Harperland

In the movies, and you see this quite a lot, the person in charge of the city or the country or whatever is often brought down at the end by an incriminating video tape in which he himself (and it’s usually a he) admits to his own crimes.  The tape is played before an audience of stunned and silent citizens in the streets, in their homes, etc., and it is clear that, from this point on, the dear leader’s career is over.  He can either flee or kill himself, but that’s it.  The moral compass of the people will not allow a corrupt leader, or a murderer, to continue in office. 

I am thinking particularly of Minority Report when I write this, or maybe Robocop, but there are plenty of examples of recorded hubris acting as the downfall of the mighty.  I mention it, though, because in reality this kind of thing doesn’t ever happen.  Particularly in the case of our present government, we are provided with blatant examples of wrongdoing across every aspect of the reach of their governance, yet there is never a moment at which it is clear that they have no choice but to resign (or drop dead).

This is where Spielberg got it wrong: as long as the basic comfort of the people is unthreatened, they will never revolt, no matter how flagrantly their governments are disregarding the law.  If there would be a movie about Canada, the plot would centre around a lone hero who procured an incriminating tape at least once a week and made it public only to find that the public was, as usual, completely apathetic about the news.

People across the country would look up at their televisions for a moment, like a rabbits standing up out of the prairie grass, and then settle back down into their bowls of cereal as though nothing had happened.  The heat would still be on and the kids would still be playing in the next room and that would be enough.