Now that looks like a man who could foreclose on a house
Whatever happened to the romance of the open range?
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As of 8 p.m. Eastern Time on April 17, wearing a mask is the law in New York State. It used to be that only bank robbers or attendees at a ‘certain kind’ of Long Island party wore masks. Now you can’t even walk into a liquor store without wearing one. How quickly things change.
The sudden prevalence of masks raises an interesting question, though, about how our stories will change in the aftermath of COVID-19. When I was a child, I would have jumped at the opportunity to wear a mask. After all, Batman, Zorro, the Lone Ranger and the Dread Pirate Roberts were all habitual mask-wearers. They were a symbol of someone with their own code, who had to conceal their identity from evil-doers and the law alike. On the silver screen and in comic books, wearing a mask denotes that on some level you have powers or abilities that must be concealed from the wider world.
Consider the Batman; while he can be beaten, shot and injured in all manner of creative ways, the only thing he truly fears or that could truly destroy him is the removal of his mask and his public exposure as the billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne. Or take two of his arch villains. The Joker’s makeup functions as the inverse of a mask by revealing the evil that was always just beneath the surface. And Bane succinctly remarks that he was a nobody—totally irrelevant—until he put on the mask.
The original Star Wars trilogy builds up Darth Vader as the ultimate heavy until he turns back to the light side of the Force in defense of his son; only then is his mask removed, along with his power. The recently concluded HBO Watchmen series revolves around this very concept and plays it out ad nauseam. Indeed, Watchmen, as it was conceived for HBO, would probably be unproduceable post-COVID-19 (or at least require significant retooling), so swiftly have the connotations of masks changed. (I would argue the graphic novel still holds up.)
Clearly putting on a face mask to go the laundromat isn’t going to suddenly grant you super powers. Most people are not cut out for a life of vigilante justice. Nor should this public health measure be viewed as an open invitation to start knocking over banks. But perhaps we do have something in common with Batman. We can all be heroes by covering our coughs, washing our hands and wearing a face mask! (That one’s free, Gov. Cuomo.)
On the flip side, however, we are now told the most dangerous thing is to reveal our faces to our fellow human beings. Like Bruce Wayne—it seems—you too are only truly safe when you’re behind the mask. Like it or not, even if the intention is to keep others safe, masks do close us off from our neighbors. They hide our intentions, and they conceal the innate good or evil that lurks within. Doctors and bank robbers now wear the same costume—as do you and I. In our new shared story, we don’t get to choose if we want to wear the mask, although we can choose to become the hero or the villain. In that way, at least, nothing much has changed at all.
Today’s Film: Hell or High Water (2016)
Hell or High Water is a superficially simple film: Two brothers—Toby and Tanner, played Chris Pine and Ben Foster—team up to rob banks and save their West Texas ranch from foreclosure by usurious bankers, whilst a pair of Texas Rangers pursue them. This modern western from screenwriter Taylor Sheridan and director David Mackenzie goes far beyond its premise, though. Instead of being a straight bank heist story, it’s a tapestry woven from disparate threads of American lore and history. The Great Recession collides with the end of the frontier. Texas ranchers and oil men lose their land to evil bankers just as the Comanche lost their homeland to the ranchers’ grandparents. In this film, people commit bad acts, but the only real evil wears a tie and is backed by the FDIC.
Even the lawmen—Marcus, an old timer white guy, and Alberto, a younger half-Mexican half-Comanche ranger (played by Jeff Bridges and Gil Birmingham respectively)—feel ambivalent toward the money lenders. Upon investigating another successful robbery, Marcus goes looking for information from the bank manager and exclaims, “Well, that looks like a man who could foreclose on a house. Excuse me, Mr. Banker.” When Toby leaves a $200 tip for a diner waitress, she refuses to hand it over to Marcus as evidence. For her, it’s half of her month’s mortgage payment. Marcus lets her keep it.
It’s an emotionally and politically complex story about poverty, justice and the waning days of the Wild West, or perhaps America. The screenplay is perfectly paced and every detail within the film—from three crosses on a dusty street to the squeak of a diner table when Alberto leans against it—feels carefully calculated to lead you into the hot, hardscrabble world of the West Texas plains. There’s a reason Hell or High Water was nominated for four Oscars in 2017, including Best Picture and Best Screenplay, and it has not aged a bit. As the world today descends into what looks to be the worst economic decline since the Great Depression, Hell or High Water is more relevant than ever.
Hell or High Water is available to stream on Netflix.
Care for a drink?
This weekend’s cocktail pairing comes from Cait Callahan, head bartender at Saint Julivert Fisherie in Cobble Hill, Brooklyn. She suggests watching Hell or High Water while sipping a Rye-Mezcal Old Fashioned, since “Westerns are all about whiskey and smoke.” And she’s spot on—the movie has a lot of both.
2 oz. Rye Whiskey (High West, is possible, or another smokey/spicy rye)
1/4 oz. Mezcal
1/8 oz. Simple Syrup
3 dashes Angostura Bitters
2 dashes Orange Bitters
Stir and pour over a big rock in an old fashioned glass. Garnish with a lemon and orange twist.
Reading List:
One day we may be able to cure coronavirus, but we’ll never cure stupid. A kayaker got stuck on a remote island in Jamaica Bay, Queens and had to spell out “HELP” with sticks to get home. The Post has the deets.
Batman: The Dark Knight Returns by Frank Miller is widely considered to be the greatest Batman comic of all time. It’s a great option if you’re looking for some escapism with depth.
Benjamin Reeves is an award-winning screenwriter, journalist and media consultant based in Brooklyn, New York. Follow him on Twitter @bpreeves or write to him at breeves.writer@gmail.com.