*** Today I am moving out of my D.C. apartment. I sit here schvitzing profusely (TMI?) but I’ve got a review. Loyal readers will note that I’ve got a particular affinity for Nick Cage. I had a “Com-ugh-yay-hah” moment when I first saw the Bangkok Dangerous preview. Some could say my thing for Nick Cage is as crazy as the man himself. I’m one of the few who thought National Treasure 2 was worth seeing (and reviewed it right here on FAD) I suspect my friend Seth knew my obsession and has done an analysis accordingly. Without further ado…
Today I would like to review a film that I have never seen. Actually, that’s not entirely true. I plan to critique a film that I’ve never seen. Is that even possible? Obviously: existence is the strongest form of evidence. The well-known theorist and cerebral film critic Slavoj Zizek claims that he often writes about movies before seeing them—and, in fact, never sees them—since he worries that the movie will fail to fit his critical interpretation, which, of course, is much more important than any single film. Going to the cinema might be necessary for having a good laugh during the Bush presidency, keeping up with the artistic development of a favorite director, or wooing a date, but it is often excessive—and therefore potentially restrictive—to the philosopher. Realistically, the film industry and society at-large already understands and promotes this concept. Promotions, interviews, advertisements, posters, and product tie-ins are all used to pique the public’s interest and to get the audience to form (positive) opinions about a feature months before the film even hits theatres. This perception—even among professional reviewers—is often based as much upon circumstantial factors—interesting celebrity relationships, recent addictions, or the quality and accessibility of press junkets—than actual scenes or aspects of a movie.
Thus, I would like to analyze National Treasure and, what the hell, its sequel too. What do we know about it? Well, it’s a Disney film, which can’t be ignored, not just because of the bubblegumminess that tends to stick in their films, but also because, as a major entertainment conglomerate they have a vested interest in preserving the status quo, the illusions which enable it, and the cultural awareness (or lack their of) which is necessary to receive such ridiculous lies and fantasies as a plausible truth and hyperreality . The basic plot of the film (as I understand it from posters, commercials, and things) is that hidden within notable American landmarks, documents, and historical artifacts one can find clues and codes which, when properly deciphered and deconstructed—through action and wit!— lead to treasure and manifold rewards. This plot is an extremely perceptive and revealing, although, I cannot agree with the specifics. Hollywood’s cliché of treasure—gold and jewels, the girl, the excitement and thrill of the chase or journey, the opulence of the spectacle—rings hollow when compared to the more intangible, yet paradoxically much more satisfying, objectives of knowledge, truth, and understanding. It is possible to search for these treasures with the same tools and objects used in National Treasure, but the result is much more subversive and troubling. Consider the major monuments and memorials of our country: Mount Rushmore, the Lincoln memorial, the Washington monument, the Jefferson memorial, the Statue of Liberty. Of these, only one represents a woman. She is fictional, allegorical, and has no real place in American history besides showing up in the occasional metaphorical image. The others—the real people, the authorities, leaders, and icons—are all old, white men. They are homogeneous, or nearly so, in terms of religion, ethnicity, class, gender identification and—despite partisan differences—their political beliefs. Yet we know that America is not, and has never been, comparably uniform or placid. These “treasures” allow a tragic, realization: to date, the country has never been a true democracy. Our hallowed documents demonstrate similar realities, both in how they were written and how they are now interpreted. The Declaration of Independence famously states: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.” The current gloss—a bowdlerization really—is that “all men” means all humans. Historically, that is simply not a feasible interpretation. Only rich property owners had the most valuable rights, like voting. These were, of course, the people who wrote, signed, and gave credence to the document. Women—all alienated—had virtually none of the “unalienable Rights” that men did. African-Americans were slaves, and had absolutely no rights. When the Constitution apportioned representatives—a quintessentially democratic act—Indians were excluded and “all other [non-free] persons” were counted as 3/5 a person. Slaves have four limbs and a head, they had five senses—so what are the 2/5 that were missing? Rational thought and a soul? The repetitive nature of American history is proof not only that these themes and tendencies are endemic but also that they have never been exorcised or overcome. They have never been found. The drive for independence turns into the Monroe doctrine which grows into Manifest Destiny which evolves into Imperialism that then reappears as globalization, which is still with us. It is perhaps only the great magnitude and mythical quality of the Civil War which is able to obscure and trivialize the relatively less violent events of social upheaval—civil rights movements, the great awakenings, the sexual revolution, witch hunts of all kinds, urbanization.
I think we can safely assume that all this is absent from Disney’s films—but it must be conspicuously concealed. If the fantasy, the unreal, the Hollywood reading of such monuments and documents is that they might lead to tangible riches, the real reading could not be. It might then be expected—even if just unconsciously—that the opposite, non-theatrical reading would reveal an abstract poverty. Similarly, the film’s methodology of examining these national treasures closely is all that is necessarily. Instead of examining every forth capitalized letter when read backwards translated in Latin—or some similarly bizarre, conspiratorial pattern—one merely has to look at the actual relics, in their original state, with fresh, discerning eyes. In this sense, National Treasure and all films like it are portals as much as they are obstacles, so long as they are understood as both. The fantasy, the Hollywood analysis becomes a fundamental, internal part of reality both because of the pervasive influence of the illusion and the degree to which it is a path back to reality (to the extent that it exists) through opposition and a hope disentanglement. As central forces in the current cultural structure, such films are an important part of the code that must be decoded in order to lead to the treasure, even when they masquerade as the treasure themselves.
Footnote!: Indeed, Umberto Eco and Jean Baudrillard both see Disneyland as a prime example of hyperreality. Baudrillard’s idea being that the fantasy of Dinseyland is what allows everything outside of Disney to be seen as a legitimate reality. Without an unreal, surreal place like Disneyworld, there could be no real world. Eco sees Disney as creating a fake reality which allows consumers to compartmentalize, tame, project, and then “experience” a greater reality than exists in nature, and one which is more socially acceptable than unregulated, non-commercialized fantasies.
- S. W. Esquire (soon to be anyway)
