The Lone Ranger

     Of course I've been running. But, only my feet have been moving. My mind has been stuck. I know--I know--Peter and Joel are tired of hearing me rail about it--the devastating reviews of Walt Disney's, The Lone Ranger. Movie critics just killed the movie. I thought, 'The cowboys are at it again. They are killing the Indians.'

     No doubt about it. The negative reviews of The Lone Ranger messed with a set of treasured memories--built--Saturday by Saturday--in and by a ten year old girl, sitting in a theater, watching cowboy and Indian movies. The Lone Ranger was a favorite. Admittedly, watching the battles between the Indians and the Whites of whatever Western was showing that Saturday, I often walked away from the theater wondering--why were the Indians never allowed to win.

     If reviewers ever get the podium, having anything to say about it, the Indians are never going to claim victory. Instead, they just fancy dance up to a piece of paper, pick up the favored weapon of today and start to write. They lick their sharpened pencils, click their pens, hit the keyboard, dip into the red ink, and marshal an attack. More than likely, doing so, the movie critics have confused a whole generation of Americans by re-mixing childhood memories--memories that kept us grounded.

     I loved The Lone Ranger. My sister, Karen, loved The Lone Ranger. Even Peter left the theater with a smile on his face. He got it! I know my father, who served time in two Indian boarding schools, would have smiled when Johnny Depp called The Lone Ranger 'an idiot.' The unmistakable, subtle Indian humor, threaded throughout the movie, came down like welcomed rain.

     And, one more thing--supposing--just supposing--did the critics ever consider the heart scene, the one critics loudly chorused and christened so violent children should not see the movie, a metaphor for White's tearing out the very Heart of the Indian tribes? And, here's a hoot. The violence in World War Z, I guess was blessed. Apparently, it's OK for kids to watch zombies killing other zombies and killing real live people.

     And, supposing, just supposing--did they every really sit back and think about the black crow? The one on Tonto's head? Which, by the way, belongs in the Sioux culture, not Cheyenne. Did they ever think this mixing up was an intentional visual display of how the White's forcibly attempted the cultural blending of Indian tribes. 'Blending' could be just a dirty little euphemism for 'Let's round 'em all up, and make 'em be White.' You know-like Americans--real Americans. I think this is the grand end game of multiculturalism.

     Instead, this caused the experts of 'which to see movies,' to criticize Johnny Depp for not being a real Indian. Well, what is a real Indian anymore? Those critics ungrounded me for a few weeks. But, I'm back. Back to running with joy, occasionally sharing my thoughts and new discoveries. The part of me, the memory of the little Indian girl sitting in the Saturday movies, delighting in the antics of Tonto and The Lone Ranger, are back in a safe place. I know Peter and Joel are relieved.

Jody Sunday Kehle
email: jkehle@austin.rr.com