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'Dave': Would Totally Wear a Mask

By Michael S. GoldbergeriBerkshires Film Critic
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I wish that I were reviewing one of the half-dozen movies certain to be made when this pox upon our house is no more. But until that glorious return to normality has us resuming all the simple joys of life we take for granted, like going to the movies, I'll be retro-reviewing and thereby sharing with you the films that I've come to treasure over the years, most of which can probably be retrieved from one of the movie streaming services. It is my fondest hope that I've barely put a dent into this trove when they let the likes of me back into the Bijou.

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Dave would wear a mask.
 
Kevin Kline's Dave Kovic is a temp agency owner whose brief gig as stand-in for crummy President Bill Mitchell becomes a fantasy come true when the real deal goes into a coma and Frank Langella's power-hungry chief of staff sees opportunity in continuing the ruse.
 
But the evil kingmaker's scheme to maintain control and ultimately catapult himself to the presidency spawns a proverbial fly in the ointment. Because, yep … Dave would totally wear a mask if public health recommended it, meaning he's civic-minded, concerned for his fellow humans, unselfish, and well, an all-around good guy. In short, while he's just the sort of fellow you'd want to have your back, that's not what the political puppeteer wants in his dead ringer.
 
You see, affable Dave Kovic, figuring he might as well make proper use of his moment in the White House, launches a one-man reformation. No insult or injury to America remains safe, whether it's the perpetual disregard of racial discrimination, the shameful neglect of the needy or the rabid desire to skew the tax tables in favor of those who least need it. All of which is certainly noble, but hardly good policy if you want to get re-elected in a land where specious gerrymandering has made the concept of an even playing field a dirty word. What? Play fair?
 
Are you nuts?
 
The beauty of the parable at the heart of director Ivan Reitman's "Dave" (1993) is that the title character isn't beholden to the moneyed scourge that features itself the ruling class. He is the sorcerer's apprentice but with a conscience and a moral purpose, free to right the wrongs that have preceded his ascendancy. Oh, that we might elect such a President. But then, that's going to be up to you.
 
Still, beware. While not a very nice testament to our species, there would still be detractors who, knowing they can make a buck catering to the ignorance of the prejudiced and self-indulgent, would peddle a divisive gospel of rationalization to their antisocial, gimme, gimme audience.
 
That there are that many people in the United States who are regularly dropped on their heads in babyhood is scary.
 
Point of disclosure: It behooves to admit my own specific area of selfishness, which may or may not give me insight into the greedy aberrance that deters our civilization from becoming that proverbial city upon a hill. When company is over and it's decided to order Chinese food, my wife, Joanne, alerts our guests — so that they may better decide their choices — that "Michael Doesn't Share." It's true. I want my General Tso's all to myself and couldn't care less about anyone's stupid shrimp in lobster sauce.
 
Besides, I'm paying. And, should this become an issue just outside the pearly gates, I have a little speech ready about how it's not like I've spent the last four years trying to steal health care from my fellow Americans or stomping on democratic ideals.
 
Not that I can claim a smidgen of the altruism that makes Dave the good soul that he is. Still, sadly, until the next major social reawakening, which oft follows global cataclysms like floods and pandemics, way too many people don't see the good in giving a sucker an even break, let alone embracing the wisdom in JFK.'s "Ask not what your country can do for you—-ask what you can do for your country." Indeed, Dave would wear a mask in respect for his citizenry if he were in charge today, hence shortening the length of the Pandemic and saving uncountable lives.
 
But then, "Dave" is imaginary, a standout example in the wishful genre of literary conjecture that, since time immemorial, has evidenced dire truths about the history of leadership. Just as it is sad that the lovelorn must find solace in steamy novels, it is harsh reality that the continuously misgoverned must too often turn to figments of Presidential epiphanies for vicarious easing of their ignored grievances.
 
Psst. Call me a delusional fool. Perhaps I've watched too many movies. But I initially hoped some great oracle of inspiration, like that which transformed Walter Huston's corrupt President Hammond in "Gabriel Over the White House" (1933), might stir Trump to doing good for someone besides himself and a coterie of wealthy supporters. But nah. Leopards don't change their spots, which is one of the reasons we so cherish the movies, where grace, compassion and improvement of character are just around the corner.
 
And let's not forget that component injected to please our romantic instinct, supplied here with enticing aplomb by Sigourney Weaver as the first lady who, having long abandoned any marital intimacy, begins to wonder what's up with the previously dishonest Philanderer in Chief. He's literally not the same man. You don't have to be well steeped in the processes of heartstring-plucking fiction to know where that's going. Suffice it to note, pretty Ellen Mitchell is turned on by the moral rectitude of someone who would wear a mask.
 
"Dave," rated PG-13, is a Warner Bros. release directed by Ivan Reitman and stars Kevin Kline, Sigourney Weaver and Frank Langella. Running time: 110 minutes

 


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Amphibious Toads Procreate in Perplexing Amplexus

By Tor HanseniBerkshires columnist
 

Toads lay their eggs in the spring along the edges of waterways. Photos by Tor Hansen.
My first impressions of toads came about when my father Len Hansen rented a seaside house high on a sand dune in North Truro, Cape Cod back in 1954. 
 
With Cape Cod Bay stretching out to the west, and Twinefield so abundant in wildflowers to the east, North Truro became a naturalist's dream, where I could search for sea shells at the seashore, or chase beetles and butterflies with my trusty green butterfly net. 
 
Twinefield was a treasure trove for wildlife — a vast glacial rolling sandplain shaped by successive glaciers, its sandy soil rich in silicon, thus able to stimulate growth for a diverse biota. A place where in successive years I would expand my insect collection to fill cigar boxes with every order of insects abounding in beach plum, ox-eye daisy and milkweed. During our brief summer vacation there, we boys would exclaim in our excitement, "Oh here is another hoppy toad," one of many Fowler's toads (Bufo woodhousei fowleri ) that inhabited the moist surroundings, at home in the Ammophyla beach grass, thickets of beach plum, bayberry, and black cherry bushes. 
 
They sparkled in rich colors of green amber on beige and reddish tinted warts. Most anurans have those glistening eyes, gold on black irises so beguiling around the dark pupils. Today I reflect on a favorite analogy, the riveting eye suggests a solar eclipse in pictorial aura.
 
In the distinct toad majority in the Outer Cape, Fowler's toads turned up in the most unusual of places. When we Hansens first moved in to rent Riding Lights, we would wash the sand and salt from our feet in the outdoor shower where toads would be drinking and basking in the moisture near my feet. As dusk fades into darkness, the happy surprise would gather under the night lights where moths were fluttering about the front door and the toads would snatch bugs with outstretched tongue.
 
In later years, mother Eleanor added much needed color and variety to Grace's original garden. Our smallest and perhaps most acrobatic butterflies are the skippers, flitting and somersaulting to alight and drink heartily the nectar abounding at yellow sickle-leaved coreopsis and succulent pink live forever sedums of autumn. These hearty late bloomers signaled oases for many fall migrants including painted ladies, red admirals and of course monarchs on there odyssey to over-winter in Mexico. 
 
Our newly found next-door neighbors, the Bergmarks, added a lot to share our zeal for this undiscovered country, and while still in our teens, Billy Atwood, who today is a nuclear physicist in California, suggested we should include the Baltimore checkerspot in our survey, as he too had a keen interest in insects. Still unfamiliar to me then, in later years I would come across a thriving colony in Twinefield, that yielded a rare phenotype checkerspot (Euphydryas phaeton p. superba) that I wrote about featured in The Cape Naturalist ( Museum of Natural History, Brewster Cape Cod 1991). 
 
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