"Out on the Straits of Florida, a gang of criminals has forced Major Frank McCloud to take them to Cuba in a boat. Frank uses seamanship, trickery, and a stolen firearm to kill these gangsters one by one."
That's an excerpt from near the end of an encyclopedia's synopsis of John Huston's film KEY LARGO (1948). I assume the reason this was on my mind when I woke up today is that lately I keep encountering voices questioning why U.S. institutions so flagrantly mishandled the recent pandemic, allowing it to do damage to society that would have been easily avoidable. One answer is to see Huston's movie as a parable of America:
The movie begins with the protagonist Frank visiting a hotel, where everything seems a bit fishy; then a violent hurricane occurs, causing all the staff and guests to remain indoors for the duration of the disaster, during which time it is revealed that the reason the hotel feels so odd is that the place had been taken over by gangsters before Frank arrived.
I now remember that there's also a motel whose operation is usurped by gangsters in TOUCH OF EVIL (1958), the film by Orson Welles. In this movie (which seems even more apropos than the other, now that I think of it) a special prosecutor sends his wife Susie to a motel in order to shelter her from the very gangsters who've commandeered the place.
Now, finding oneself trapped in an establishment that is gangster-controlled, what can one do? ...One cannot fight, cuz the gangsters own more weapons, which are also of a superior quality; and they're not afraid to use them... One cannot escape, because the gangsters are watching your every move...
I guess one must just die quietly. So that solves that.
*
What is a gangster, by the way? Let's define this crucial term, now that it's too late to matter because my essay fizzled out...
A gangster is someone who identifies with a group (a gang) so much that morality becomes less important than party allegiance.
And what is morality? It's outdated and completely unfashionable.
Therefore, why not become a gangster oneself, instead of opposing the concept? — as it is written: If you can't beat em, join em.
OK, I see nothing wrong with that: let's all become gangsters...
FORMING A GANG
Firstly, I distribute machine guns to everyone. Secondly, we each are issued a broad-brimmed hat to keep our ugly mug in shadow. Alright, I think we're ready to roll.
Now what?
I guess we could start out by intimidating small businesses. Burst into a mom-&-pop shop and tell them that we will protect them from future gang visits if they pay us a monthly fee. Just like their Internet provider or a hardworking landlord.
*
Honestly, at this point, I can't think of anything else we should do. So I am hereby officially disbanding our gang. Let's all keep in touch, by using the social networks:
*
Now everyone posts pictures of their newborn babies on the website that serves as a communal bulletin board. These children grow up quickly and then pose for high-school graduation photos, which likewise get published online. Ex-gangsters also often share photographs of the food they're about to eat, especially whenever they dine at a luxurious restaurant that turns out to be managed by up-&-coming gangsters. "Ooh, looks tasty!" — that's the comment that I type in the reply-box underneath the pic. And the post's owner answers back promptly: "Indeed, it was!"
Then we aging ex-gangsters all die and are buried. They place us in coffins, which they lower into the earth. During our funeral service, prayers are murmured over our grave while professional mourners weep. Then there's silence for a while. We all lie there underground.
Eventually the Apostle Paul's Jesus comes out of the clouds above and resurrects all the dead; so we rise to face our judgment. God the Father (or, if you prefer: The Godfather) grants us forgiveness for our sins: we are washed clean in the blood of His lamb; then we receive our new bodies, whose flesh doth glow. Now the old Heaven and Earth are rolled up & discarded, while the improved Heaven and Earth descend the staircase. There is a great celebration.
In no time, we all discover our true callings within the revamped Paradise. I myself become a nutritionist: Every Tuesday & Thursday, I arise before cockcrow and bake fresh pastries. (The smell is incredible; my shop is called "Bryan's Breadbasket".) You, O reader, become a gymnast: You live right over there, in that little house on the prairie. And all of our friends become successful entrepreneurs.
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