American Culture

Speaking to foreigners, as I often have lately, in the course of investigating lawsuits, I'm always reminded of a spiel that I received some years ago, from one such foreigner who disparaged America's lack of "culture." While I managed to refrain from commenting on her own nation's history of cultural class struggle/repression, ongoing exploitation of woman and social/religious minorities, and ongoing international strife based on nothing more than disagreements with neighbors over "culture," I did get to thinking about what of American society could properly hang under the moniker of "culture."


First and foremost, culture is something that is violently opposed by mainstream America. In almost every instance, "culture" arises from tradition or religion, both things that early Americans (and many Americans since) experienced primarily as rebels against the status quo, and ultimately fled from to reach the Fruited Plain. People set sail on the Mayflower because they were sick of being second-class citizens among the established "culture" of John Bull, thereby setting the ongoing precedent of flight hither by anyone who felt repressed, reviled, or even unappreciated in their native culture. So prevalent in this trend of American society that modern illegal immigrants need not fear deportation if they can legitimately call themselves political or cultural refugees seeking asylum: we don't send people home to cultures that "violate their rights." America is called a "melting pot" of culture, but the truth is that most people who step off the boat are eager primarily to be done with most of All Things Left Behind. Indeed, mainstream America endorses and - to a lesser degree - expects the New Arrivals' abandonment of such cultural mementos. Learn to speak English, have a cheeseburger, and try to earn enough to afford gas for your new Hummer. Let me sample your quaint dietary habits, but don't bring up anything else; you're an American now, and we don't deal with that shit.


So culture as a function of history, tradition, language, or religion - perhaps rightfully so - is neither present nor much tolerated among the majority of Americans. Within that vast class, smaller factions form to share nostalgically notable dates and events with fellows of similar abandoned cultural histories - Hanukkah, Lent, the Highland Games, or whatever - before melting back into the mainstream for the start of the work week. This type of culture is, indeed, lacking here in the Western Hemisphere.


Which leaves The Arts, where - truth be told - America dominates the world. American music and movies play EVERYWHERE, partially because of pure saturation of the marker, but primarily because American products are as good as it gets. If you want optics or machinery, buy German (with American products following closely). For cuisine and wine, it's France or Italy (again, closely followed by The States). Consumer electronics? The Japanese still lead the way (but are in danger of being overtaken by - you guessed it - the USA). But when it comes to entertainment, there is no question: BUY AMERICAN. The only other things we make nearly so well is weapons, perhaps the subject of a later posting.


The global proliferation of American entertainment pieces is a good thing and a bad thing, as movies and music convey both the best and the worst of American culture around the globe. Unfortunately, there are people who's primary exposure to America comes through David Hasselhoff, Michael Jackson, and (thankfully to a lesser degree) NWA. This invariably leads to international critics casting ill light on the artistic works and on the artists, and in many cases, the ill light is deserved: American "culture" would benefit vastly from 9mm brain hemorrhages to each of Brittney Spears, John Woo, Steven Segal, and Jerry Bruckheimer, and Allen Iverson, Rush Limbaugh, Louis Farakahn, and Simon Cowell deserve at least a thorough beating with a baseball bat.


But, like flowers rising from cow-patties - or rather like small diamonds among the rough boulders of higher budget works - there are some works of American art that are easily on par with the greatest works of human history. The character Hannibal Lecter (both in small print and on the big screen) is easily the most fascinating literatary creation of the last 100 years, and handily makes the all-time top 10, among such names as Hamlet, Genji, Dantes (not to be confused with Dante), Raskolnikov, and so forth. The modern byplay between Thomas Crown and Catherine Banning is every bit as engaging as the classic seductions of Cassanova. The movie Memento is an Aristotelian tragedy, and the brilliant twist is that main character Lawrence Shelby - who suffers from a disorder that renders his brain unable to store short-term memory - is tragic not because of the things that he forgets, but because of the things he remembers.


But even beyond the classic stereotypes, American arts have paved the way into new depths by, for example, taking the "shocking twist" to unprecedented levels. The most obvious such examples are easy to behold, but the implications are regrettably lost on all but students of the art: yes, Malcolm Crowe - who had more screen time than anyone else in the movie - died two minutes into the flick, but the underlying issues of human perception and self-delusion take much more thought.


So perhaps an easier to explain example: the movie Fight Club. Put aside the very interesting concepts of self discovery through self-destruction and the wage-slavery of modern man, forget the drama of the revelation of dichotomy, and consider this specific point: you never learn the main character's real name. The credits list Edward Norton as "Narrator." Now, from the context of the movie, if becomes very clear that his real name is NOT Tyler Durden, but you never really notice that, perhaps because his name is directly addressed in the movie: Marla Singer standing in the middle of the street, looking as his phone number and asking what his name is. Cornelius? Rupert? Any of the dumb names he uses every night?


But then a bus drives by in the foreground, and she's gone before we hear his answer.


Clearly, in retrospect, he told her at that moment that his name was Tyler Durden; that's the name she knows him by. At that moment, he told her his name was Tyler. Was Tyler - as a persona and as a character - born in that moment, as The Narrator tried to come up with something that would impress the girl he loved/hated? What about the rest of the movie, where the Narrator - who purports to despise her, is the persona that can be sensitive to her, but Tyler - who treats her like trash (I'll not go now into the issue of Marla's desire and/or need to be treated like trash) - is the persona that's peeling off the $1 bridesmaid's dress - which is itself symbolic of Marla's relationship with Tyler - and getting the sex on. And in yet another twist, Tyler - who treats Marla like trash - was the persona that saved Marla from the suicide that the Narrator was willing to let her slip into.


Don't tell me for a second that Fight Club is not worthy of the same level of literary analysis as Crime and Punishment, or Hamlet, or Madame Bovary. Don't disparage America's lack of culture to me because you need to have it explained to you, notwithstanding the fact that your children are feasting upon it. And if you want to argue about any of these points, that's fine, but I expect you to speak English while we're doing it.