense
that
someday
crops
will
be
sown
again,
due
to
the
presence
of
the
good
men
you
see
in
this
movie.
Perhaps
people
will
once
again,
when
the
earth
ceases
the
constant
burning
and
shaking,
be
able
to
rebuild
society.
Even
more
importantly,
you
are
left
with
a
hope
that
this
time
it
will
be
built
by
men
and
women
who
understand
and
repudiate
the
true
nature
of
the
alpha
personality,
but
that
ultimately
men,
with
their
greater
bodily
strength,
and
their
higher
numbers
of
intellectually-minded
members,
along
with
the
lesser
numbers
of
women
who
are
up
to
the
task,
will
form
a
society
that
can
deal
with
the
new
challenges
that
the
planet
has
provided
with
its
upheaval.
The
remaining
women
will
concern
themselves
in
general
with
the
desires
of
their
sisters
and
children.
One
of
the
last
lines
in
the
movie
seems
to
hint
at
this,
and
it’s
the
essence
of
motherhood
and
womanhood.
After
all,
in
the
world
this
gifted
author
has
dreamt
up
(if
the
movie
is
any
indication
of
the
book),
rights,
privileges,
opportunities,
feminism,
fascism,
corporatism,
militarism,
statism,
liberalism,
libertarianism,
socialism,
communism,
capitalism,
and
virtually
every
other
-ism
you
can
imagine,
have
all
been
burned
to
a
crisp.
All
that’s
left
is
what
individuals
possess
inside.
They
either
have
the
will
to
live,
to
merely
scrounge,
or
to
take
by
force.
All
pretense
has
vanished.
There
is
no
time
for
women
to
think
of
luxury
when
the
young
haven’t
been
fed
for
several
days.
Friedan’s
concerns
would
not
exist.
All
that
would
be
left
for
women
to
think
about,
and
for
the
children
to
observe,
is
how
hard
the
men
have
to
think,
work,
and
live,
simply
so
that
everyone
else
will
go
on.
(Incidentally,
I
would
not
recommend
this
film
to
women,
as
it
touches
too
strongly
on
what
I
believe
a
great
many
women
fear
the
most.)
It’s
a
tremendous
concept,
and
one
that
was
wrongfully
ignored
by
the
Oscars
(can’t
always
depend
on
them).
Its
spare,
imaginative,
horrifying
look
at
the
fragility
of
what
we
have
built
in
the
modern
age,
and
the
pretentious
ideologies
we
have
pulled
so
tightly
over
it,
should
have
been
praised
to
the
high
heavens,
including
the
filmmakers’
use
of
costuming,
makeup,
set
design,
sound
and
visual
effects,
music,
and
excellent
pacing.
Perhaps
the
reason
it
was
ignored
was
because
of
the
blatancy
of
its
portrayal
of
the
essentials
of
manhood.
Maybe
if
a
couple
of
irresponsible
feminists
who
shot
a
rapist
had
sped
their
Cadillac
through
the
proceedings,
it
might
have
gotten
the
attention
it
deserved.
No
matter.
When
the
America
sung
about
by
those
Latina
immigrants
has
finally
collapsed,
I
pray
that
I
will
find
myself
in
the
company
of
the
family
that
appears
at
the
end
of
the
movie.
They
think
like
me.
Original Story on AVFM
These stories are from AVoiceForMen.com.
(Changing the cultural narrative)