Back in the ‘60s and into the early ‘70s, Hollywood had a mad affair with punctuated movie titles. There were the musicals with exclamation points—Hello, Dolly!, Oliver!, and Star!—although many would say the movies themselves didn’t exactly live up to their title. Then there were the question mark movies, which usually featured an older actress whose career as well as the character she was playing had gone around the bend. There was What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? as well as What Ever Happened to Aunt Alice? The audience was invited to consider What’s the Matter with Helen? and Who Slew Auntie Roo?
But there is another question mark movie that we’ll consider today that isn’t in that psycho-biddy subgenre of horror films. What’s So Bad About Feeling
Good? starred Mary Tyler Moore and George Peppard in what is supposed to be a comedy. Truth be told, I have never seen this movie and have no intention of doing so. Mr. Peppard has always left me flat, even in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. I know saying that is gay sacrilege, but I said it anyway. I just think this is an interesting title, which based on some of the reviews, may be better than the movie itself.
It could be just me. It could be that everybody is as happy as a clam in butter. It could also be that some folks forget what is about to happen to those happy clams in butter. I just don’t know for sure what it is.
But it does seem to me, at least a good deal of the time, that some folks are getting set up in different camps. Look around on social media, or take a look at the spectrum of cable news, and I suspect you’ll see what I’m talking about.
It’s not about partisanship or politics, exactly. It’s not about policy or principles either. It’s these folks who seem to look for something to feel bad about, only it winds up that they only feel good when they are confirming to the world that they are feeling bad. It’s kind of the bastardization of the old song from No, No, Nanette. “I want to be happy, but I won’t be happy ‘til I make you [un]happy, too.”
Don’t get me wrong. There’s plenty to be unhappy about. Starting with how other people drive. I can’t drive six miles to the salon where I get my nails done…wait a minute, anyone who can drive anywhere to just get their nails done should probably think twice before complaining about just about anything. But I digress.
On that six-mile route, I invariably hurl invectives at a couple of drivers on the way, which may range from a simple “Dear God!” to something a good deal less refined. To be fair, there may be other drivers cursing me for driving like an old lady, but then my response to them would be simply two words, the second of which is “off.”
In the last week or two, it’s been mildly interesting to watch cable networks beat their drums about the midterms, and the war in Iran, and the Blanche nomination to be Attorney General. Depending on where one sits, there’s plenty inside of all that to make just about anybody who’s feeling good to start feeling bad.
Of course, if the present and the immediate future aren’t sufficient to cause bad feelings, we can always watch grown men nominated for federal judicial positions (and the only ones I’ve seen are white men) squirm around to avoid answering the simple question “Who won the 2020 presidential election?” Over the past several months, there have been so many profiles in cowardice. Seeing some of this recently, I couldn’t quite understand how the questioners (Democrats, to be sure) did not respond with my two-word response to certain drivers.
But I will try to leave you with something that made me feel good. Our British cousins are experiencing the far-right Restore Britain political party led by one Rupert Lowe. Some are asserting that both one’s parents must be born in the United Kingdom to be a white Briton. No children of immigrants, you see, but this even on its face seems to overlook the “white” part.
So Charles III doesn’t make the cut. His mother was the whitest woman on the planet, but the father of her children was born in Greece. Mr. Lowe has refused to say whether or not the King of England is a white Briton. Seems kind of familiar.
So what’s so bad about feeling good? Nothing really. Like the song says, “Some gotta win, some gotta lose.” You can fill in the rest for yourself.
